Monday, December 27
Conners Residence, Rockport, Maine
Camden Hills State Park
Francesca balanced precariously on the icy eave outside her bedroom window as the wind buffeted her. It whistled around the corner of the house and whipped her dark hair around her face wildly. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she knelt carefully and lay face down on the icy surface. Cautiously, she swung her legs over the edge and grasped the gutter downspout with both feet. She eased herself down slowly until she hung by her hands about twelve feet off of the ground. The pain was excruciating and flashes of light danced in front of her eyes. For a long moment, it was all she could do simply to keep from falling. Finally, she forced herself to shift one hand to the downspout. When she let go of the eave edge, she slithered down the drainpipe abruptly, unable to get good purchase on the freezing surface. Her legs, which should have helped control her descent, simply refused to take the strain and she slid all the way down to strike the ground with jarring force. Her legs folded under her and she ended up lying face down on the snow-covered ground.
After a long moment, she stirred and tried to force herself to move. She couldn't lie here like this. Already she could feel the cold seeping into her. Her coat . . . her boots . . . her gloves . . . all of that stuff had been downstairs in the coat closet next to the front door . . . a place she had not dared to try and reach. If the Conners had heard her and come to investigate, she never would have gotten out of the house. So on this dark, sub-zero night, she was leaving for her rendezvous with Baxter in little more than a pair of thermal underwear, a pair of blue jeans, and two sweaters to keep her warm. Finally, she stumbled to her feet and forced herself to move. She glanced at her watch . . . 12:47. She was going to be late. There was no way to prevent it, now. Not a good way to start a meeting with a man who was as notoriously volatile as Baxter.
It had begun to cloud up a little and the moon was playing tag with the scuttling clouds, changing the nightscape from brilliant moonlight to pitch darkness in the blink of an eye. She stumbled uncertainly up the street, contemplating her situation. She had to have transportation. There was no way she could get to the meeting place without a car. That part, at least, she had already planned out. Three houses down the street from the Conners' lived a man who loved cars. He also had two sons and a daughter who loved them as much as he did. The result was that the family had seven vehicles between them. This neighborhood was a good, solid, middle class area, which meant that the houses were around 75 years old or so, good sized, and sat on acre lots. However, few of them had garages . . . and certainly not enough garage space for seven cars. That meant that virtually all of the cars were parked along the street in front of the house. The streets were also rather narrow, so parking was allowed on only one side, and usually at least one or two of the vehicles were parked around the corner, out of sight of the house. Car theft was not her strong suit and she rarely resorted to it, but tonight she would make an exception.
As she rounded the corner, the clouds suddenly cleared from the moon so she could see again, and she breathed a silent prayer of thanks. The car at the head of the line of parked vehicles was the daughter's Dodge Neon . . . no alarm system, easy to break into, straightforward to hotwire, and extremely common in the area. No cop would look at it twice if they happened to see it driving down Route 1. Within two minutes, she was in the car and moving away from the neighborhood at a carefully legal rate of speed. Reaching out, she cranked up the heater and shivered, as she waited for the engine to heat up enough to begin allowing it to blow warm air.
It was about three miles from the Conners house to the turnoff to Camden Hills State Park and the road to the viewing area, but she had to go through Camden to get there. She drove with care, faithfully obeying all of the traffic laws. While she never spotted a cop, she couldn't run the risk of getting stopped for anything. Everything seemed quiet, and eventually she reached the turnoff to the park. She made the turn and then stomped hard on the brake, coming to a sliding halt against the metal barricade across the road. Mounted on the gate was a large black and white sign that read, "CLOSED FOR THE SEASON". She stared at it for a long minute, uncomprehending. When Baxter had told her to meet him here, it hadn't occurred to her that the park might be seasonal. Anger flared abruptly. This was just great. What was the man doing?
Slowly, she got out of the car. It was a typical, park service gate . . . make of round metal tubes welded together and mounted by heavy hinges to a metal post set into the ground on one side of the drive. In season, the gate stood open during the day, allowing people to pass freely in and out of the park. At night, it was swung closed and secured with a heavy chain and a padlock to a second post on the other side of the road. As she approached the gate, she noted that the drive into the park, as well as what ground she could see on the other side, had been plowed. She could also tell that a roadway of sorts has been cleared, as well. Someone obviously took the effort to keep the area at least partially accessible. She reached into her pocket for her lock picks, glancing quickly in both directions to assure herself that she was still alone. But when she picked up the padlock, she found it open. The hasp still held the loops to the chain that held the gate closed, but someone before her had already picked the lock. She had to do nothing more than unfasten it and swing the gate open. She looked at her watch again . . . 1:05 . . . she needed to move.
She unfastened the chain and gave the gate a sharp shove. It swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. She hurried back to the car, drove it through the entrance, and then got back out and secured the gate behind her again. She might be late, but she couldn't risk having a cop cruise by and see the gate standing open. Back in the car again, she accelerated as quickly as she could, following the plowed path through the snow. She made it as far as the back of the day use area before the road she was following ended. If she were to make it to the top, she would have to walk from here. She sat in the car, the motor idling, staring at the wall of snow in front of her numbly. She couldn't do it . . . it simply was beyond her strength. It would have been taxing enough if she had been fit and properly outfitted against the cold, but with no cold weather wear and in the physical condition she was currently in, there was no way she was going to be able to make it to the summit. She leaned forward and lay her forehead against the steering wheel in exhaustion.
Suddenly, the driver's door was yanked open and she was grabbed and dragged violently out of the car. Rough hands forced her to her feet and held her in a cruel grip as she heard the light, cold voice from the night before say, "You're late."
Adrenaline coursed through her system and anger gripped her again. She hardly even noticed the jolt of pain that shot through her leg as she brought her leg up sharply between his legs with all her strength A strangled cry of pain exploded out of him and he released her abruptly. "Screw you!" she said in fury. "You keep your hands off of me! I'm here. That's what counts. Now where is your boss? Let's get this over with."
"You always did have nerve," another voice said, and suddenly she could see shadows surrounding her in the darkness. There were more people than she had expected, but she couldn't see any of their faces in the dim light. It took her a minute to identify the new voice.
"Edgerton," she said in disgust. "I should have expected to find you here. Always trotting along at the end of his leash, aren't you?"
"Venomous to the end," the man replied with a nasty chuckle. "You're lucky you're still alive, you little witch . . . after that fiasco in Cairo."
Francesca shrugged negligently. "I'm still here, aren't I? And that means you know the truth about what happened. Your own people caused that screw up, Edgerton, and you know it. Keller was over the top. You need to get people with better control if you really want things to run smoothly for you."
"Like you, you mean?"
Francesca didn't say anything for a minute, allowing them to wait. Finally, she replied, "Well, now, that just depends, doesn't it?"
"On what?" THAT voice she knew immediately. Marking it's location in the dark, she turned toward Baxter without hesitation.
"On just exactly what you can do for me."
"You're playing an extremely dangerous game, Ms. Hamilton," Baxter said coldly. "I am not a patient man, nor am I accustomed to bargaining. I get what I want under my own terms. Period."
"Fine," she replied, with an exaggerated gesture that was visible to all of them in the sudden gleam of the fitful moonlight. "You don't want to bargain? Then kill me." She could sense the sudden shock and surprise that statement triggered and she smiled. "I'm trapped in a town that hates me, with people that watch me like hawks. I have no resources of my own, my face used to be plastered on fugitive flyers from here to Hong Kong and back, and my appearance is distinctive enough that I'll be recognized anywhere I go. The only family I have is my father, and he's still locked up in that stinking Egyptian jail. Plus, I've had a really shitty day, so the way I look at it, things can't get much worse. I have nothing left to lose. So if you want to put me out of my misery, you go right ahead." She paused briefly. "But then again, if you do that, you won't get whatever it is you want out of me, will you? So what's it going to be, Baxter?"
The silence stretched out for a long time. Then, suddenly, Baxter began to laugh. "Edgerton's right . . . you've got nerve. I like that. You've got a lot more style than your worthless old man ever had."
"That may be, but he's still my father, and I want him back."
"Well, then I think we've got a problem."
"Why? You saying that you, the all powerful Richard Elias Baxter, can't bust one single man out of an Egyptian jail?"
"I can do a great many things, Francesca . . ." he replied, suddenly sounding downright friendly. Francesca could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise and knew this was a bad sign. " . . . but I am not a miracle worker."
"What do you mean?"
"Your father has been dead for close to three months."
Francesca stood like a stone, totally unmoving, her mind suddenly as frozen as her body. Dead? she thought numbly. He can't be dead . . . can he?
"You're lying," she said harshly.
"No, it's true. I'd heard rumors to that effect earlier, but I confirmed it today after I received your message from our mutual acquaintance over there. He is quite definitely dead."
"How?"
"A dispute with several of the guards over ownership of some contraband, from what I'm given to understand. They slit his belly open and left him in his cell with his guts lying all over the floor. The rats took care of the rest."
She turned away and leaned against the car, barely even able to stand any longer. Nothing. She had absolutely nothing left. All of her life, the only stable thing she had ever had was her father. Life with him had never been easy. They never stayed in one place for very long, so she never had the chance to make friends or develop roots anywhere. He had been petty and vindictive at times, and there was very little he was not willing to do for money. He would use her in almost any way he could if he thought it would earn him a buck. He had always stopped short of selling her for sexual purposes, but she was fairly sure that was only because he understood that, in the long run, she could net him more money as a thief than as chattel. But all of that aside, he had clothed her and kept her fed, cared for her when she became sick, and had not allowed anyone to take her away from him or abuse her. At some indefinable level, they had bonded, and the grief that filled her at the realization of his death threatened to drive her to her knees.
"The question now is, are you made of stronger stuff than your old man was?" Baxter asked her callously.
Those words were like an arrow through her very soul. A silent rage filled her. Someone would pay for this! She raised her head. Without turning, she replied, "What is it that you want?" Her voice was cold and hard and sounded so much like her father's that it shook her momentarily.
From the startled silence that followed her question, Baxter heard it, too. After a moment, he cleared his throat and replied, "Do you have access to the Quest Compound?"
"Yes, I can get it."
"Good." Baxter stepped forward and laid something on the top of the car in front of her. "Follow those instructions to the letter and then wait to hear from me." Baxter paused, waiting for her to respond, but she remained silent and immobile. "Accomplish this, girl, and you have a position in my organization for life. Fail me, and I'll leave you in the same state as your father."
"I'll finish the job," she replied. "You can count on it." She pushed herself upright and took the packet from the top of the car. Opening the door, she threw it onto the front seat, got into the vehicle without another word, and drove away.
Baxter and the people with him stood watching her departure. Finally, a voice broke the silence.
"You can't trust her," Julia said.
"She'll do what she's told," Baxter replied. "She has no other choice."
Her rage was the only thing that got her back to Rockport. She parked the car where she had found it, made her way back to the Conners house, scaled the drainpipe, and returned to her bedroom. By the time she climbed in the window and closed it, the pain in her legs was unbearable. She took two steps into the center of the room and then fell heavily, unable to force her abused body to go any further. She lay where she fell, waiting for Mr. or Mrs. Conners to come and investigate the sound, but neither of them did. She turned her head and squinted at the clock on the other side of the room . . . 3:10 a.m. Truly, the dead of night.
Dead.
Her father was dead. She was alone.
It was possible that Baxter had been lying to her, but somehow, she doubted it. For one thing, he had nothing to gain. Francesca was enough of a realist to know that in the grand scheme of things, her father was a little man. It would have been easy for Baxter to free him if he was still alive . . . easier, in fact, than to try and pull off the lie. But that wasn't what convinced her. It was Leeds that caused her to believe. Again, the rage boiled up in her. Leeds had known all along that David Hamilton was dead. Three months, Baxter had said. That meant he had been dead long before Leeds ever got her out of Egypt. So he had been lying to her from the beginning . . . stringing her along to get what he wanted.
Slowly, she dragged herself across the floor until she reached her bed. Reaching up, she pulled herself up as best she could until she was sprawled on top of it. Sitting up painfully, she reached for the bottle of pills sitting on the table nearby. She opened the bottle, shook one of them out onto her palm and swallowed it, resisting the temptation to take more than one. They were painkillers and she had to be careful with them.
She stripped off her clothes and slid down between the sheets, knowing that the moment she relaxed, her abused body would shut down and there would be no moving before morning. As she lay there, the heat from the electric blanket slowly seeping through her, she thought of the events of the previous afternoon for the first time. Like most professional thieves, her father had been superstitious, and he had passed that on to her. At the time it had been happening, she thought she had gone after Bobby on the ski slope because she didn't want anything disrupting her plans, but now she was beginning to wonder. She thought she had nothing left, but that wasn't entirely true. She had one thing . . . she had Bobby Evans.
In all of her life, no one had ever told her they loved her. When Bobby had said it to her yesterday morning, she had felt little more than smug satisfaction. But then he had given her some small taste of what that really meant when he insisted on following her up onto that mountain and risking his life simply so she didn't have to go alone. As she thought about it again, she shivered.
Was fate giving her one last chance? She was at a crossroads. She could continue the life she had always known. Baxter had made an offer . . . do what he wanted and she would have a place. To stay in his good graces, she would have to continue to be successful, but as long as she was, she could probably have anything she wanted. But Bobby offered her another choice . . . a totally different life. She was clean now . . . had 'paid her debt'. She could turn away from everything she had ever known to try building a life on the other side of the law. No more running . . . no more fear . . . and someone who claimed to love her and really wanted her for herself rather than what she could get for him. Could she learn to honestly live the life she had been pretending to lead? She didn't know. There were times when she was so bored here, she thought she could scream. And yet . . . she liked the feeling that Bobby's concern for her had triggered. She wanted that to continue . . . particularly now. She didn't want to be alone.
That made her think of her father, and the grief welled up once again. Unexpectedly, she began to cry. As she realized what she was doing, she fought against her tears. Her father never tolerated weakness. It was the one thing that would make him hit her . . . a lesson she had learned very early. She couldn't even remember the last time she had cried. Now she fought to find that strength again. Whatever she decided to do later, there was still business that she had to attend to.
Vengeance was another lesson that she had learned very early in her life. People paid for the things they did to the Hamiltons. When Leeds had brought her back to Rockport, her intention was to make Jessie Bannon pay for the Cairo mess. But tonight, as Leeds' duplicity had become clear, Francesca's priorities had changed. With a clarity she had never experienced before, she saw that the things that had happened to her and her father weren't Jessie Bannon's doing. They weren't even Jonny Quest's fault. They had simply been the weapons, but the person truly responsible for Cairo was Keller, and he was dead. Baxter had played a role in that as well, but that she wasn't prepared to consider yet. Yes, before she made any final decisions on her future, she needed to take care of business. And that business was Connor Leeds. He was the one that would pay for this. So she had to come up with a plan. However, before she could follow that thought any further, the day's activities finally caught up with her, and between one thought and the next, she lapsed into sleep.
Connor Leeds sat at his desk in a pool of early morning sunlight and frowned at the papers in front of him. It was another negative report on the continuing search to locate Baxter. Leeds tossed it into his out basket in disgust. They were getting nowhere! He was restless. The waiting was getting him down and he knew that if something didn't break soon, he was going to go stir crazy. The ringing phone on his desk jarred him out of his reverie. He picked it up and said, "Leeds."
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but there is a woman on the phone insisting to speak to you. She won't give her name, but the call came in on the line you use only for informants."
Excitement flared as he said, "Put her through." A few clicks in the receiver and then he repeated, "Leeds."
"Do you want him?" a familiar voice asked.
"Yes."
"Then be out by the harbor waterfall behind Camden Deli at 4:00." Before he could say another word, the line went dead.
So the game begins, he thought. Punching another button on the phone, he said, "Have them get my car ready . . . "
Rockport, Maine
Francesca hung up the phone and smiled grimly. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, but her unconscious mind had obviously continued to work, because she had woken with a plan. The first step involved executing Baxter's instructions. She checked them first thing this morning and saw immediately how she could get the ball rolling for both Baxter and herself. Leeds was the key. She would never be able to get to the computer at the Quest Compound, but Leeds could. So she would get him to do her dirty work. This even had the added benefit of ensuring that she could position herself with an ironclad alibi so everyone would be forced into assuming she was not responsible.
Gingerly, she slid to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the edge. Pain stabbed at her sharply, but after the first spasm, it dulled to a steady ache. With a deep breath, she shoved herself upright, attempting to stand. The wave of pain that struck her wrenched a strangled cry from her and she collapsed back onto the bed. Fear gripped her as she wondered if she had done additional damage with her late night excursion. The doctor had warned her to stay in bed for several days and give her legs a chance to start healing. Finally, taking a deep breath, she tried a second time. Once more, the pain struck her, but this time she managed to keep her feet. Slowly, it receded and she began moving around the room with a slow, shuffling gate as she tried to regain some flexibility. After several minutes, she turned reluctantly back to the nightstand beside her bed. The pain medication was going to be necessary if she was to make her rendezvous with Leeds. Just as she finished swallowing the pill, there was a knock on the door. Sinking into a sitting position on the bed, she called, "Come in."
The door opened and Lillian Conners looked in. Her expression immediately became concerned when she saw Francesca sitting on the side of the bed. "You shouldn't be up, dear," she said, crossing to her quickly. "Dr. Mason says you should stay quiet for several days."
"Yes, ma'am, I know," Francesca replied. "But I just can't lie here. All I do is think about . . . about B-bobby and . . ." The catch in her throat was surprisingly real as she faltered and fell silent.
You're going soft, a portion of her mind jeered at her.
'I'm not,' she argued silently. 'She needs to believe I feel remorse over his injuries.'
Well, don't you? the other part of her mind replied instantly. Just because he showed some interest in you doesn't mean he's always going to be there. He wants something . . . they all do. Sooner or later, he'll expect repayment.
'Bobby's not like that!'
Of course he is! Everyone is . . . everyone wants something from you. The only one who really cares about you and what you want, is you. You're a fool to think any differently.
'Maybe that's not true . . . ' she thought hesitantly.
Yeah, right, the voice said sarcastically. Like a complete stranger is ever gonna care what happens to you. Even your own father didn't care.
'He cared!'
Not beyond what you could get for him.
"Francesca?" Lillian Conners' voice finally penetrated to her conscious mind and when she focused, she realized she was crying. The older woman sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure he'll be just fine, dear. Bobby's a good boy and I can't believe that the Lord will see fit to take him from you now."
"Why does everything in my life turn out so awful, Mrs. Conners? I try so hard . . . "
"I know. I know you do. But everything happens for reasons in this life, Francesca. I really do believe that. Someday, you'll look back on all of this and realize why things happened the way they did, and you'll be grateful for them. All you can do right now is just get through them the best that you can and believe that things will get better."
Francesca sniffed and used her hand to wipe away the tears. "I guess," she replied.
"I'll tell you what. Why don't you call the hospital and find out how Bobby is. If you're that concerned, you need to know."
"They won't talk to me," she said dispiritedly. "They wouldn't even let me stay with him last night. Mrs. Evans was screaming at me, and Mr. Evans told me that I could never see Bobby again. They think I hurt him deliberately."
"No, they don't, child," Lillian said consolingly. "They were just upset and scared last night. They will be better this morning. They are both fair, open-minded people. Call. Once they know how concerned you are, they won't be so quick to judge." Lillian Conners hugged her again as she rose. "Then you have to go back to bed. Rest is what you need now."
She continued to sit for a long moment, staring at the phone. Finally, taking a deep breath, she consulted a piece of paper lying by the bed and then began dialing. Mrs. Conners looked on. As the phone began to ring in her ear, she wondered what she was going to say to whomever answered the phone.
"Rumford Community Hospital. How may I direct your call?"
"Room 142 please," she replied steadily.
"One moment please." After a brief pause, the phone began to ring again. Then, with a sharp click, the ringing stopped and a voice said,
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Bannon? This is Francesca Hamilton. Please don't hang up . . ."
Race had left the Quest Compound at dawn to return to Rumford. Despite the arguments of the others, he had taken only Matt Evans with him. He told Benton that things were moving toward a major confrontation . . . he could feel it . . . and he did not want anyone out where they would be a ready target. Jessie knew that much of what was driving him was fear for her mother, and in the end, they all agreed to stay behind. The trip to Rumford and back went without incident and he and Estella were back safely before noon. Admiral Bennett was still there, seemingly prepared to settle in and make himself part of the family.
Everyone gathered together around the big dining room table as Jonny set a large pot of lobster stew in the center of the table. Hadji added hot bread and an assortment of fresh vegetables and then joined the others.
"So you were on for meal detail today, huh Jonny?" Race asked as he ladled soup into bowls and passed them around.
Jonny nodded, his mouth already full. He swallowed hastily and said, "Yeah, Hadji and I were up for lunch. I think you're it for dinner, though."
"This is wonderful!" Bennett exclaimed, spooning up another mouthful of stew.
"It's Mrs. Evans' recipe," Jonny replied. The reminder caused everyone at the table to fall silent.
Finally, Benton sighed and asked the question they were all dreading to hear. "So, how is he?"
"Still holding his own," Estella replied quietly. She looked exhausted and everyone wondered how much sleep she had managed to get. "It was a rough night. He went into a seizure at about 2:00 this morning. It wasn't pleasant. Donna went to pieces and ended up having to be sedated. And Jim just paced all night long. He couldn't sit still. The doctor came in about 5:00 and they checked him over again, but not much had changed. He still says that all they can do is wait."
"Does the seizure mean he's getting worse?" Jessie asked.
"Not necessarily," Estella replied. "I asked the doctor and he said that it could easily be a reaction to the swelling of the brain tissue. He's still hopeful . . . says that he's actually surprised by how little seizure activity there's been and he insists that it's a good sign."
In the distance, the phone began to ring. Kefira, who was closest to the door, rose saying, "I will get it."
"They have no idea how long it might be before the family knows anything solid?" Benton questioned.
"No." It was Race that replied this time. "I talked with the doctor again this morning and they simply won't commit to any sort of timeline. I also asked him about the possibility of moving the boy here. Jim and Donna simply can't live in that hospital. They need to be able to come home where they can get some rest. If he doesn't need specialized care, like a neurologist or something, moving him to Penobscot Bay Medical Center seems to be a better idea than leaving him in a hospital three hours away. The doctor seemed receptive to that idea, but wanted to wait and see how he was doing by the end of the day . . . "
"Jessie . . . " They all looked up to see Kefira standing in the doorway. She pointed toward the hallway and Jessie rose and followed her out.
"I wonder who's on the phone," Jonny murmured softly, but Hadji just shrugged.
"I'm assuming you'll handle the transport?" Benton asked.
"Yeah. I put in a call to Barbara while we were still at Rumford and did a conference call with her and the doctor there. We've got things worked out so that if we can move him, we'll have the necessary medical personnel to take care of it. Barbara is going to take care of seeing to it that the Medical Center here has the bed and necessary equipment to monitor his condition. Other than that, there doesn't appear to be much we can do."
There was a long pause. Finally, Estella said, "Francesca called the hospital this morning."
Jonny's head snapped up sharply. "What did she want?"
"To know how he was," Estella replied quietly. She shook her head. "I know that we've all said we don't trust her, and we shouldn't . . . but when I talked to her this morning . . . I would swear she was genuinely upset and worried about him. I also have to admit that I found myself wondering if maybe we have misjudged her this time."
"Yes, I know what you mean," Race agreed. "I was getting the same feeling last night."
"No," Jonny said flatly.
Estella leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm. "Jonny, all of us have our weak points . . . areas that we can be blindsided from. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . Bobby Evans found Francesca's. Or maybe he came into her life at a time when her defenses were down and he really did get behind the walls she erects around herself. It happens." Jonny shook his head stubbornly. "You know it can happen, Jonny," Estella insisted. "You did it yourself with Brandon Simmons."
"Yeah, but Brandon was a good kid to start with."
"And once upon a time, Francesca was too. Children aren't born evil, Jonny. They're shaped. And the man that shaped Francesca is gone now and she's alone. I can see where that might leave her vulnerable to someone like Bobby, who would trust her and honestly care what happens to her." Estella sighed at his fixed expression. "I'm not saying that's what's happened. And I'm certainly not saying that we should welcome her with open arms. I'm just saying that maybe we shouldn't be quite so quick to judge her. She deserves the chance to prove herself. As far as I'm concerned, loyalty to Bobby right now would go a long way toward doing that."
Everyone was silent for a long time, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Eventually, quiet, desultory conversation picked up again, but the entire atmosphere was subdued. Suddenly, Jonny glanced at his watch and frowned. "I wonder where Jess and Kefira got to. They've been gone a long time."
"I don't know," Benton replied. "Are they still on the phone?"
"Maybe I had better go see . . ." Jonny began, but at that instant both girls came back into the room. Neither said a word as they sat back down at the table.
Jessie stared down at her bowl blindly, the signs of strain obvious. She reached out for her spoon, but her hand shook so badly she couldn't pick it up. She doubled her hand over into a fist in an attempt to steady it. Abruptly, she stood and with a choked, "Excuse me," she fled the room.
"What???" Race said as Jonny shot to his feet. "Jonny, wait . . . Kefira, what's going on? Who was on the phone?"
Kefira rested her elbow on the table and lowered her head into her hand for a moment. Hadji put his arm around her and drew her close as she looked up again and replied, "Marla Dawson. She just found out about Bobby."
"Oh, man . . . " Jonny said and left the dining room at a trot.
"She was . . . extremely upset," Kefira said. "She was crying and talking compulsively about how they had fought the last time they had seen each other and how if he died, they could never work things out, and . . . "
"And completely without meaning to, Marla struck Jessie right where it hurt the worst," Estella said with a sigh.
"I don't understand . . . " Bennett said.
"You said you had heard about the episode with Jonny a couple of months ago," Race replied, watching Benton out of the corner of his eye. He saw the older man flinch slightly.
"Yes."
"Jessie and Jonny had been fighting as well," Race continued. "And before they were able to resolve anything, Jonny took the fall from the cliff out back and we all thought he was dead. Jess had a really bad time until he was found alive. Those memories are a little bit too fresh for her to cope easily with Marla's grief over Bobby. Maybe I should go . . ."
Estella stopped him with a shake of her head. "No. The person she needs with her the most right now is Jonny. Just leave them alone for now."
It was about an hour later, when the couple reappeared once again. Jessie was smiling and joked pleasantly, but no one missed the fact that she clung to Jonny tightly as the couple joined the others in the family room. Everyone was there. Benton occupied his big reading chair near the picture windows, Hadji and Kefira sat nestled together on one end of the sofa while Admiral Bennett sat at the opposite end, Race knelt in front of the fire place, and Estella sat working at the computer. Jonny crossed the room and took the chair near his father, drawing Jessie down into the chair with him. Benton gazed at her in concern, but she smiled back at him reassuringly as she shifted to get more comfortable.
"I'm fine," she replied to his unspoken question. "Marla just shook me a little, that's all."
"So what now?" Jonny asked.
Benton sighed. "Well, as much as I hated to do it, I've shut down all outside access to the system. It leaves us crippled as far as research ability is concerned, but it also guarantees that no one can dial in and gain access.
"I thought Hadji and Kefira said the security access routines were clean," Bennett objected.
"As far as we are able to tell," Hadji replied. "The problem is that if there is some type of latent program in the system that would allow them to gain access, it does not necessarily need to be resident in the security programming. If it could be triggered in some way, then it could be anywhere in the system and we would have an extremely difficult time finding it. It is the main reason Father decided to shut down outside access."
Benton nodded. "It is highly unlikely that any program of that type would be set up on a time trigger. Surd would not have been able to control when it executed and that wouldn't have gained him anything. It would need to be something that he could trigger on demand."
"Are you sure you aren't just being paranoid, Dr. Quest?" Bennett asked skeptically. "Maybe there isn't anything there at all."
"Maybe there isn't," Benton replied grimly, "but it's a chance we don't dare take. Surd has used this kind of program before. He damned near killed Jessie and Jonny once by imbedding a latent trigger program in the gaming modules. It turned one of the game simulations into real-life combat with simulations of themselves. The two of them barely got out alive. I just can't believe that once he figured out how to use that technique, that he only used it once."
"Yeah," Race agreed. "Surd was always really predictable about stuff like that. If he found something that worked, he would use it over and over, in endless different ways, until you found a way to stop it for good."
Estella turned around from the computer screen and looked thoughtfully as the others. "You know, it occurs to me that suddenly, we've begun to worry a lot more about Jeremiah Surd than we have about the man behind all of this. What about this Baxter person? What do we know about him?"
Bennett shrugged helplessly. "On the surface, the man seems to be exactly what he claims to be . . . an international financier and recluse of the first order. Everything we have that appears to link him to anything shady is tenuous and open to interpretation. It's actually Leeds who's convinced that Baxter is behind it all."
"Does he have anything of substance?" Race queried.
Bennett shrugged. "He can make a good case if you ask him to, but it's all circumstantial and much of it is based on assumptions and leaps of faith. Yes, his logic holds together if you accept his basic assumptions, but there is absolutely no proof that those are correct."
"Like what?" Jonny asked. Once again, he felt that uneasy stirring of a memory trying to rise to the surface.
"Well, take the Halfaya Pass incident," Bennett said, shooting an apologetic look toward Race. Race's expression turned a bit grim, but he nodded silently. Seeing this, Estella rose from the computer and crossed to join him where he stood leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. A smile flickered as he put an arm around her and drew her close. He straightened and led her to a nearby loveseat where the two of them sat down. Once they were comfortable, they looked at him expectantly. Watching them, Bennett realized that Estella was not totally in the dark about this incident and he wondered just exactly how much Race had told his wife. "Leeds is convinced that operation was one of Baxter's. A vessel belonging to one of Baxter's corporations was docked in Bardiyah just over the Libyan border at the time of the incident, and from what we were able to determine, the attackers at Halfaya Pass escaped over the Libyan border and utterly vanished. Conveniently, the vessel departed within three hours of the attack. It's that sort of thing . . . lots of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that you can point to as incontrovertible proof."
Race frowned. "What about connecting people back to him?"
Bennett shook his head. "Nothing we've ever been able to find. Personal connections are equally tenuous. We've got people we can tie back to businesses that are part of his conglomerate, but all of them are low level. What's more, it's only some of the people involved . . . not everyone. There are a lot of people, including high-level dealers that we can't link to him in any way at all. And those we can tie to him in some way, don't lead back directly back to Baxter himself."
"Is it always weapons?" Estella asked. "I know you've said that he wants weapons, but surely that's not all he does. What you're talking about takes money, and a lot of it. Where does it come from?"
"Richard Baxter is a very wealthy man," Benton replied.
Estella shook her head. "That doesn't wash, Benton. I don't care how wealthy he is, he can't use that money to fund gun deals for cutting edge weapons technology. He has to know he's being watched. It's not like he can write a check on his personal bank account to purchase a shipload of weapons to sell on the black market. The money he uses isn't coming from legitimate sources. If it was, he would have been identified solidly long before now. So where does it come from? Is he laundering money for a profit? Trafficking drugs? Selling blackmarket antiquities? What?"
Jonny gasped as though someone had struck him. He sat bolt upright in his chair as all of the color drained from his face and he turned an ashen gray. Estella's comment had opened a door in his mind and the memory that had been trying to surface for two days finally erupted into consciousness. As clearly as if he still crouched on that dirty rooftop in Cairo, he heard the cold voice of David Hamilton say,
"And if things don't cool off? What then? If you think Baxter is unhappy now, just imagine what he'll be like if we lose the merchandise to a raid."
Locked into his own memories, Jonny looked around him and saw nothing but the darkness of that Cairo night. In the distance, hanging like a mockery of better times, was an almost full moon. He could smell the pungent odors of that Egyptian souk and felt the ripping pain of knowing that his own actions had killed the girl he loved. He felt the black obsession fill him again. Vengeance . . . nothing else mattered. Francesca had killed Jessie as surely as she if she had used her own two hands. And Jonny would make her pay dearly for that. He looked down carefully through that trap door, knowing that somehow he had to find a way inside . . .
"Jonny!?" Jessie said frantically. "Jonny, what's wrong???" She stared at him wildly, terror filling her. She had no idea what had happened. She'd never seen him like this before. He had literally stopped breathing. He was rigid, staring blankly into space. It was almost as though life itself had gone, leaving behind little more than a frozen statue. His face was bleak and lifeless, and he seemed to age from one instant to the next. The only color visible in his countenance was the slowly growing tinge of blue in his lips.
"SHIT!" Race exploded up out of his seat, crossing the room in a few long strides. He yanked his daughter up out of the chair by one arm and then grabbed Jonny by the shoulders and shook him violently. "Jonny!" he yelled. When this elicited no response, he jerked the young man forward and struck him sharply between the shoulder blades. "Breathe, damn you!" he swore at him. He shook him violently, again. "Jonny, listen to me! It's over! You aren't there any more!! Can you hear me???"
Race was dimly aware of Jessie screaming and clawing at his arms, as well as the raised voices and movement of the others in the room, but he knew that he didn't dare let up. "JONNY!!!" he screamed into the young man's face, staring directly into his eyes. For a split second, Race thought he saw awareness stir. Stepping back slightly, Race smacked him sharply across the face. Jonny's head snapped back and that flicker of awareness grew. "Breathe, damn you!" Race screamed at him again. "It's over! LET . . . IT . . . GO!!!!!"
And, suddenly, he was back. Color suffused his face, and he gasped, struggling to drag air into his oxygen-depleted system. Race stepped back and watched as Jonny went limp, collapsing into Jessie's arms. Jessie sobbed and repeated his name over and over, clutching the young man to her as he struggled to place himself in the present again.
"Take him upstairs, Jessica," Race said distantly from his position in the middle of the room. "In about 30 seconds, he's going to develop a splitting headache. He may even become nauseated. Lay him down and darken the room as much as you can. As soon as his stomach will tolerate it, give him three Tylenol and stay with him until he's better." Jonny suddenly doubled over and moaned, grasping his head frantically. "Go now." Race watched as Jessie struggled to get the young man to his feet and out of the room. Hadji and Kefira rose hastily, and together, the three of them got Jonny up the stairs.
For a long time, Race simply stood in the middle of the room, silent and unmoving, praying no one would say a word. He could feel his body trembling as the adrenaline that had surged into his system during the crisis, peaked. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Benton. The older man returned the gaze, looking shell-shocked.
"I-I used to do that . . . after . . . after Rachel died . . ."
The words, the look on the older man's face, and the reaction to the earlier situation all came together at once, and Race turned on him in sudden fury. "Goddammit, Benton, why can't either one of you EVER let go of the past?!? You've spent years wallowing in guilt and self-pity over Rachel's death . . . never allowing yourself to get over it . . . and now . . . NOW . . . you've taught that boy to be exactly the same way! He's no more gotten past that business in Cairo than you have over Rachel's death, and you can see what it's capable of doing to him." With that, the fury and the last of the adrenaline in his system dissipated, leaving Race shaking and spent. "You can't bring her back, so what's the point?" he asked in an exhausted whisper. "How much longer can you let this go on?" He felt a hand on his arm and looked down to see Estella at his side. She put an arm around his waist and urged him toward the loveseat again. Numbly, he followed her and sank down to rest his head in his hands.
Jonny's not the only one who could use some Tylenol, Race thought. Dimly, he was aware of Estella's arms circling him, and he wrapped his arms about her waist and buried his face against her body, grateful for her presence. He concentrated on the feel of her warmth and the scent of her perfume as he tried to force himself to relax. Eventually, he stirred and looked up at Benton. The older man still sat in exactly the same position, and the gaze that returned Race's was bleak, but aware.
"I'm sorry, Benton," Race said. "That was out of line. It's not my business to try to tell you how to deal with these things."
Slowly, Benton shook his head and replied, "No, old friend, you're right. I-I've got to learn to . . . " he swallowed convulsively, " . . . to let go . . . somehow. I just don't know how."
"Then find someone to help you," Race replied. "Find the strength to deal with this, so you can prove to your son it can be done, or he'll live with it for the rest of his life." Race looked at Benton for a moment longer and then asked, "Are you okay?"
Benton nodded wordlessly, clearly understanding the oblique question. Race sighed again and rose stiffly. "Then I'm gonna go get something for this headache. I'll be back in a few minutes. You sure you'll be okay?"
Benton nodded again. "Go on," he said. "I'll be fine. I'll just stay here with Admiral Bennett." As Race left the room, Benton looked at the red-headed woman who stood watching indecisively and said, "Estella, go with him, would you? Make sure he's all right, as well? He'll never admit it, but this is as hard on him as it is on any of the rest of us." She nodded and ran after her husband.
Benton sighed deeply, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Bennett watched him for a moment before he said, "Rachel Quest was a remarkable woman, Doctor. I always regretted not having the opportunity to know her better."
"Yes, she was," Benton replied without moving. "She opened up a life for me that I wasn't even capable of dreaming about. When she died, it was as though my very reason for existence died with her. I . . . I didn't want to go on . . . didn't think I could. But then, sometimes, that's not our choice, is it?" The last statement had a decidedly bitter tone.
"No, it's not," Bennett replied quietly. There was silence between the two of them for a long time. Finally, he said, "And maybe that's the point. I remember something my father told me once, a long time ago. We were talking about children . . . my first was almost due to be born, and we were discussing how life would change for my wife and I." Benton raised his head and looked at the man in the chair across from him. "I remember he told me that all the rules change once you have a child . . . that what you had to accept was that what you want for yourself could no longer come before the needs of the child. He said that the child never asked to be born . . . that was your choice, and that once you made that choice, you were committed to everything that came after, no matter how good or how bad that might be. But he also told me something else. He said that, in the long run, the joy that you gain from that child far outweighs anything you have to sacrifice. Haven't you found that to be true . . . with both of your sons?"
"Yes," Benton agreed.
"Rachel Quest was a remarkable woman," Bennett repeated, "and she left you with the greatest and most long-lasting gift it is possible to give. She left you a part of herself . . . a living, breathing, flesh-and-blood part. You don't need ghosts, Dr. Quest. You've got something much better. In many ways, Jonny is Rachel. I see it more and more every time I see him. He not only looks like her, but he thinks like her and he acts like her, and . . . " Bennett hesitated, and with a shrug, he finished, " . . . and I would say that he loves like her, as well. How long has the relationship between he and Jessie Bannon been going on?"
Benton smiled, the pain and bitterness seeming to recede as he talked about his son. "That depends on how you define 'going on', Admiral. Openly . . . consciously? A little over two years. But Hadji claims, and I believe him, that their bond was forged the day they met."
Bennett grinned suddenly. "It must have been. Jonny is living under the same roof as Race Bannon and dating his only daughter, and he's still alive. That says a great deal."
"What it says," Benton replied dryly, "is that my son has a well developed streak of self-preservation. I'm not naïve enough to assume that they aren't doing all the stuff normal teenagers do when we aren't looking. It's just that both of them are extremely cautious about what they do when there's a chance they might get caught."
Bennett laughed openly. "A wise precaution. And Mr. Singh's young lady seems a suitable match, as well."
"Yes, she does," Benton agreed. "I like Kefira a great deal, and Hadji is very fond of her."
"That's understating it, I think," Bennett replied. "But how about you? How do you feel about both of your sons being this deeply involved so young?"
Benton shrugged. "I'm coming to terms with it, I think. It hasn't been easy, I'll admit, but it's inevitable. I just kind of lost track of time and it came on me rather unexpectedly." Benton grinned faintly at the unspoken question he saw in Bennett's eyes. "How old are your kids, Admiral?"
"I have a son that's 29 and a daughter that's 26."
"And how old were they when you learned the lesson that every parent learns sooner or later? The one that goes, 'If you aren't ready for the answer, then don't ask the question.' "
Bennett chuckled ruefully. "Do we ever really learn that lesson? At least, well enough to apply it consistently? The first time I realized it was when my boy was about 16."
Benton nodded. "Jonny was 17. I made the mistake of asking him how he honestly felt about Jessie, and he told me . . . flat out, straight to the point, and without an instant's hesitation. And I discovered that I wasn't ready to hear it. I tried to rationalize it. I told myself that it was only because he and Jessie were separated and fighting, but I knew." Benton sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "You said Jonny is a lot like Rachel . . . and you're right . . . he is. But in many ways, he's a lot like me, too. There's no way of knowing what the future will bring, but I know now that he will spend his life with Jessie . . . or he will be alone." Benton sighed. "It's the way we're built."
Bennett stared at his companion for a long time, thinking of the things that Race had told him several nights before. Finally, he shook his head slowly. "That's a pity, Dr. Quest, because I think that if Rachel could talk to you today, she would be very upset. The Rachel Quest I had the honor of knowing was a woman who loved life, and embraced it joyfully. She loved her husband and her son fiercely, and wanted only the very best for them. I think she would be extremely disappointed to find that you stopped growing as a person when she died. She would want you to be happy again, Doctor."
"I am happy," Benton replied, with a trace of pained defiance in his voice.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"No. I know," Benton finally replied.
"I'm not saying you should go out shopping for a relationship," Bennett said, "but I also don't think you should close yourself off to the idea, either. Just take it one day at a time and see what happens. You never know. Life might surprise you."
"But what if, in the process of doing that, I lose all the things that I got from Rachel in the first place? It's her memory that ties me to all of the good things I've ever had. If I were to lose those, too . . ."
"You won't."
Bennett replied with such conviction it caused Benton to stare at him in surprise. Then, with slowly dawning understanding, he asked, "How long has she been gone?"
Bennett smiled sadly, "Almost three years and a half years now."
"Did she die or were you divorced?"
"She died . . . ovarian cancer. It was diagnosed too late to be treatable. We were married for 32 years."
Benton shook his head. "I would give a great deal to have had the chance to be married to Rachel that long."
"You know, it really doesn't matter how long you were married . . . what's important is what existed between you during that time. Caroline put up with the life of a military wife without a word of complaint. I know there were times when it was hard for her. We were always moving. She rarely had the opportunity to make friends outside of military personnel and even those she was constantly being separated from. She was always being stuck with trying to keep the kids grounded through all the turmoil and the stigma of being 'military brats'. But, you know, if she ever regretted the life I asked her to lead, she never let me know it. Through it all, she was the one that was the rock. I never realized how important that was to us until she wasn't there any longer. I won't lie and say her death wasn't hard . . . it was . . . and it took me some time to accept it. But eventually I came to realize that it was what we shared that was the most important of all. To dwell on the fact that I lost her too soon was to belittle her and everything we had together. I also came to realize that I would never, ever lose her, because she had left behind a part of herself that no one would ever be able to take away from me."
Benton nodded in acknowledgement. "Your children . . ."
"Exactly. Look to the present, Dr. Quest. Look to your sons and your future daughters-in-law and let go of your ghosts. Rachel would approve."
Benton leaned his head back and closed his eyes, allowing silence to fall between the two of them. Once again, his mind reached out toward those gray mists that swirled just outside of reality and almost immediately he felt Rachel near.
Listen to him, Benton. He is right.
'I don't want to leave you,' he said silently to her. The mists churned and suddenly, for the first time since she died, he could see her. Even through the curling mists, he could see the sheen of her hair.
What we shared will always be there, my love. It can never be taken from us.
'I can't go on without you,' he insisted. 'You are what gives me the strength to live.'
She smiled at him gently. That is wrong, Benton. You cannot rely on the dead to give you a reason to live. Look at what it is doing . . . look at what allowing yourself to dwell in the past has done to our son.
Benton shuddered and looked away from the vision in his head, knowing the truth of those words. Suddenly, it was almost as though he could feel her physical presence. When he looked again, she stood within inches of him. No mists shrouded her now and she seemed to stand in an island of warm, golden light. Her crystal blue eyes were clear and her hair was a golden halo that dazzled him. In desperation, he said, 'You don't have to go. I can bring you back . . . change what happened. I have that power . . . '
We have discussed this before, Benton, she said gently. Would you deny our son the girl he loves so much? Would you give up having Hadji as your son and miss seeing him grow into the fine young man he has become? Or allow Race Bannon to die a terrible death, in darkness and misery? Would you allow all of those things to happen to people you care about simply to give me back a life I was not destined to live?
Finally, in a pained whisper, he replied, 'No.'
Of course you wouldn't, she said softly. You are a good man, Benton . . . it is why I have loved you so much and why that love has transcended even death. It was your pain that drew me back right after I died. It was like a raging fire burning in the darkness with an intensity that called to me across the void. And being with you, even if it meant little more than hovering on the edge of existence, was enough. We were together. When your pain began to decrease and you learned to live again, I should have left, but by then I couldn't bring myself to go. And so I stayed . . . watching our son grow and coming to know the rest of the family you surrounded yourself with. Benton saw her smile sadly. I would have given much to have been there and to have been a part of it. Would it surprise you to find that I think of Hadji as my own, as well? Jonny may be the son of your body, but Hadji is the son of your mind. The two of you are so alike. How could I not think of him as my own, as well. And Race? No one could have a better friend. You are blessed by having these people, Benton. You have no need of me any longer.
'That's not true!' he replied fiercely. 'I do need you!'
The image of Rachel shook her head. No, my love, you do not. I am little more now than a shadow . . . a reminder of what you have lost. When you remember me, you do not recall the good times . . . only the memory of that day in Palm Key. And I know that as long as I linger here, that memory will never die. When you come to me now, it is only in dark times. We no longer share happiness . . . only pain. Race is right . . . you must let go . . . must let me go. Look to the future, Benton. It is time.
'No,' he whispered.
Yes, she replied with finality. You must show our son the road out of darkness. I don't leave you alone, Benton. I leave you with the miracle the two of us wrought together. Jonny will always bind us, no matter what happens in the days to come. Whenever you have doubts or are lonely, think of him. It will be better for both of us. I am tired, my love. I have dwelt here in the shadows for long enough. Let me rest.
He could feel the tears welling up inside of him as that deep-seated core of grief rose, and he closed his eyes against the sight of her. 'I love you so much.'
I know. I love you as well . . . Suddenly, he could have sworn he felt her lips brush his, and he opened his mind's eye to look at her again. . . . and I will through all eternity. Never forget that. She seemed to step back from him and suddenly that golden light was gone and the mist reached out to encircle her again. The grief washed over him as he watched her fade away for the last time. Goodbye, my love. And then she was gone.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the family room once again. Race and Hadji knelt to either side of him while Admiral Bennett, Estella and Kefira hovered behind them looking anxious.
"Benton? Benton, say something!" Race was saying urgently.
"Father!" Hadji called, one hand on his shoulder.
As he leaned his head back again, he felt the tears on his face and he knew that it was finished. He didn't try to stop them . . . rather, he let them wash away the last of the pain and grief inside him. She's gone now, he thought, and realized that he truly accepted it for the first time. It really was over.
Finally, as his tears began to taper off, he said softly, "Goodbye, Rachel. Thank you for the time we shared . . . and thank you for our sons . . . " he opened his eyes and gazed into Hadji's eyes, then laid his hand over his son's. " . . . both of them." He raised his head and looked at the people with him. "I'm all right. For the first time in a very long time, I'm really all right." Taking both Race and Hadji's hands, he squeezed them briefly and then rose stiffly from the chair. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his face and blew his nose, and then said quietly, "I'm going to check on Jonny." He walked away without another word, leaving the rest of his family to wonder what threshold he had finally crossed.
Jonny woke in a cold sweat, the memories of Cairo still echoing in his mind. He rolled onto his back and breathed deeply, trying to force those experiences out of his conscious mind once again. Slowly, they receded and he looked around him. He was in his own room. His surroundings were dim and the quiet was profound. How did I get here? Jonny wondered in confusion. Suddenly, the episode in the family room returned to him and he winced. That hadn't been fun. What had gotten into him, anyway? But as he reviewed it in his mind again, other times . . . times of seeing his father react the same way to old memories . . . rose in his mind. He guessed he was more like his dad than he realized.
A small sound caused him to turn his head sharply and he saw Jessie curled up next to him on the bed. Her eyes were closed and she breathed evenly, but something told him that she wasn't sleeping that deeply. The swift way her eyes opened and the clear awareness in them when he touched her face in a feather-light caress proved him correct. He smiled at her and said softly, "Hey."
"Hey, yourself," she replied, catching his hand and kissing it gently.
"I could get used to this, you know."
"Used to what?"
"Waking up to find you here in bed with me."
She smiled at him wistfully. "Yeah, I know. So could I. How do you feel?"
"Okay. A little disjointed maybe, but other than that . . ."
"Is your headache gone?"
"Yeah, thank God. Man, that was awful." He looked at her seriously. "I'm sorry I scared you. I don't know where that came from."
"It's okay, as long as you're alright."
Jonny reached out for her and she slid over to curl up against his side with her head nestled against his shoulder. They both shifted slightly, finding a comfortable position, and then lay entwined in companionable silence. Jonny was right on the edge of drifting off to sleep again when some sixth sense told him that there was someone else in the room. He opened his eyes to find his father standing beside the bed looking down at the two of them.
"You look quite comfortable," Benton observed dryly.
Jonny hesitated fractionally, trying to gauge his father's mood, and then grinned up at him impudently. "I am, actually."
"Hi, Dr. Quest," Jessie added.
"Your father said to keep an eye on him, Jessie, but I'm not sure this is exactly what he had in mind."
"I do things in my own way," Jessie replied with a glint in her eye.
A smile played on Benton's face briefly. "I should disapprove."
"But you don't?" Jonny asked hopefully.
"I didn't say that."
Jonny sighed. "It's our choice, you know."
"You're too . . . " Benton began, but Jonny interrupted him sharply.
"Don't say it! We are not kids any longer. We're old enough to make our own decisions."
Benton sighed. "Now is not the time to argue about this." He sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "How do you feel?"
"I'm okay, Dad . . . really."
"Then you both should come back downstairs so we can continue our earlier conversation."
"We'll be right down," Jonny replied.
After hesitating briefly, Benton nodded and rose from the bed. "We'll be waiting."
The young couple watched him leave the room, before sitting up on the bed. As Jonny swung his legs over the edge, he asked, "How hard do you suppose that was for him?"
"Hard enough that I don't think we should keep him waiting," was Jessie's immediate reply. "How's your head?"
"Fine. Come on . . . let's go."
They entered the family room on Benton's heels and found everyone else already waiting. Bennett still occupied one end of the sofa, but Race and Estella now sat on the other end. Hadji and Kefira had shifted to one of the large reading chairs. Jonny chose the matching reading chair next to Hadji and Jessie perched on the arm of it right next to him.
"I'm sorry about that," Jonny apologized to everyone. "I really don't know where that came from."
"I do," Benton said grimly as he paced restlessly, "and we'll talk about it more later. The important thing now is for you to tell us what it was that struck you."
"It had to do with Cairo." Race said flatly.
Jonny looked at him. "How did you know that?"
"Because Cairo is the only thing you have ever fixated on like this . . . and it's the only thing you've ever refused to talk about," Race replied. "What happened there is eating you alive and now it's manifesting itself in episodes like the one you just had."
"What happened in Cairo?" Bennett asked. "You all keep referring to it, but I have no idea what that means."
"Baxter almost killed Jessie," Jonny said in a low tone, as though reluctant to access those memories again.
"You said that was Keller," Race reminded him. "You told us that much right after it happened."
Jonny nodded with difficulty. "I know. He was the one that . . . that hurt her . . . "
"Shhh," Jessie said softly, touching his face gently. She caught his head and pulled him toward her to hold him close. He leaned against her and she stroked his hair gently. "It's okay. It's over . . . It wasn't your fault."
Benton came over and crouched down beside Jonny. Laying his hand on his son's leg, he said gently, "I know this isn't easy, son, but it's very important that we know what it is that makes you think the episode in Cairo was one of Baxter's operations."
Everyone in the room could see the young man shudder. Jessie pulled him more tightly against her and then leaned down and laid her cheek against the top of his head. "It's alright, Jonny . . . you don't have to do this right now if you don't feel up to it."
For the first time, the ghost of a smile shone on his face. He pulled away from her and leaned his head against the back of the chair. Catching her hand in his, he squeezed it gently and replied, "Yes, I do, love. Dad's right, we need to know what we're dealing with and if I have any information that can help, then the rest of you need it, too." He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I'm alright. It's just that . . . sometimes . . . the memories . . . of that night . . . come back so strongly." Jessie shifted, sliding down into the chair beside him. He gathered her into his arms and the two held each other briefly before Jonny looked up at Race and his father and began, "I was on the roof of Hassan's shop. The day Jessie was . . . " he paused again, swallowing hard. " . . . attacked . . . we had been in that shop and had spotted some questionable artifacts. Some of the things we saw and the way people reacted to us made us suspicious. We had searched and found what we thought was a back way in . . . from an alley farther down the street. When Jessie . . . in the hospital . . . after she . . . " He stopped and Jessie stirred in his arms. She raised her head slightly and, ignoring the pain it must have caused her, rubbed her bruised cheek against his, breathing something softly into his ear. He stroked her hair and stumbled on. "I-I left the hospital and made my way back to that alley. While I was climbing to the roof, David Hamilton showed up."
Benton's sharply indrawn breath was clearly audible in the silence. "Surely he didn't . . ."
"No," Jonny said. "He didn't know I was there. It was dark as pitch and he was more interested in killing the two guys he had caught stealing from him."
"Jesus," Race said softly. Jonny had never talked about that night, no matter how much they had coaxed him to do so, so this was the first time they had heard any of this.
"I was hanging from a drain pipe just below the roof. He came up on the two guys and threw them off." Jonny swallowed convulsively again. "I heard them hit the ground . . . " he whispered, ". . . and I didn't care. I didn't even consider going to see if there was anything I could do for them. All I could think was that I had found one of the people I was looking for."
Bennett sat back, watching these people and remembering Race's comments of the night before. Yes, this young man still had a lot of unresolved issues over this affair. Hearing them discuss this, Bennett came to realize that he did know of this episode, but this certainly wasn't the way the official report read. Bennett knew that Race had been well-liked at the agency and that there had been many people sorry to see him go when he quit. But he found it interesting that Race's links with I-1 were still strong enough that other agents were willing to falsify reports for him. That was a situation that he needed to look into. But there was one thing he did know that might make the young man feel a bit better . . .
"I do know something about this incident, after all, and if it's any consolation, Mr. Quest, nothing you might have tried would have helped. They were both dead before they ever hit the ground. Their throats were cut before they were tossed over."
Jonny sighed deeply and hung his head. After a long time, he continued in a low voice. "I got up on the roof and followed Hamilton back to the shop. They were both there . . . Hamilton and Keller. I heard them arguing . . . about the set up . . . about packing up and getting out because Dad was there . . . and about how Hamilton had blown it when he didn't get Dad's molecular spectrographic analyzer the way Baxter had told him to. They talked about how pissed Baxter was going to be if they lost the merchandise because they had to clear out. Keller was ragging on Hamilton . . . saying it was all Francesca's fault . . . that she'd become unreliable because she'd fallen for me. Hamilton was pissed and asked him what he thought Race would do when he found out that it was Keller that had . . . had . . ." Jonny stopped, his eyes taking on that haunted look again.
"What did he say, son?" Benton pushed him gently. He hated forcing Jonny to live through this again, but Benton knew it was better if he could get it out into the open. "Tell me."
Jonny licked his lips and focused on his father's face. Suddenly, he closed his eyes tightly, as though trying to block out something that only he could see. "I can't . . . " he whispered.
Jessie tightened her hold on the young man and turned a furious glare on Benton. "Leave him alone!" she snarled. "He's been through enough!"
Benton sighed and hung his head briefly. Then he looked back up at the young couple. "Yes, Jessie, he has, and that's why it has to stop. Your father accused me of deliberately holding onto the past, and he was right. He also told me that I had taught my son to do the same thing, and it appears he was right about that, too. The only way to release the past is to face it head on, accept that it happened and then move on. And to do that, Jonny, you have to be willing to talk about it. Bottling it up inside you only lets it fester." Benton smiled bitterly. "Believe me, I know. So I need for you to tell me the rest of it, son. You've come this far. Let the rest of it go, as well. Only then will you start to heal."
Finally, Jonny took a breath and tried again. "Hamilton said . . . said that he . . . wondered how Race would take it when he . . . he found out it was . . . Keller that had . . . hurt . . . Jess." He closed his eyes as if in pain. "That Keller had 'beaten his daughter into a bloody pulp' was what he said. And . . . all I could think about was . . . kneeling on the top of that pyramid with Jess lying there . . . seeing all of the blood . . . and . . . and hearing her fighting to breathe . . . knowing that she was dying . . . and knowing that her being there was all my fault and that there was nothing I could do to stop it." Jonny's face was stark white and his eyes had gone dark. He gazed inward at the scene in his own mind, seemingly unaware of the others in the room any longer. "And it was more than wanting him dead . . . I wanted to do to him what he had done to Jess . . . to use my fists and hurt him. The feeling was so strong . . . and . . . and then . . . Francesca walked in and I saw her . . . and I decided . . . and then they moved away from the entrance to the roof and I went in after all of them."
The only sound that broke the resulting silence was the soft sigh of air as the blowers for the furnace kicked on.
"I-I had never wanted to do violence like that before," Jonny finally whispered. "Not really. But after that . . . nothing could have stopped me going into that shop."
"It was a stupid thing to do, son," Bennett said to him gently, sitting forward on the sofa. "You never go into a place like that without backup. I'm sure Race taught you that. You walk into something like that and you may never walk out again."
Jonny turned his head and looked at the man. Finally, he replied in a curiously flat voice, "But Admiral, I knew that. I went in to get rid of the people who killed Jessie. I was clear-headed enough . . . not rational, I don't think . . . but I knew the odds. I knew I had little or no chance of getting out, but that was okay, because right then I didn't want to come out." Jessie's incoherent sound of pain was clear in the subsequent silence and they all saw Benton Quest shudder in sympathy. "It all happened because of Francesca, and I can't begin to describe how much I hate her."
"Then she wins, Jonny." Benton's voice was steady, but the pain in his eyes was clear to all of them, as he raised his head to look at his son again. "Hatred never destroys the person it's directed against . . . only the one who allows it to fester inside of him. For years, I hated the young man who killed your mother. It took me a long time to accept that it wasn't his fault . . . it truly was an accident. But do you know what the hardest realization of all was?" Jonny shook his head, listening intently to his father. "That on that day, I was going to lose one of you, no matter what anyone did. It's true that if that young soldier hadn't fired at the terrorist, Rachel would still be alive . . . but you would be dead instead . . . and everything that I have today wouldn't exist. Don't hang onto the hatred, Jonny. If there's anything that I've learned since your mother died, it's that the only people who suffer for allowing hatred to fester is you and those who care about you."
"How do I do that, Dad?" Jonny asked.
Benton sighed. "By finally facing what happened and accepting that it's over. There is nothing you can do to change it. Then, look around you and be thankful for what you do have." Benton reached out and stroked Jessie's hair gently. "You didn't lose the girl you care so much about on that day and, in the end, that's all that's important."
"No," Race disagreed, speaking up for the first time. "There's something else." He rose and moved to stand directly in front of Jonny and his daughter. "I think you're carrying around a load of guilt for the way you reacted that night. You discovered that there is part of you that is capable of wanting revenge . . . and wanting it badly enough that it overpowers rationality. Even worse, to realize that not only did you want it, but that you were capable of exacting it. For a truly good person, it's never easy to realize that you have that kind of power." Race shook his head and sighed. "Jonny, the desire for revenge is one of those things that's deeply rooted in the dark side of all of our souls. It's part of the primitive side of us . . . going back to prehistoric times when retaliation and violence were what kept us alive. But I want you to remember something. You were faced with a choice that day. You held that gun to Francesca Hamilton's head and you could have pulled the trigger. We couldn't have stopped you. But you didn't . . . you walked away. You made a conscious choice between darkness and light . . . and you chose the right path. There's no reason to feel guilty."
Jonny thought about that for a long time. Then, looking up at Race, he asked, "But what if Jessie really had died? What would have happened then? Would I have made the same choice? That's what I don't know . . . and what scares me still."
Race shook his head. "'What if's serve no good purpose, son. No one ever really knows what they will do in a given situation until they actually have to face it. You faced your test . . . and in my opinion, the true nature of who you are as a person surfaced. You walked away without hurting anyone, and that's the only thing you should take away from that experience."
With a final squeeze of his shoulder, Benton rose and walked over to sit down on the love seat, while Race returned to Estella. Everyone was quiet for a long time, wrapped up in their own thoughts.
It was Kefira who finally broke the silence. She cleared her throat hesitantly and said, "Perhaps it is not my place to suggest anything . . . "
"I want to hear everyone's thoughts," Benton replied with an encouraging look, when she trailed off uncertainly.
Kefira nodded and continued, "I believe it is clear, now, that Dr. Surd did not offer the solutions to Mr. Baxter's problems, and that we are now his target. The first attack was against Dr. Quest's security . . . if Race could be eliminated, then they felt the security here would have been easier to breach."
"That's not true," Race objected. "The security is not dependent on my being here any longer."
"Yes, but they do not have any reason to know that," Hadji pointed out. "To outsiders, you still appear to be little more than a bodyguard, Race. It is an appearance you have deliberately cultivated over the years. Very few people know that you are much more than that, now."
Race grinned, looking slightly embarrassed. "Subterfuge is a lesson that's hard to forget once you've learned it."
"Then why try for Jessie and Kefira?" Bennett objected. "Why not go directly for Dr. Quest?"
"Opportunism," Jessie replied promptly. "Julia's smart, and she knows what went on in QuestWorld the day that I took Surd out. She and Lorenzo have also assaulted this Compound before, and they know what they're up against. I don't see her trying a direct, frontal attack unless there's simply no other choice. But Kefira and I were outside the Compound and apparently defenseless. I'd be willing to bet that whoever they had planted here reported that the two of us were in Camden, seemingly alone, and they took advantage of it to try to lay their hands on me. They probably figured that I could get into QuestWorld and could free Surd for them."
"All right, I'll buy that," Benton agreed. Then he looked at Kefira closely. "But there's something else, isn't there?"
"Yes." Kefira turned and looked at Hadji. "I am thinking about what you told me of the design of the security for QuestWorld and how it is so deeply pervasive within the system." Hadji nodded. "I am guessing that it is a virus . . . a deliberately introduced virus with custom-designed checks on it. And when the checks are disrupted, the virus is released, the system becomes infected, and the entire thing is destroyed."
Hadji smiled at her. "Yes, essentially that is how it works. As long as the system remains stable and no one tries to download anything, the safeguards keep the virus contained. It is only when someone gets through all of the other security safeguards and tries to download something that it is released."
"Do you think you could modify that virus so that it could be transported?" Kefira asked.
Hadji frowned thoughtfully. "Possibly. One of the basic safeguards of QuestWorld is that the code is simply not downloadable . . . even by one of us. It requires direct unit-to-unit connection using a cable and special interface software to be able to load even the most rudimentary access modules onto another computer. But it might be possible to alter the code sufficiently to allow the virus itself to download."
"Oh, you're good," Jessie said with a grin, immediately seeing where the other girl was heading.
"What are the two of you thinking?" Benton demanded.
"We have been lucky, so far, Dr. Quest." Kefira answered, looking at him soberly. "None of us have been hurt in these attacks. But I do not think that we can expect our luck to continue. If what Admiral Bennett has said about this man is true, he has extensive resources that he can turn against us. Sooner or later, one of us will be caught or killed. And I do not believe any of us want you to be put into the position of having to choose between our lives and the welfare of the rest of the world."
"No, we don't," Jonny agreed gravely. "We've been defensive long enough. It's time to do something about this mess. What's your idea, Kefira?"
"We have two goals, I think. The first is to see that the weapon that Mr. Baxter now holds is totally destroyed. And the second is to see to it that Mr. Baxter poses no continuing threat to Dr. Quest or any other member of our family." Kefira didn't seem to notice her unconscious use of the possessive, but Hadji caught it immediately and smiled happily. Watching his response, the others smiled as well. "For the plan to work, three things need to be possible. First, the QuestWorld virus must be modified so it can be transported discretely without being detected. Second, it must be modified so that once it has run it's course and has done the necessary damage, it will burn itself out leaving no trace of the original code. And finally, we must be certain that once it is unleashed it will not spread beyond the targeted system. If these things can be accomplished, then I would suggest that we open the system back up and invite invasion."
"What!?" Bennett yelped. "You must be joking! We can't risk letting Baxter have access to QuestWorld."
Kefira turned and looked at the military man steadily. "If I understand what Hadji has told me of this system, allowing Baxter or anyone else in is not a risk in itself. They will not be able to download any of the code. The virus will completely destroy it before permitting anyone to do that. The concern is the damage they can do from within the system. But from what I have heard, the only one with the skill to have been able to program for QuestWorld was Dr. Surd. As long as we can keep him safely trapped, then we probably do not have to worry about anyone planting programs in it either . . . at least not in the kind of hit and run attack that is likely. I think our biggest concern will be whether there is a latent program within QuestWorld that Julia will be able to trigger, because someone will have to meet the invaders in QuestWorld and engage them."
"Why?" Bennett demanded angrily. "What can you possibly hope to gain?"
"Infection," Jessie said confidently. Then she looked at the other young woman. "That's it, isn't it? You're planning on tagging Hadji's modified virus onto whoever enters the system so they can carry it back to home base with them."
"Yes. Or onto something they will willingly take back with them."
"A fake Jeremiah Surd persona?" Jonny suggested, but Jessie promptly shook her head.
"Too dangerous, and too likely to be spotted. Julia knew Surd too well."
"How about a test scenario on the weapon system?" Benton asked thoughtfully. "It wouldn't even need to be faked. A series of tests that show the problems inherent in the weapon might even prove useful in diverting Baxter from the idea of using interactive VR in this way."
"That would be perfect," Kefira agreed immediately.
"It's too risky," Bennett disagreed sharply. "Not only do you open it up to invasion, but then you show Baxter the potential of QuestWorld and increase your own desirability as a target."
"Which would draw him here," Estella pointed out. "That means we wouldn't have to find him . . . he'd come to us. There's merit in that, because it gives us the opportunity to control the situation and puts the fight on ground we are familiar with."
Bennett turned to Race in desperation. "Race, talk to them! You know this doesn't make sense. There's acceptable risk and then there's just plain crazy. This is just plain crazy!"
Race looked thoughtful, then finally shook his head. "I'm sorry, Admiral, but I have to agree with them. We can't huddle here behind Compound defenses indefinitely, and if we've got to meet them head on, I'd say it's better to do it at a time of our own choosing and on familiar ground rather than vice versa. I'd say the big question hinges on whether or not Hadji can modify his virus program to accomplish what we need it to do."
"Yes, and it is very important that it be utterly self-destructive," Kefira pointed out. "We do not want to risk the virus being contained intact so that someone has it available to analyze. That would greatly increase the threat to QuestWorld."
Hadji nodded decisively and rose. "I will go out to the lab and get started, then." Turning, he looked at his brother. "I could use your help, Jonny. Much of the development work on the original virus was done by the two of us together, and I believe this would go faster with your help."
"You got it. Let's go."
"I'll start putting the weapon system analysis together," Benton added. "That's already started and it shouldn't take me too long to finish it. How about you two?" he asked, looking to Jessie and Kefira.
"I think it's time that I do something I haven't done in a couple of weeks," Jessie replied. "Jonny and Hadji will be working in the lab and can serve as monitors, so I'm gonna go into QuestWorld and check on Surd." She looked over at Kefira and grinned. "Wanna come along for the ride?"
Kefira grinned. "Yes, thank you. I was afraid I was going to have to invite myself." Jessie just laughed.
Bennett hesitated for an instant and then asked, "May I join you?"
The room turned silent abruptly, and everyone looked to Benton. For a long time, Benton didn't reply. Then, with a sigh, he said, "IRIS, please update Admiral Bennett's profile to allow for access to level 1 security areas. He is to be allowed into these areas only when accompanied by an authorized member of the family. At any sign of coercion or threat, his access is to be immediately terminated, and he is to be considered a hostile entity to be eliminated."
"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING," IRIS replied. After a few seconds, she said, "UPDATE COMPLETE."
"I have my doubts about doing this, Admiral," Benton warned him. "So tread carefully and do NOT try and take advantage of the situation. Also, I want you to understand that this is not permanent. I will change this access after you've had a chance to see the system firsthand." Then he looked at Jessie and Kefira. "I'll let you be the judge of whether to take him inside or make him sit outside with Jonny and Hadji to watch. Just keep an eye on him, all of you, and don't let him get into trouble." They all nodded and the five of them left for the lab, leaving Race, Estella and Benton standing in the family room.
"Was that a wise idea, Benton?" Race asked, looking troubled. "Bennett's a good man, but he's still a high ranking government official and when his loyalties are tested, I'm not sure I'd want to rely on which side he'd take."
"Perhaps not, but you have to remember just how overwhelmingly impressive QuestWorld is on first sight. Bennett is a smart man. I'm gambling that he's smart enough to look around him and see how dangerous this would be in the hands of the government, and that that will be enough to keep him quiet about everything he's seen here."
"I hope you're right."
"So do I, Race, believe me. What are you two going to do now that all the rest of us have jobs?"
Race grimaced. "As Jonny reminded me earlier, I'm up for dinner detail. Considering it's now well after five, I suppose I should start thinking about it." He looked over at Estella and asked hopefully, "You want to help?"
She grinned back at him. "I wouldn't miss seeing you fumble around in the kitchen for anything." Then her grin faded and she added, "But first, I need to call Jim and Donna and make sure they're doing okay and get an update on Bobby's condition."
Race nodded. "Why don't you use the phone in the kitchen so I can listen in?"
"Well, then, it looks like we all have our assignments," Benton said decisively. "Let's get started."
Darkness was gathering rapidly as Francesca Hamilton made her way cautiously down the sidewalk that ran along one side of the Camden Deli. Nearby, the cheerful chattering of the waterfall that lead down into Camden harbor did little more than make her wish she was back at the Conners residence in bed. She was not entirely sure how she had managed to get up and out of the house, but somehow she had accomplished it. She was still grateful that prior obligations had ensured that the house was empty when she needed to leave. And if all went well, it would still be empty when she got back. The pain in her body was a constant, gnawing ache that left her drained and depressed, and she missed her father desperately. My life seriously sucks, she decided grimly.
Gazing down toward the harbor, she spotted Leeds sitting on a bench watching the ships bobbing at anchor in the marina. She noted that even with the weather being as bad at it had been recently, the harbor had not frozen. A plus for some of the fishermen, she thought randomly, and that cynical little voice inside questioned why she even bothered to consider those people. Gazing at the back of the man's head, she wished that she could have beaten him to the rendezvous. It would have been better if he hadn't seen her in a moment of weakness, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. Moving slowly, with a decided limp, she made her way down to the waiting man. Coming up behind him, she slid onto the bench as gracefully as she could.
"It's about time!" he said irritably. "You're late."
"Tough," she replied shortly. "You're not important enough to jeopardize my cover for."
"I'm a lot more important than you realize," Leeds replied hotly.
"Oh, spare me!" Francesca answered testily. "You're a government agent in a sea of others who hopes to get himself noticed by pulling off a coup and blowing one of the international crime syndicates wide open. If I could count the number of times I've seen people like you, I'd be wealthy enough never to have to worry about working again!"
With an effort, Leeds controlled his temper and said, "Well, what do you have?"
Negligently, Francesca tossed the envelope from Baxter at him. "You need to see that this gets done."
"What is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Instructions," she replied shortly. "From Baxter. And if you want him, you'll see that they come off exactly the way he outlines there."
Leeds had opened the envelope and was rapidly scanning the contents. "You expect me to compromise the Quest's security and allow those murderous leeches inside?" Leeds asked incredulously. "You must be crazy!"
"If you want him, that's what you're going to do," Francesca replied coldly. After a minute, she continued to elaborate in a tone of one explaining a simple situation to an idiot. "You need to draw him out into the open. Nothing is going to be able to do that right now, short of offering him exactly what he wants. And what he wants is Benton Quest and whatever he has inside that Compound. So if you want him, you're going to blow Quest's security wide open and give Baxter's men the chance to attack it. This will draw Baxter out where you can get your hands on him. The rest is up to you."
"Where did you get this?" Leeds demanded.
"Baxter gave it to me."
"When???!?"
"Early this morning," Francesca replied.
"Why didn't you call me?" he demanded hotly. "We could have taken him when he gave this to you and it could have all been over!"
"Yeah, right," she replied sarcastically. "You could have gone up against them all by yourself, Mr. I'm-All-On-My-Own-And-Out-On-A-Limb-Boy. He wasn't alone, for God's sake! He had a bunch of people with him. Plus, I was out all day and didn't get the message until late. There was no way to reach you and set up anything. So I went on my own and established my credibility with him. I got the stuff, which is the important part. All you have to do is make sure those codes are inputted into the Quest's system and then wait. When Baxter makes his move, you can trace his location and drop on him. He won't expect you, since he'll be focusing all of his attention on Quest. You get him and he's off of my back. Period. End of story."
"You're an opportunistic little bitch, aren't you? You don't give a damn who gets hurt."
Francesca eyed Leeds coldly. "Look who's talking! Yeah, I look out for number one, Leeds. I figure that if I don't, someone will take advantage and use me for all they're worth. Let's face it. It's exactly what you're doing, isn't it?"
She could see something flicker briefly behind his eyes before they went flat and cold. "I got you out of that hellhole didn't I? I don't think you came out of that deal so badly."
"Of course you don't," she replied sourly. "And I'm sure you did it out of the generosity of your own heart. You didn't give any thought at all to the idea of what I might do for you in return, now did you?"
"Fair's fair."
"Well, if we're going to talk about fair, then let's talk about my father, shall we? Our deal was very clear . . . you get both of us out of Egypt and I'd give you Baxter. So where is my father, Leeds?" She flicked her hand at the packet of instructions he still held. "I've given you the vehicle to accomplish what you want. When are you going to produce my father?"
"I'm working on it," he replied, obviously irritated at her insistence. "It's going to take a couple more days. You're just going to have to be patient."
"My patience is wearing really thin. I've been hearing the same thing from you ever since you planted me in this dismal backwater and I'm getting sick of it. You have until the confrontation with Baxter. If you haven't produced him by that time, I'll see to it you regret it. That's a promise, Leeds."
"And just what do you think you're going to do?" Leeds said jeeringly.
Francesca smiled coldly. "Look around, you smug bastard. Camden and Rockport are small, rural communities. Do you know what that means? It means they have little or nothing to do other than watch their neighbors. We've met three times since you planted me here. Do you really believe that no one has noticed us? Look over your shoulder and count the number of people on the back patio of the deli behind us who have been staring at us, wondering who we are and what we're doing. You give me a reason, and I'll see to it that the Admiral that's staying with Quest knows that a government intelligence agent is running a rogue operation right under his nose. How do you suppose that will be received?"
The expression on Leeds face turned ugly and he caught Francesca's wrist in a punishing grip. "Watch yourself, Hamilton. You aren't indispensable and accidents can happen to the best of us."
Francesca rose from the bench, trying to pull her arm free from his grasp. When he refused to release her, she turned to face him, allowing the light from the pole lamp that sat right next to the bench to fall full across her face for the first time. Leeds suddenly realized that while they sat there, darkness had fallen and they were now spotlighted like actors on a brightly-lit stage. Francesca raised her head and gazed back toward the street, then lifted her free arm and waved to a group of people on the sidewalk near the entrance to the harborside park. "Merry Christmas!" she called brightly to them, and they all waved back and returned the greeting cheerfully. Leeds dropped her arm with a soft oath. She looked back down at him, the cheerful smile still firmly fixed on her face, but her words were cold and harsh. "One way or the other, you get those codes into Quest's computers by tomorrow afternoon at 3:00. I'll tell Baxter to expect the systems to be vulnerable by then." Then she turned to go. Her movements were stiff and slow, and the sharp pain in her legs caused her to stumble. If Leeds had not leaned forward abruptly and steadied her, she would have fallen.
"What happened to you?" he demanded, realizing for the first time that she was hurt.
Francesca leaned heavily against the back of the bench, gritting her teeth as she waited for the pain to subside again. Tears of pain and frustration welled up in her, but she fought them down ruthlessly. "None of your business," she replied harshly. "All you need to worry about are those codes, and getting my father here by the time this whole business is over." Then she shoved herself upright again and moved away into the darkness.
Quest Compound
"No, Admiral, you cannot go into QuestWorld! Not yet . . ."
Jessie faced Admiral Bennett squarely, refusing to be intimidated by his fierce scowl. At a nearby console, Jonny and Hadji sat, watching the confrontation with amused grins. Kefira was already settled into one of the support chairs, visual headgear in place, waiting for Jessie to join her.
"Dr. Quest said I could enter QuestWorld," Bennett insisted.
"Dr. Quest said that it was my choice if you entered QuestWorld," Jessie corrected him. "He also said I was to keep you out of trouble. While I'm almost positive that Surd is still safely locked up, I'm not going to let you into the system until I'm 100% certain of it. It's also been about a week since any of us have gone inside, and I want to be sure that nothing latent has kicked up in that time. Kefira and I will go in and check on Surd. If everything seems quiet you can join us later."
"Furthermore, Admiral, you'll be able to watch what's going on," Jonny offered. Waving at the large blank wall behind Kefira, he said, "That wall's actually a large video monitor, which can display the activity going on inside QuestWorld. It will give you an idea of what to expect before you actually enter the simulation."
Jessie pointed to a chair not far from the two young men. "You sit down over there and watch for a while. If, after we get done, you still want to try it, then you can join us. Fair enough?"
Reluctantly, Bennett nodded and moved over to the chair and sat down. Jessie donned the headset and took the chair next to Kefira, as Hadji turned back to the computer console and said, "IRIS, activate QuestWorld, please."
"ACKNOWLEDGED," IRIS replied. "SIMULATION ENVIRONMENT IS NOW ACTIVATED AND READY."
"Run security diagnostics and report any activity during the last week."
Everyone was quiet as IRIS ran the requested diagnostics. Finally, she replied, "NO ACTIVITY HAS BEEN RECORDED IN THE SYSTEM IN THE LAST SEVEN CALENDAR DAYS. SECURITY REMAINS INTACT."
"Okay, here we go," Jessie said. She looked over at Kefira. "You all set?"
Kefira grinned in anticipation. "Yes!"
Jessie nodded to Hadji who turned back to his console and began typing. "QuestWorld logon . . . subjects Jessie Bannon and Kefira Subramanian. Going hot in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1!" The headsets suddenly flared to life and a brilliant green band of light appeared across the eyes of both women. At the same time, the video monitor on the wall flickered to life and the screen filled with lines of lime green on a black background. The lines began to move and a tunnel formed. There was a sense of spiraling down that tunnel, rapidly gaining speed. Bennett was reminded of the simulations he had seen of the effects of black holes on the universe. For an instant he felt as though he was being sucked into that long tunnel, and then the world on the monitor steadied and formed into something vaguely recognizable.
Jessie and Kefira looked around them. They stood in the middle of what appeared to be a three dimensional room where all of the surfaces were lime green on black grid.
"An interesting choice for room décor," Kefira observed dryly.
Jessie grinned back at her. "This is just a vectorized 'place' . . . a gateway, if you will. This is where you arrive in the simulation if you didn't activate a specific program before entering." Jessie looked the other girl over thoughtfully. Their vectorized images appeared much the same . . . both of them were in tight, formfitting suits of black and silver gray with brilliant accents of color. But where Jessie's accents were pink, Kefira's were blue. "Interesting," Jessie said.
"What?" Kefira asked, looking down at herself. Then she looked back up at Jessie and said hesitantly, "It doesn't leave much to the imagination . . . "
"Personally, I've always liked that aspect of QuestWorld," they heard Jonny's voice comment.
"I cannot say that I have noticed it up to now, but I believe that I must agree," was Hadji's reply and both girls heard Bennett chuckle.
"Oh, yeah, right," Jonny replied. "I'll bet you've never noticed it before."
"Considering that Jessie is the only woman who is regularly in QuestWorld, you really do not expect me to say that I had, do you?"
"Good point," Jonny agreed with a laugh.
"It's because the program vectorizes the body structure but not the clothes you're wearing," Jessie explained.
"How does it do that?" Kefira asked, fascinated.
"There are sensors in the chairs we were sitting in," Jessie replied. "The first time you enter the program, the sensors 'read' your body structure and the program creates a corresponding image. It also stores that image, so that if you are using a remote link and you aren't in the chair, you will still appear like yourself once you enter. You'll find that the image of clothing will be identical for everyone in the program . . . we all look to be wearing the same thing, except that the color accents change."
"Well, I like the one you picked for me. It's my favorite color."
Jessie shook her head. "That's what I mean about 'interesting'. None of us chose that color for you. It's the one IRIS came up with when she created your form. We've even tried to change ours, but we can't." She looked down at her pink trimmed outfit, and said, "Believe me, I've tried. It must have something to do with the way the program reads us, but we can't figure out what it is. Some of us always wear the same color and for others, the color changes every time we enter the program. What's interesting is that the only one who's ever come up in that particular shade of blue is Hadji." Jessie grinned at her. "Now what do you suppose that says?" Kefira just grinned back at her without answering.
"Well, we might as well get this over with," Jessie said, turning business-like. "IRIS, load program 'Thoughtscape', please." She glanced over at her companion. "This will be a wild ride," she warned Kefira. "So hang on and follow me."
"PROGRAM 'THOUGHTSCAPE' IS PROTECTED. RETINAL SCANS HAVE CONFIRMED IDENTITY OF INITIATOR. PLEASE PROVIDE PASSWORD NOW."
"Launch program 'Thoughtscape', password 'quest safety'.
"PASSWORD IS CONFIRMED. LAUNCHING PROGRAM." Around them, the room disappeared and they suddenly found themselves suspended in the middle of a long tunnel lined with angry purplish/pink clouds. Blue-white lightning speared out in all directions and thunder sent vibrations through them. Both young women ducked reflexively.
"IRIS, hoverboards!" Jessie yelled over the din, and abruptly the requested transport materialized under the two girls' feet. Jessie watched as Kefira caught her balance on the hoverboard and looked around her in amazement.
"This is incredible!" she called to Jessie. Then she looked at the hoverboard under her feet. "How do I make this work? Oh, no . . . never mind . . . I believe I found it," she corrected, finding the foot controls on the board.
"Great! Then let's go. Follow me." Jessie shot off along the tunnel with Kefira close beside her. At the far end, they could see nothing but darkness. As they approached, a roiling blue cloud suddenly blocked their way. Jessie headed straight for it.
They hit the cloud and abruptly, the world around them changed. Violent shades of purple and pink gave way to mist gray as the world suddenly seemed shrouded in fog. Gnarled trees and vines rose out of the haze, looking somehow stunted and decaying. Beneath them, a path suddenly appeared. It looked like a bridge of some sort that was suspended over a bottomless abyss. It, too, looked crumbling and decayed, and it was covered with some kind of unhealthy-looking red moss. Kefira gazed around her in fascination. Then she looked over at Jessie and her sudden exclamation caused Jessie's head to snap around sharply.
"What?" she demanded.
"We've . . . changed," Kefira replied. "We're real . . . not . . . not . . . "
"Computer generated," Jessie supplied when the girl couldn't seem to find the right words. "Yeah. I know. Something else Surd did that we can't figure out. Come on, let's get this over with."
They cruised slowly above the road and soon, images began flashing to either side of them. Initially, they were too faint and disappeared too quickly to tell what they were. But the further along the road the two girls traveled, the clearer the images became. Suddenly, right beside Kefira the roiling purple cloud appeared again and a voice cut through the silence clearly,
"It's trying to defend itself from us!"
"Hey, wait a minute!" Jonny voice interrupted, sounding alarmed. "I know this place!"
To Jessie's left, another image suddenly appeared and the two of them watched as a bolt of lightning stripped Dr. Quest of his hoverboard and he began falling helplessly toward a blazing inferno. Suddenly, Jonny appeared and they heard him cry,
"Dad! . . . I'm coming, Dad!"
And then the image was gone again, to be replaced by the inside of a castle. Stained glass windows with the images of silhouetted warriors lined both sides of a long corridor. Again they heard Jonny's voice,
"The decoration in this place stinks!"
"That's a matter of opinion, boy." A new figure appeared in the image. His face was white, his hair long and black, and he was dressed in black and slate blue. He sat on a throne and a pair of braziers burned with blue flame on either side of him. He gazed at the images of Jonny and his father with flat, sightless eyes. The sight of the figure made Kefira shudder.
"I was wondering when you'd make your big entrance, Surd!" Benton's voice said in disgust. "Using Jessie to draw us here was low, even for you!"
"Actually, I was expecting Mr. Bannon to take the bait and save his beloved daughter. But no matter. Your demise will hurt him enough for my purposes." Surd's laugher seemed to surround them even as the image faded away, only to be replaced immediately with a new one.
A laboratory appeared. Jessie stood in the center of the room, holding a flask in each hand. "Sorry, gentlemen, I have no time for visitors," she said haughtily, turning her back as Benton and Jonny appeared. "Not if I'm going to win the Nobel Prize."
"This is Surd's program!" Jonny's voice seemed to come out of nowhere and both women could hear the fear in it. "Hadji, get them out of there!"
"I cannot! The program is not responding!"
The image of Jessie disappeared and beside Kefira, Jonny appeared. He stood on a vast, barren plain watching his father approach him. His grateful smile faded abruptly as Benton Quest said flatly "You've been a real disappointment, Jonathan."
"But, Dad . . ."
"Don't interrupt! This journey has really opened my eyes. Jessie's more like me than you'll ever be. Don't you see? She's the one following in my footsteps . . . trying to be a real scientist. Not you!" The two girls watched as Jonny sank to his knees at his father's feet.
"Dad, no . . . I've tried to be like you."
"She's the one . . . not you . . ." Benton's voice echoed hollowly as the image faded away.
"Admiral Bennett, use the phone on the wall over there! Call my dad, quick! Hadji, can we shut the whole system down . . ."
"NO!" Jessie called out to him frantically as the image of a graveyard suddenly formed behind her. Benton Quest wandered aimless among the headstones, looking confused. "Jonny, it's alright! Don't try to stop it!"
"Looking for me, Father?" The image of Benton Quest turned toward the voice.
"What?"
"I'm right here." Benton stared in horror at the four gravestones that bore the names of his family. "We all are."
"Jonny? NO!"
"You let us down, Dad. Just like you let down my mother!"
"That's not true. I tried to save her."
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better." Jonny's voice was bitter and sarcastic.
"No!" Benton Quest fell to his knees as Jonny's voice echoed again, You let us down, Dad!"
Suddenly, a tower loomed in front of them and Jessie gestured imperatively at Kefira. "Up there. Hurry!" The two of them shot forward, climbing rapidly toward the summit of the tower. Reaching the top, they both entered and found themselves in the laboratory they had seen earlier. But this one was in a shambles. Shattered glass and broken equipment littered the room. But at least now the images were gone.
"What was that?" Kefira asked, shaken.
"I warned you it was going to be a wild ride. It's what's left of the brainwashing program that Surd used on me when he tried to get me to kill my father. The program itself is pretty fragmented. You just get glimpses of it as you travel through it to reach this point. And it's never the same twice. It's always more or less sequential, but the images change each time it runs."
"You should have warned us," Hadji said, sounding aggrieved. "We thought something had gone wrong with QuestWorld."
"And what the hell are you doing with Surd's program up and running?" Jonny demanded, still sounding shaken and angry. "That thing should have been purged from the system a long time ago!"
Jessie's QuestWorld image shook her head. "I will not commit murder, Jonny Quest, and that is what purging this program would amount to."
"This is where Surd is," Kefira said with conviction, looking at her companion.
Jessie nodded and sighed. "Yes. This was the program running at the time that I locked Surd away. I've tried and tried to locate his . . . his . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what to call it . . . his essence, I guess . . . in QuestWorld. If I could isolate it, then I could move it elsewhere and destroy the program. But the only place I've ever been able to locate it is within this program. I don't know for sure what would happen if I destroyed it with Surd still inside. But he told us often enough that in one of his programs, if our QuestWorld persona died, we would die with it, and to be honest, I don't really want to test it to see if he's right."
"Well, that's just swell," Jonny said in disgust. "One of the worst programs the man ever devised and we have to maintain it to keep his sorry butt alive. Does that stink or what?"
"So where is he?" Kefira asked.
"Over here," Jessie replied and led the other girl toward the far wall. As they approached, a portal seemed to open in front of them. The two of them stopped just short of stepping through it and gazed inside. The characteristic black and green holostructure of QuestWorld filled the space, but hanging suspended in the middle of it was an image. It seemed to fluctuate constantly, going from an old man in a life support wheelchair, to the image of the man from the throne room. As though muted by distance, a voice could be heard screaming. "What's left of Surd's mind. I don't know. Maybe it would be kinder to just destroy the program and let what's left of him go with it. But I've never been able to bring myself to do that. So he remains here, a prisoner in a cell of his own making."
The two young women stood staring at the image for a long time. Finally, Jessie seemed to shake herself and said, "He's still secure. That's what I wanted to know. Let's get out of here."
"Do we have to go back out . . . " Kefira asked, gesturing back the way they had come.
"No," Jessie said. "This was the end of the original program. From here we can simply exit it. IRIS, terminate program 'Thoughtscape', please."
"ACKNOWLEDGED." Suddenly, both girls were standing in the vectorized room again.
"Well, Admiral Bennett, now you've seen QuestWorld in operation." Jessie said. "Do you still want to see it from the inside?"
There was a long pause and then Bennett replied, "No, thank you. I think I've seen enough. I don't know that I'm quite up to dealing with that."
"Fair enough. Hadji, bring us home, would you?"
"Logging you out . . ."
All three men watched as the brilliant band of light across Jessie and Kefira's eyes disappeared and the visors shut down. After a moment, they both opened their eyes and blinked, reorienting themselves to the real world. Hadji reached out and offered Kefira his hand, helping her stand as Jonny did the same for Jessie.
"That was a remarkable experience," Kefira said.
"It's a lot more fun when you're in there to play one of the games," Jonny assured her. Then he scowled at Jessie. "Next time you do something like that, warn me, okay? You just about gave me heart failure!"
"Sorry," she replied contritely.
"We had better get started on the virus program, Jonny," Hadji said, nudging his brother. Jonny nodded, releasing Jessie and returning to his seat at the console.
"You need us for anything?" Jessie asked.
"I do not believe so," Hadji replied.
"Then Kefira and I will take Admiral Bennett back to the main house. We'll call when dinner's ready."
Bennett was very quiet on the walk back. As they entered the house, they could hear Race and Estella laughing in the kitchen. Kefira and Jessie greeted them cheerfully, but Bennett walked on through and disappeared without saying a word.
"So, did he go in?" Race asked, gazing after him.
"No. We made him watch while Kefira and I went in, and that experience made him decide not to. Said he didn't think he was quite up to it."
Race cocked an eyebrow at his daughter. "What program did you run that scared him off so completely?"
Jessie hesitated and then shrugged resignedly. "Jonny would tell you if I didn't." She explained the situation once again.
"I don't like it," Race said unhappily.
"Neither do I," Estella agreed. "But I don't see that there's anything we can do about it. Jessie's right. We can't just destroy the program if it means we kill Surd at the same time."
"Maybe, but you can bet that I'm going to talk to Benton about it!"