Balancing the Scales

by MMB

sequel to "Retrospective" & "Picking Up the Pieces". Seven years have passed since Jarod vanished. Now he's back - with a plan to even the score. =>COMPLETE!

13. Eye of the Storm

Balancing The Scales - Part 13
by MMB

Randy groaned as he heard his cell phone ring, and he peered bleary-eyed at the clock next to his bed. Only 3 in the afternoon! He had three hours yet before he needed to be up and getting ready for his night shift work. He uttered several colorful and profane words in Japanese, then rolled out of bed and stumbled to his chest of drawers, where he put his keys and cell phone normally upon retiring. "Mushi-mushi."

"Konban-wa, [Good afternoon,] Obayashi-san."

Randy slumped, then stumbled back to his bed and sat down on the edge. As much as he'd like to give the man on the other end a piece of his mind for waking him up too damned early in the day, he wanted to keep his other pinky intact even more. "Fujimori-san. Konban-wa. To what do I owe the honor of your call?"

"There have been some developments that Tanaka-sama wanted me to make you aware of, and I have some specific instructions for you."

The young Japanese janitor sat up straighter. "Hai, Fujimori. I'm listening."

"We are sending Ikeda-san to Blue Cove. He should arrive in Dover on Sunday morning; we'll have the exact time of his arrival for you a little later. You will provide him housing until his assignment is concluded."

Randy looked around him at his motel room. At least he had absorbed some of his mother's cleanliness - the room, while nothing fancy, was spotless and neat. If he was going to be hosting one of the finest Yakuza assassins, at least he didn't have to worry about his housekeeping. "Hai. It will be an honor to assist Ikeda-san. But you also said you had instructions for me?"

"Two items. First: you are to keep your eyes open while working for anybody walking Centre hallways who doesn't look like he belongs - especially if that person is a middle-aged gai-jin with a big belly and a bigger butt who likes to chew on toothpicks. He will most likely be carrying some kind of bulky or sizeable bag or case or something. An unfortunate attempt to subcontract out some work to an American has unexpectedly backfired, and it seems we cannot contact the man again to pull him back." Fujimori closed his eyes. This is what happens when one's leader uses his emotions too freely to make decisions rather than the logical mind. Tanaka-sama's father had also displayed the same flaw several years ago - and it had landed him in an American prison cell from which he would not be emerging soon. "You are to take him out at your earliest convenience and drag him into any unoccupied room. Make sure you are talking to a man named Damien Winwood, and then give him the message that he is to do nothing before calling Tanaka-sama IMMEDIATELY without fail. Do you have that?"

"Wakarimasu. [I understand.] And the other item?" Randy was not quite angry - this could have waited until the hours his superiors KNEW he was awake and about.

"Your second assignment, however, is of the highest importance to Tanaka-sama. If the circumstances warrant it and you see the opportunity, you are ordered to protect the life of Parker-san at all costs - with your own, if necessary. Whatever happens, she is not to be harmed if it is within your power to prevent. In case of an emergency where she is present, preserving her life is imperative. Is that understood?"

"Hai, domo." Randy bowed sharply. So that was the imperative that warranted waking him - a woman Tanaka-sama wanted protected, from something... Now he understood, more or less. Tanaka-sama was rather well-known for being a womanizer, but little had been said about his taste for exotic gai-jin women. The problem was that Parker-san usually was gone for the day by the time he got to work - but who was he to correct his superiors. "I am Tanaka-sama's servant in all things."

"Good. Tanaka-sama is depending upon you. Don't disappoint." Fujimori rang off, leaving his warning ringing in the young janitor's ears. Randy pulled the little instrument away from his head and glared at it for a moment, then put it down on the nightstand and tipped back into his pillow. He had three hours more sleep before he had to get up to work. Nobody was going to deprive him of them. Nobody!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Damien sat on the side of the little, narrow shoreline road, not far from the Centre gates, noting down license numbers of cars he saw pulling out of the facility's main drive. He would need to find a comfortable trunk to ride in, and soon. From this vantage point, he couldn't even see the top of the Tower he was supposed to be blowing up. The web site he'd visited hadn't given him a full appreciation of the vast open space that surrounded the Centre itself, or just how exposed anyone attempting to cross that well-manicured lawn might b...

He caught himself in mid-thought. A lawn as large and well-kept as this one needed almost constant mowing. And to mow such a massive piece of real estate would take at least one, if not more, of those riding mowers. Maybe...

He eased the car into reverse and let it back off the road and down into a gully until it was hidden by friendly shrubs. He then shrugged into the backpack that contained all the explosives and firing mechanisms he was going to need, as well as reduced blueprints of the Tower itself. He climbed the embankment to the road again and set off at a leisurely walk. In the distance, to the north-east of the gate security guards, a lone riding mower was making its way across the grass to his left.

Damien checked to see how far he was from the guards and then broke into a trot. The edge of the Centre property was obvious - the grass came to an abrupt ending in tall and tangled brush. And the mower was systematically cutting its way over and across, back and forth, from a point obscured from view by the hilly terrain to the edge of the lawn. The bulky man slipped his way down the embankment into the gully and then began carefully making his way through the brush toward where the mower would near the tall weeds next.

He would have to time his move just so, so that he'd be able to get control of the machinery while taking out the operator. He would only have a minute or two to make the switch, lest the lack of mowing activity call the attention of the security guards.

It took several minutes to get himself aligned with the mower's path. Then it was just a question of waiting for the right moment. Damien wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve as he watched the mower come slowly closer. Damned but if he wasn't having to work bloody hard for that other five hundred grand!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ben Miller moved through his inn, thoroughly contented to be hosting such a family reunion of sorts for Miss Parker. He had stayed in the kitchen, making preliminary preparations for the evening meal, while the adults of the group had gotten together for a rather noisy and tumultuous meeting around his dining table. It seemed that Miss Parker had made a decision that at least one or two of the others disapproved of, and the subsequent give and take had been loud and emotional.

He shook his head and smiled to himself. Little Miss Parker was very much like her mother. Catherine, when she made a decision, had never let anyone dissuade her either. In the many times over the years that he and Catherine had sat either around the table or in the common room debating politics or other things, he had grown accustomed to her mannerisms. In the years since he'd last seen the love of his life, he'd replayed those memories like looking through a fine photo album.

Listening to the discussion earlier, he felt as if he was experiencing déjà vu. As Miss Parker had fielded the objections, he had been reminded of Catherine - her tone of voice was her mother's, as was her stubbornness at not allowing any of the arguments to make her waver from her decision.

"Is there any hot water for some tea?"

Ben turned and watched Sydney come slowly and carefully into the kitchen. "I can put the tea kettle on, it won't take long," he assured the man, gesturing him to take a seat at the small table off to the side of the kitchen and moving to turn the fire on under the teakettle. He watched Sydney settle slowly and painfully into the chair, then gestured with his head toward the common room. "Meeting finished?"

"Evidently." Sydney's tone of voice spoke volumes.

"She wouldn't change her mind, eh?" The innkeeper smiled quietly in amusement.

The psychiatrist heard the subtle humor in the man's voice and looked up at him. "You don't seem surprised."

Ben shrugged. "She's so like her mother. Catherine wouldn't let arguments change her mind either."

"You're right." Sydney leaned his chin into his hand and watched the innkeeper resume his meal preparations. "I keep forgetting that you knew Catherine at least as well as I did."

"She didn't talk about the Centre much when she was here," Ben remembered in a soft voice, "but she did mention you several times. I think she trusted you more than anybody else there. She said you were a deep soul buried underneath all that science of yours."

"I only wish I could have helped her more," Sydney responded ruefully. "In the end, I was able to do nothing for her."

"You watched over her daughter, though."

"Not as much as I could have," the psychiatrist admitted sadly. "And her father saw to it that about the time I started to have an influence, she went off to boarding school. I didn't see Miss Parker again to speak to her for years."

"You two look plenty close now," Ben remarked pointedly.

"Well, our relationship now came at a high price at the time."

"But it came. That's the important thing." Ben turned from his chopping. "I see how she watches over you, checks in to see how you're doing, keeps track of your comings and goings. You're as important to her as her son is, and you know it." The innkeeper smiled. "I'll bet she even knows that the two of us are in here talking."

Sydney looked over at the door through which he had passed from common area to kitchen. "No doubt," he replied. "Right now she's watching over me the way I watched over her... back then..."

"And you're not happy with her decision." Ben shrugged at the other man's look of amazement. "It shows," he added by way of explanation.

"I want her to be happy," Sydney hedged, realizing with a jolt that this man was probably at least as intuitive as he was. No wonder Catherine had been attracted to him! "For as long as I can remember, she always defined her own happiness as being free from the Centre - and now she's going to be walking straight into its corrupt heart..."

"She's her mother's daughter," Ben stated again, as if that fact explained it all. "From what I've heard lately, Catherine was a reformer in the Centre - that's what ended up getting her killed. Obviously, she passed that trait along to her daughter along with her good looks - only this time, it looks like the daughter will get a chance to succeed where her mother didn't." The tea kettle chose that moment to begin boiling.

"If..." Sydney stopped. Ben didn't need to know the chaotic mess that Miss Parker would be inheriting the moment she told Ngawe of her decision. Frankly, he could reconcile himself to her decision when it came to anything but the possibility of Yakuza revenge.

He had tomorrow to see if he couldn't change her mind anyway, despite her obstinacy.

Ben could see the hardening resolve on his kitchen guest as he put a mug of hot water and a fresh tea bag in front of the man. "Maybe you need to stop trying so hard to talk her out of her decision and instead think of ways to help her overcome whatever those obstacles are that you see in her future?"

He patted the shoulder of the man whom Catherine had called 'her confessor', whose face had lost its crusty determination and grown pensive, and turned back to his vegetables.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Damien steered the mower to follow the swaths already cut by the man whose body now rested under dense bushes. He didn't like to kill up close and personal, but there was enough money at stake that he'd take the chance that his handiwork would be discovered eventually. Chances were that by the time this man's body was found, there would be plenty of others to sort through.

The man's dark grey overalls didn't really fit him well - the man had been much stockier and considerably taller than he - and a sense of personal fastidiousness kept him from replacing his comfortable and expensive running shoes with the cheaper ones his prey had worn, which were probably Centre-issue. At his feet on the floorboard of the mower was the backpack with all of his supplies and explosives.

Now all he needed to do was find out where the hell this little lawn cart would be expected to spend the evening, so that he would be able to bring it in and not give any reason to raise alarms with the Centre security forces. The place was so vast and sprawling that he was beginning to think that maybe this WASN'T such a great idea when he saw in the distance another lone mower slowly working its way towards him.

The bomber smiled contentedly. All he'd have to do would be to keep far enough away from the other mower that the worker riding it wouldn't recognize that a stranger had taken his co-worker's place. Then he would follow the other mower in when the job was finished or the sun started to set, whichever come first.

With any luck, wherever the hell it was that the mowers were kept wouldn't be all that far away from the parking garage, and the waiting ventilation ducts.

Maybe he'd be able to bring the Tower down on Monday after all. His Japanese employers had given him until Tuesday night, officially - but the sooner the better. After all, the sooner the job was done, the sooner he got the rest of his money.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Come." Ngawe looked up from the latest reports on the internal security of the Centre as his aide pushed through the glass doors. He liked those glass doors - perhaps when he was back in Nairobi, he'd have doors similar to them installed in his office.

Malamdo approached his boss with a frustrated look on his face. "Sir..."

"Come now, Uli," Ngawe smiled familiarly at his brother's youngest son, "cheer up. We go home in three days."

"I know," the massive ex-soldier said with a heavy sigh. "But I've been trying to get our contact in the Yakuza on the phone since we spoke earlier, and now I'm told that he's out of the country - indefinitely."

Ngawe's brows furrowed. "Did you find out where he is?"

"No, that information is evidently privileged."

"Damn!" The elderly man rose from behind his desk and stalked over to stare out the picture window that looked down upon the beach and the ocean beyond. "Move our people to alert status. Our man doesn't leave Japan often - something isn't right."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam had to grin. Davy's undisputed championship of the video game world was definitely in jeopardy with Kevin in the picture. With Debbie sitting back and rooting for the both of them - often to the chagrin and dismay of one or the other - the two young males were parked on their stomachs on the common room floor in front of the television. Towhead and dark hair hunkered low to their respective controllers in fierce competition.

"I take it the battle's on..." Broots remarked casually, peeking past the large sweeper into the common room.

"I have a feeling it's just getting started," Sam responded with a chuckle. "Davy's finally found somebody who not only can give him a decent run for his money, but is young enough to want to do it as often as he does." He glanced up and saw the look on Deb's face as she watched the two and noticed how her eyes tended to dwell on the young man. "I also have a feeling that you'd do well to get to know Kevin, Broots. Your Deb looks a little smitten."

Broots followed his friend's gaze and watched his daughter quietly for a moment. "You may be right," he had to agree. "She could do worse..."

"That's true," Sam nodded with his lips curled in amused agreement. "And heaven knows our Miss Parker would vouch for how difficult it can be to catch a Pretender..."

"Miss Parker." Broots said the name with fond frustration. "What the hell does she think she's doing, after all these years of wanting to get out of the Centre, letting herself be appointed Chairman... er... Chairwoman... uh... you know..."

Sam shook his head. "I dunno. Then again, if you had the chance to take something that had been doing horrible things and turn it around a complete one-eighty so that it was doing really good things, wouldn't you want to try?"

"Are you saying that you support her decision?"

"Not necessarily," Sam admitted. "I've seen that place beat her down way too often to be all that thrilled, to be honest. I'm just saying that I can appreciate some of her reasons, that's all."

Broots scratched his balding head and leaned against the doorjamb. "What are we going to do?"

Sam turned his attention back to the TV screen and the video game being played with real finesse and skill. "We watch out for her - make sure that she doesn't allowed herself to drown in the quicksand before she can drain it. I'd imagine Jarod will be keeping an eagle eye on her too - we can probably influence her more through him than on our own."

Broots turned an assessing look on his family's friend. "So, how does it feel to be the personal sweeper of the Chair... person?"

Sam shrugged. "Not a lot different than being Miss Parker's personal sweeper before. That had a level of perks and bennies of its own, you know..." He glanced down at the computer tech. "You know, as her assistant, I wouldn't be surprised if you end up with your OWN personal sweeper pretty soon."

Ice-blue eyes full of surprise rose to meet the sweeper's even gaze. "Me? Oh... no..."

"Don't knock it," Sam's voice was amused. "You're an important person. Miss Parker is going to want to vouchsafe your welfare."

"Against what or whom?" Broots wanted to know. "I mean, all I do all day is sit at a computer terminal and type my life away. Why should I need..."

Sam put a heavy but comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Might as well get used to the idea, my friend. Some of what you see as you sit there and type your life away has gotten other people into a world of trouble. I'll make some suggestions to whoever takes over SIS from Miss Parker so that you end up with someone who will fit into your way of doing things, I promise."

"How about we just talk Miss Parker into running the other direction, and take off with her?" Broots' voice was wry.

"We tried that, remember - at length and very loudly." Sam sighed. "Been there, done that, didn't work."

"Shit."

"No shit."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was only a short, natural walk from the landscaping outbuilding to the side door of the Centre facility, and Damien found himself pleased that things had so far been working out so well. He had timed his turning his mower to follow that of the other machine into the shop so that the other mower driver had already left the shop building and made it halfway to the Centre door before Damien's machine had gone through the shop doors. The space where the mower was evidently supposed to be parked was obvious, as was the board on which the key to the machine belonged. Damien had parked the mower as if he'd done it for years, replaced the key on the board, and then left the building.

Foot traffic was light on the walkway between outbuildings and the Centre itself, and nobody seemed inclined to want to raise their eyes enough to check the difference between the face on the security card tacked to the overalls and the face of the man actually wearing the overalls. There was just a swipe slot at the side door itself which made the door slip open without a sound and with any apparent human scrutiny. The bomber grinned. Getting into the Centre had been easier than he'd ever dreamed!

Better still was the ventilation grate around a blind corner that came open at just a light tug, giving the none-too-slender man access to an enclosed metal tunnel that was more than ample to handle his bulk. Damien slid the backpack off of his shoulders and into the vent, then crawled in after it and pulled the grate closed again behind him. That was two of his main objectives reached.

Before beginning to crawl through the tunnel, Damien reached into a pocket of the backpack and pulled out the wad of folded papers that were his collection of reduced blueprints of the Centre from the ground UP. With a forefinger he traced out his current location and the approximate path through the maze of ducting that he'd need to follow to get to the first place he wanted to plant explosives - not that far.

He shoved the wad of papers back into the front pocket of the pack and got to his hands and knees and began pushing the pack ahead of him as he headed down the ducting. It was going to be a long crawl and climb process to get all the explosives situated at just the right spots to bring the Tower down in one fell swoop.

For a second time that day he wiped his brow with his T-shirt sleeve and fussed internally about how much work it was taking to get his other five hundred thousand dollars, then resumed his steady crawl toward the heart of the Tower.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sound of squeaky wheels desperately in need of greasing brought Ngawe's attention back from his staring out his office windows at the ocean while musing anxiously about the inability to contact their Yakuza informant. There was a gentle knock on the glass doors, and then Sisekle entered. "Mr. Raines is here, sir."

"Show him in," Ngawe ordered curtly, taking the time to adjust his colorful sash over his shoulder that indicated his ascendancy to the top of the Triumverate corporate ladder. Then he adjusted his posture and facial expression to aristocratic solemnity and watched coolly as the now-pale and definitely discomfited former Chairman was roughly escorted into the office between two Africans. One African was casually dragging the noisy oxygen cart behind them, not necessarily being all that careful of the transparent plastic tubing that led to Raines' canula.

Raines was brought to one of the chairs directly in front of his old desk and, as before, shoved rather roughly into a seated position. "What do you want of me now?" he gasped, pulling hard on the nearly-empty oxygen with an ugly wheeze. "Or did you just haul me up here to watch me breathe hard and suffer?" The Africans, he'd found, were keeping him tethered to only partially-filled oxygen tanks - making sure that should he manage to move about, his otherwise debilitated physical condition were made all the more precarious. The trip from his uncomfortable cell on SL-25 had been almost too rapid for his compromised lungs to handle.

"We simply wished to find out if there are any other projects or details of your tenure here that you might wish to impart to us - as a gesture that could improve or imperil your future. We assure you, we WILL know all you've been doing sooner or later. In your current situation, sooner would be to your advantage - our patience with later is very short." Ngawe's dark eyes were cold and hard. He had never liked this gasping snake of a man, not even while Mr. Parker was Chairman.

He had his suspicions that it was Mr. Raines' influence that had made it necessary for the Centre to become financially dependent upon the largesse of the Triumverate to begin with. And while he was morally bound to simply remove the man to a place where his mischief could never be repeated while awaiting the judgement of Fate itself, Ngawe found himself wishing he could justify just a touch of the truly tyrannical in this situation. Putting this ghoul out of his misery would indeed be a satisfying response to the trouble he'd caused over the years.

"My future." Raines' voice echoed with caustic humor. "That's a laugh. If you hadn't bothered to notice, I'm dying. I HAVE no future, and I'm well aware of this. So I have nothing to lose by just keeping my mouth shut and letting you do as you will."

The elder African had to admit, the man had a point. "That may be true, Mr. Raines, but you fail to take into account the way and manner that you move from where you are now to your inevitable fate. You might wish to ask yourself if you would prefer to suffer - maybe even suffer the same fate many who have passed through these halls - or find a useful place where your last days could be spent... peacefully."

Raines' eyes narrowed. "Don't bother trying to pretend to be compassionate, Ngawe. I know your history, how you got to where you are today. Under different circumstances, you'd have long since been where I am now."

"Our history, or how we came to head the Triumverate are not under discussion!" Ngawe snapped. "You can cooperate with us, or not. You must choose - now." He settled back in the incredibly comfortable leather chair and rested a forefinger against his cheek, watching the pale and defiant ex-Chairman wrestle with the implacability of his choice.

"You already know everything about Redux and Shadow," the bald man wheezed in complaint. "Isn't that enough?"

"Is that all?" Ngawe asked again insistently. "Think through your answer to that question very carefully, Mr. Raines - you will not have the opportunity to answer it again."

Raines raised his head to glare at the African interloper arrogantly and took a long and noisy drag of oxygen. "Fuck you," he said slowly and firmly, in a voice loud enough to carry beyond the glass doors to the waiting area outside.

The elderly black man sighed. "We're disappointed that you feel that way." He pushed the intercom button on his desk, and addressed the two escorts that entered the room immediately at his summons. "You may take Mr. Raines to Renewal for his vaccinations, and then return him to his cell. Be sure that he has ample oxygen for tonight and tomorrow. Oh..." he added as the escorts dragged Raines to his feet and started towards the glass doors, "and oil those damned wheels immediately. We don't want to hear that infernal racket ever again."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sydney looked down his torso as Kevin carefully cleaned the area around the wound in front. Even the young Pretender's gentle fingers were making him ache. "Well?" he asked, concerned.

"You've done too much today," the young man announced with a vague hint of disappointment. "Except for the necessary walking tomorrow, you really need to stay off of your feet."

"That's what Jarod told me would happen," Sydney admitted with a wry look on his face. "I just get so damned tired sitting around and doing nothing all day..."

Kevin looked up into the old mentor's face and shook his head indulgently. "Better you sit around now and let things heal, or be stuck sitting around when things don't heal properly at all."

"Mmmmm," the psychiatrist's response was wordless, but expressed his frustration and reluctant capitulation eloquently. He sucked in air with a hiss when the young man hit a particularly tender spot.

"Maybe I'd better call Jarod," Kevin hedged, nervous at having obviously hurt the older man despite his best efforts not to.

"Shhh... Don't bother him with this - he'll just scold me for doing too much," Sydney shook his head, then caught the subtle expression of panic as it flitted through the young man's blue eyes. "You're doing just fine. I trust your judgement, Kevin. I'll try to behave myself tomorrow."

Kevin positioned the bandage carefully before putting any pressure at all on the wounded man's torso. "I'll give you a little more pain medication tonight too. It should help."

"I'd rather you just talk to me and keep me distracted," Sydney winced and carefully disciplined himself not to suck air again. "Tell me about Debbie."

Kevin's face colored almost immediately, and the young man was grateful that the time had come for him to tend the wound on Sydney's back so that his embarrassment wouldn't be so easily noticed. "What about her?" he asked with deliberate calmness as he moved out of the mentor's line of sight.

"Kevin..." Sydney's voice clearly communicated his intent to pursue the subject anyway. "You two have been quite thick and close companions today - it's been a little hard not to notice..."

"She's..." The young Pretender searched through his vast and erudite vocabulary for words that simply refused to present themselves. "I never imagined..." Then he looked up in worry. "You're not telling me that I shouldn't..."

Sydney chuckled at young Shadow's sudden anxiety attack. "No, of course not. I happen to think the two of you might be good for each other. But," he paused, wondering if it were his place to bring this up, "have you two discussed what will happen after this weekend is over?"

The psychiatrist could feel the gentle fingers prying medical tape from his back slow in their task. "She said she was going off to college," Kevin admitted, sounding completely unhappy. "But then, I don't know what's going to happen to me after we leave here anyway. I never thought being free could be so..."

"Well, I'll be wanting to speak to you about your future plans after a bit - but I was just worried that you were getting yourself very close and possibly dependent upon Deb when she wasn't going to be here much longer." He closed his eyes against the ache of the renewed cleansing of wounds. "I didn't want you to get hurt badly so soon after..."

"But it does hurt, Sydney," Kevin exclaimed sadly, pulling his hands back before he could put any of his emotions into his nursing efforts and hurt the mentor again. "I feel as if I'm still stuck in that damned house - Deb's going away, and..."

"She did tell you that she'd be back from time to time, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but it's not the same thing." Kevin resumed his work with a deep sigh. "And even if she does come back, where will I be? I don't belong anywhere..."

Sydney could hear the hopelessness and abandonment in Kevin's voice, and he couldn't allow the thought that he was unwanted, unwelcome, to continue to eat at the young man. "I have a guest room in my house coming available when we get back," he mentioned gently. "You're welcome to come stay with me until you get your feet under you and decide who, what and where you want to be..."

"You don't have to do that," Kevin again positioned the bandage carefully before beginning to gently push at the medical tape to hold it in place. "You have enough..."

Sydney felt the bandage feel securely attached to his back and then turned around to put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Kevin, I know I don't have to - but I want to. In the first place, there's the practical consideration that you're staying with me means that neither you nor Jarod have to travel to take care of my injuries."

"I wouldn't mind..."

"That's not the major point, though," Sydney interrupted him with a gentle voice. "This big world out here is going to be confusing. Jarod took years trying to acclimate himself to its capricious and sometimes cruel nature - and he had been far better socialized in his time in the Centre than Vernon ever bothered doing for you. So I'm saying that you could probably use a mentor of sorts again, only this time to help you learn the ropes of living your own life." He smiled down into the upturned and flabbergasted face. "I want to help you. I would like very much for you to come stay with me for a while."

Kevin could hardly believe his ears. "You want... ME?"

The warmth of Sydney's smile suffused his chestnut gaze. "I told you days before that I thought you a very personable and fine young man. Why WOULDN'T I want to have you around?"

"But... Vernon... never..."

Sydney sniffed. "Forget that asshole - that Devil's own excuse for a psychiatrist. I wish..." The older man took a deep breath, barely managing not to make a sound at the ache of his abused body at the move. "What do you say? Would you like a place to land after all?" He could see the indecision in the young man's eyes and added, "this would also mean that when Deb came home on holiday, you'd be around, you know..."

The blue eyes were wide and just now showing that the young man was beginning to wrap his mind around the invitation. "You mean it? Really?"

"Yes, I really mean it," Sydney said patiently, internally cursing out Vernon again for stealing this young man's self-esteem.

Kevin got to his feet so that he was eye to eye with the older Belgian. "I... really would like to..."

"Good!" Sydney snapped up the acceptance quickly, before the young Pretender could withdraw it. "That's settled, then. I'll talk to Jarod about taking you shopping for a slightly larger wardrobe when we get back as well - and maybe I can get Broots to loan you a set of clothes for the time it would take to run those you're wearing through the laundry. You and he are about of a size." He put a hand on the young man's shoulders when Kevin started to blush again. "Don't worry about it. We've just been so busy thinking about other things, your clothing needs just slipped through the cracks. But I'd be a damned poor mentor if I didn't help you take care of things that way, eh?"

Kevin smiled shakily and peeked over the mentor's shoulder at the door to the common room, now anxious to tell Deb his news. Maybe she'd have some insights into her adopted grandfather's nature that would make his time as the older man's tenant and protégé more smooth.

Sydney saw the look and the glance out the door toward the common room where Deb and her father were discussing college topics with Jarod and Miss Parker. "Go on with you then," he urged with a nod of his head. "Go tell her."

The young man caught himself before he took a step. "First your pain medication.," he said, reaching for the bag of medical supplies. "And then you should find a spot and stay put for a while until dinner and the medication kicks in." He put the pill into the older man's hand and went in search of water. First things first.

He'd really rather be alone with Deb when he told her anyway...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The door of the motel room burst open at Yoshikata's vicious kick, and the two Japanese entered the room assigned to Damien Winwood quickly. Fujimori gestured to his companion to check the bathroom when the lack of the gai-jin had fully sunk in. The second assassin stepped across the room and looked down the short hallway into the bath itself, then backed out and shook his head. "Not here," he growled in guttural Japanese.

Fujimori let loose with every colorful epithet he knew in both Japanese and English, and then sank to the edge of the bed in frustration. It had taken the better part of the night to chase down the elusive gai-jin's trail this far, and Tanaka-sama was no doubt going to be livid at the continued lack of success in actually finding the man.

He put his head in his hands for a moment, and saw dark canvas near the floor. He reached under the little nightstand and drew out a familiar-looking bag. With shaking fingers he pulled the zipper to the main section open and peered inside, then reached in and drew out a bundle of one-hundred US dollar bills. "He must not be far," he commented to his fellow assassin, holding the bundle up where Yoshikata could see it. "The idiot left all his deposit money here."

"What about the explosives, the supplies? Where are they?" Yoshikata asked, now looking about the room himself to take in all the trivial details and signs of occupation.

Fujimori rose quickly. "Good question," he responded, bending down to peek under the bed to see if the bomber's bag of tricks had been stored under there, with no luck. The two men then very carefully and systematically tore the room apart, opening every drawer and pulling the clothing stored within onto the floor, then going through the bathroom with equal care. After a half-hour, they stared at each other in consternation.

The bag of explosives, along with the man who knew best how to make use of them, were nowhere to be found.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The bus station in Blue Cove was an adjunct to the Blue Cove diner, and it was there that a very tired Randy Obayashi sat in a booth waiting at ten in the morning. His day had been long and boring the night before, assigned for the evening to clean the bottom two levels of their trash and paper. He'd been glad that he had the seniority that meant he didn't have to push a broom or mop - the three years that he'd done so were ones he'd just as soon forget too.

One benefit of the assignment was that he'd had the opportunity to see that the Centre hadn't forgotten how to detain those it disliked. One - and only one - of the open-barred cells had had an occupant: an obviously ill and disabled gai-jin who sounded as if ready to take his last breath at any moment. Randy had smiled coolly at the man as he'd pushed his cart along to the sweeper's station to take care of their trash. So THIS was the infamous Mr. Raines who had been the terror of the Centre for years. In a crumpled suit that looked like it had been worn for too many days on end without changing, he didn't look like much now to the diminutive janitor.

Another thing he'd noticed that night was that the flock of African sweepers that populated nearly every corner of the complex seemed on edge, as if looking for someone or something. Their dark eyes had passed over him and dismissed him quickly, something that Randy was just as glad for. He felt uncomfortable around these towering men, even though he was more than capable of bringing any one of them down with very little effort. After years of living in a gai-jin society, they were just TOO foreign.

The heaving and hissing sound of the large vehicle broke through his reverie, and Randy hurriedly left the money for his cup of tea on the booth table and hurried out the door of the diner. Four people eventually stepped down from the blue and silver bus, the last of which was the one he'd been waiting for.

Ikeda Masao looked at the young Yakuza mole assessingly. He'd sympathized with the young man during his time of trouble in Tokyo - after all, the very definition of a mole was to blend into his surroundings without causing comment, and the police mole who had become an important informant had perfected the art of blending in. Randy hadn't been the only one taken in by the man's duplicity - just the one that ended up blamed for the mess caused when the trap snapped shut prematurely without catching its prey.

The older Japanese bowed politely. "Obayashi-san. Ohayo gozaimasu. [Good morning.]"

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Ikeda-san," Randy returned, bowing just that much deeper than Ikeda as a show of respect and status. "My car is this way."

"I have one bag yet," Ikeda mentioned, a briefcase firmly in hand. He pointed to a medium-sized black bag that was being pulled from the belly of the bus, and Randy snagged the bag immediately. "Do you live far from the Centre?" he asked politely, letting the young man lead him to his vehicle.

"Everyone lives at a distance from the Centre," Randy replied, inserting his key in the trunk lock and opening it to deposit the man's suitcase safely inside. "The Centre is about six miles outside of town, and quite a ways removed from all other buildings." He hurried around and unlocked the passenger door so that his guest could climb in.

"What about the surrounding terrain? Any good vantage points?"

"Vantage points?" Randy climbed behind the steering wheel and let his tired mind review what he could remember of the surrounding area. "Most of the hills that would give you any clear vistas are on Centre property itself and well-guarded. But..." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully, "just where do you need to be? What are you going to be looking for?"

Ikeda gave the young man's face a quick and searching look. Obayashi Ryoshi had been a rising star among his peers, and completely loyal to Tanaka before the unfortunate incident with the police mole. "My target is Raines William," the assassin informed his host quietly. "No matter what else happens, I am to relieve the man of his miserable life before the Triumverate spirit him away to their dark continent."

"I saw Raines just a few hours ago," Randy told Ikeda conversationally. "The information I got the other day was correct - he's currently housed way deep in the bowels of the Centre."

"Damn! That's going to make things VERY difficult."

"Maybe not. I heard a couple of the Triumverate sweepers talking last night - talking about how glad they were going to be when they were on their way home. From the way they were talking, it sounds as if they intend to have handled the problem of putting a new Chairman in place and be on their way by Tuesday evening at the latest." The young Yakuza steered his car carefully down the main street of the little seaside village toward the motel that had been his home. "If they come and go anything like the Centre people do, that means either a helicopter or limousine ride to the airport, where they'd get on their private jet."

"When is your next shift?" Ikeda soaked in the information.

"Tonight, starting at eight o'clock. I work nights, when things are quiet..."

"What about Miss Parker? The report I heard was that she was being considered as Raines' replacement. When is she expected back?"

Randy turned into the motel parking lot and found the spot in front of his room vacant, as usual. "The blotter paper had her down with a Monday morning appointment."

"So that leaves us guessing whether the Triumverate will want to move Raines out before the rest of the group, or whether he'll go back to Africa with everybody else." Ikeda mused aloud. He climbed from the car, his briefcase still firmly in hand, letting Randy retrieve the suitcase from the trunk and then unlock the motel door. "Do you know if you'll receive the same assignment again? How soon will you be able to get back into the Chairman's office?"

Randy shook his head and deposited the suitcase at the foot of the second narrow bed in the room. "I rarely ever work two nights on the same level. I think it is a security measure to prevent just the kind of information leak..."

"We need to know," Ikeda insisted firmly.

"I'll do my best," was all Randy could say around his huge yawn.

"I'm suffering jet-lag myself," the assassin told the tired janitor. "Why don't we both turn in. Tired minds don't work well, and we need our minds in the best shape possible to think our way around this obstacle."

Randy yawned again. "You won't get any argument out of me," he said, his fingers already tackling the buttons on his shirt. "This is my bed, by the way. The other is clean - never used."

Ikeda sat down on the mattress, knowing that only because he was exhausted and jet-lagged would he be able to sleep on such an uncomfortable surface. With a sigh, the assassin shrugged out of his sports jacket and followed suit with unbuttoning his shirt. He needed to get as much rest as he could while he was tired enough to do it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Damien blinked in the semi-darkness of the ventilation duct as his internal clock roused him. He had settled down next to a grate not far from where his next charge needed to be set, and evidently dropped off with his head pillowed on the backpack. He shifted carefully, so as to make as little noise as possible, and peered out through the mesh of the grate. It was morning, and obviously folks were just in the process of arriving at work.

Those must be the poor slobs who have to slave away on weekends, he thought callously, the same slobs that, nine chances out of ten, would be in their little slots and cubbies when his big BOOM went off. The thought of being responsible for that many deaths in the process of offing one lousy man didn't phase the bomber. Most of the buildings he'd set fire to since his stint as a mercenary demolitions expert had been occupied by homeless squatters, drunks and addicts who were the refuse of society that nobody would miss anyway. And before that, he hadn't bothered to even think about it.

What surprised him, however, was the number of really large black men in black suits seemingly patrolling up and down the corridors. In the little time he had spent casing Blue Cove as a potential base of operations, he had found out that the population was overwhelmingly WASP like him. Then he listened to some of them speak, and he realized that these were foreigners.

He shrugged and rolled carefully to his hands and knees. It didn't matter if they were locals or foreigners - if they were there when the BOOM came, they were goners anyway. The only thing that mattered at the moment was that they were between where he was now and where he needed to go to hide another explosive charge. He'd have to wait until the coast was clear before he could move again. And that could be all day.

Maybe this WOULD take longer than he'd let himself hope last night...

Damn it!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Miss Parker peeked into the inn's library looking for Sydney, and found him dozing. With his feet comfortably propped up on an ottoman and dressed more warmly against the cooler weather of a threatening storm coming in off the ocean, he'd dropped off in the middle of reading something in Psychology Today. The magazine he'd been reading had subsequently drooped against his chest and then slipped until only the space between his arm and his hip prevented it from hitting the floor.

Then she remembered from the breakfast table that morning that Kevin had said that he was upping Sydney's pain medication again after she'd commented that he was rather late rising for a change. He'd then mentioned something about Sydney's having been too active the day before and that he would most likely be paying for it today. Jarod had immediately started firing medical questions at the young man that went over the heads of everybody else at the table, but from his tone of voice, she could tell that he was concerned.

Her brow furrowed - it was becoming clear that Syd wasn't going to be in any shape to return to work at the Centre anytime soon, if ever. Frankly, at this point, she was ready to do whatever it would take to talk him into taking his full retirement. He'd spent his life, and nearly lost it several times over, in service to that place. She would need his help in making sense of the morass that was the accumulation of various ongoing Centre projects in order to weed out the ones that had no business existing to begin with. But considering everything, she knew very well that he could help her with that from the comfort of his living room.

Still, although wanting to talk to him alone while she had the opportunity before things got moving that day, she knew he needed his rest more. They were going to be leaving that afternoon for Blue Cove again, and from Sam she'd learned that the traveling had taken a great deal out of the man previously - although how much of that was worry about her welfare, he couldn't be sure. She moved quietly into the room and retrieved the imperiled magazine from its precarious post and laid it open across his lap, then turned to leave him in peace.

Sydney's eyes blinked at the slight sensation of movement, then settled on Miss Parker's turning form. "Hey," he called out in a soft and sleepy voice.

"Damn. I didn't mean to rouse you," she replied ruefully, turning and heading back towards him. "You need your rest. Go back to sleep." She bent over him and brushed a kiss onto his forehead.

"Kevin gave me enough of that damned medicine that resting won't be much of a problem," Sydney grumbled. "I'm getting damned tired of being so doped up I can't hardly move." He reached out a hand to her. "Was there something you needed?"

"Just an answer to a question left over from yesterday." Miss Parker sat down in the chair next to him and took his hand in hers. "Are you angry with me?"

The chestnut eyes widened. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"You don't want me to take the job, do you?"

"What I want, more than anything else in the world," Sydney said slowly and firmly, not really wanting to answer her question precisely, "is for you to be happy. I see you taking this job, then burning your candle at both ends trying to undo everything monstrous in less time than it took to make things monstrous, and in the end being worn to a frazzle." He squeezed her hand. "There is more to life than the Centre, Parker."

"I know," she responded softly, returning the pressure on his hand. "But I HAVE to do this, Syd. It was my family that set that damned place up, my father and uncle who turned it into a house of horrors..."

"You always defined your happiness in terms of getting free of the Centre," he reminded her with a sharp tone. "After so many years, has that changed so much?"

Miss Parker looked down at their clasped hands, and then back up into his questioning gaze. "I always thought that in order to have a family of my own, or be doing things that I could believe in, I'd have to get away - as long as I had to work for Raines or with Lyle, I was trapped. But now look at me. I have Davy, I have you, I have Broots and Debbie. I even have Jarod back in my life. Raines is deposed, and Lyle is dead. I'm looking at taking a job that would mean I could be doing something we all believe in for a change." She squeezed his hand again. "After all these years, you see, I don't have to GO anywhere else to have all the things that mean happiness. You can understand that, can't you?"

Sydney closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes, I do understand that. But I also understand that you won't be able to approach this job half-way - you'll throw yourself heart and soul into it. I worry that, at the end of the day, you won't have enough energy left to enjoy your family." He looked at her accusingly. "That place has given you one ulcer already, you know..."

Miss Parker's lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "C'mon, Syd. Do you honestly think that between you, and Jarod, and Broots, and Sam, I'd be allowed to even think of getting away with such a thing?"

"We're letting you get away with taking the job in the first place, aren't we?" he retorted, and watched a look of unhappiness flit across her face. Then he relented, and his face relaxed. "But in the end, Parker, I'm behind you in whatever you've decided. Just allow me to worry about you a little and fuss in your ear now and then, especially considering the possibility of trouble with the Yakuza coming at you out of the blue."

Her eyes closed in relief. "I really needed to hear you say that, Syd. Sam's arguments I could deal with, maybe even Broots'. But without you behind me..." She left the thought unfinished.

Sydney mentally kicked himself immediately. He had more influence over her now than he'd ever given himself credit for - and now he'd blown it! He'd given her his support; he couldn't take back the words, no matter how reluctantly they had come about. "I've always been behind you, Parker - even those times I was trying to talk you out of things," he grumbled in his own defense.

"I know," she said, getting to her feet, "that's why I love you so much - and always have, even when I was pushing you away." She bent over him and kissed his cheek. "You rest now, though. Is Debbie packing your things, or shall I do it?"

Those chestnut eyes opened with a tiny sparkle of mischief in them. "I think Debbie's mind is occupied with someone else other than me right now," he quipped, letting this pull him out of his mood of frustration. "I didn't feel like I wanted to interrupt her concentration. So would you mind? I did set most everything together as much as possible already..."

Miss Parker's hand patted his shoulder. "I'll take care of it. Thanks, Syd."

He grabbed at her hand and kissed her fingers before she could pull away. "Thanks to you, Parker." He heard her steps moving out of the room, and he closed his eyes again.

Damned medication, he thought in frustration, clouds a man's mind...

And with that, he dropped off again into a light slumber.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kevin stood on the inn's wide back porch, staring across the lawn to the grey and angry-looking ocean beyond. The wind came up and lifted his sandy hair and brought the goosebumps up on his bare arms. So this was what it meant to be 'cold', he thought to himself in fascination. He looked up at the sky, no longer the clear and deep blue that it had been all the time he'd been free to look at it, but now covered with grey clouds. He blinked as the air was filled with falling drops of water - rain! Disregarding the chill, he stepped down off the porch onto the grass and let the cool water fall on him. Amazing!

"Hey!" he heard Deb calling from behind him, and he turned. "Don't you know enough to come in out of the rain?" She gestured impatiently for him to return to the porch.

"Is it something I should not do?" he asked curiously, shivering as the chilled breeze blew across damp clothing and made the goosebumps even more pronounced. He climbed the steps and moved to join her on the porch.

Deb merely shook her head. "You get yourself good and chilled, and you can make yourself sick," she scolded him, then threw her father's windbreaker over his shoulders. "Here - put this on."

Kevin shook his head. "No, I can't. I mean, I'm already wearing..." He looked down at the too-big jeans and T-shirt with the Centre logo and 'Recycles' on the front that Broots had brought to him at Sydney's insistence.

"Don't be silly. Dad's inside and won't miss it," Deb said conspiratorially, "and then you can stay out here and watch it rain without freezing. Besides, God knows Grandpa would have my guts for garters if I let you get sick..."

The young man's eyes widened. "He wouldn't...?"

"No - that's just another saying," Deb chuckled. "What it means is that Grandpa gets real protective of people he cares about. If I were to let you get a chill, and you came down with a cold, I guarantee you I'd get a good scolding from him for it."

"Then I'd better make sure you don't get scolded." Kevin quickly slipped his arms into the lightly insulated windbreaker and instantly felt much more comfortable. "Thanks," he remembered belatedly.

"No biggie," Deb replied. She had moved to the railing of the porch and leaned against it, watching the drops grow in frequency and intensity.

"You mean, you think your grandfather cares... about me?" he asked, Deb's words finally soaking completely into his mind.

She looked over at him. "Oh yeah," she commented confidently. "I watched him when he was taking care of Miss Parker years ago. He has that same look in his eye when he looks at you now." She turned back to watch the rain. "I'm glad you'll be staying with him too. That means I'll know where to find you when I come home - or where to call when I get lonesome for a friendly voice."

Kevin joined her at the railing and leaned on it with a hip. "Are you going to be lonesome, where you're going?"

"I don't know anyone there," Deb said with a shrug. "Sometimes it can take time to find and make new friends." She glanced at him and saw his confusion. "You kinda had a place waiting for you here, with us," she explained. "You didn't have to do anything to be accepted. But in Amherst, I'll have to find a place for myself - other than in my classes, that is."

"That sounds difficult," he observed, then watched her nod slowly. "Why do you go, then, if you don't have a place for yourself already made?"

"Because I need to get out on my own, be my own person," she responded thoughtfully. "I want to make my own decisions without anybody looking over my shoulder or telling me that I'm making a mistake." She looked over at him and found that once more his face was filled with confusion. "What?"

"You already are so free - I can't imagine you wanting more." He turned and looked out over the now-drenched yard. "You want to get away from anybody looking over your shoulder, and I'm actually looking forward to having Sydney look over mine. You look forward to making mistakes, and I'm scared to death that I WILL make one."

"Wait until you've been away from that awful place you've been kept in for a while, Kev," Deb said, putting a warm hand on his arm as it lay along the railing. "Wait until you want to do something, and Grandpa or Uncle Jarod tries to argue you out of it for the umpteen-billionth time."

Kevin shook his head. "But when they try to convince me, they won't be telling me I CAN'T - which is what Vernon always did. No, I couldn't go outside. No, I couldn't talk to the others when I was supposed to be working. No, I couldn't read this book or that. I had no choice. I don't see either Sydney or Jarod taking away my choices."

"I didn't know it was like that for you," Deb said, her blue eyes shocked and saddened.

She put up a warm hand to his face, meaning to comfort, and his hand rose to cover hers as it lay against his cheek. And suddenly, the moment was charged. In the end, neither would be able to tell who it was that leaned into the other first to initiate their kiss. But suddenly their lips touched, and then both leaned into it.

Deb found Kevin's lips soft against hers, his touch gentle, tentative, uncertain. Kevin felt his heart begin to race the moment she'd reached up to him, and his other hand found her shoulder as much for support as anything else. As if of one mind, they each pulled back and out of the kiss, then looked into the other's eyes.

"I... I didn't mean..." Kevin was flustered, enchanted, scared and excited all at once, and it was a heady, intoxicating feeling. He couldn't look away - he was transfixed and drowning in the blue of her eyes which, he suddenly realized, were the color of the ocean on a sunny day.

She smiled softly at him and put up her other hand so that she had his face cradled between her palms. "It's OK," she assured him gently. "That was nice. Maybe..." she blushed slightly then continued, "we can try it again?"

Kevin leaned in and let his lips meet Deb's again, and once more the contact was electrifying. Her hands slid around his neck as she stepped more fully into his arms, and suddenly his arms were around her waist and pulling her into him carefully but insistently. The kiss ended, but Deb leaned her head into Kevin's shoulder and let him pull her just that much closer into him. Kevin found he could smell the clean smell of her hair, and the light floral scent that was Debbie. He leaned his head on her shoulder, unwilling to move back or let go. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, and his mind was reeling from the experience.

And from the thought that, in less than a week, she'd be gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Miss Parker found Broots in the common room, looking out the closed French doors at his daughter in the arms of the young Pretender, and smiled sympathetically. "She's growing up too fast, Broots," she said softly, coming over to stand near him with a hand laid gently on his shoulder.

Broots turned and smiled in chagrin at his boss and friend. "Seems like just yesterday that she was playing on the swing set I bought for her right after I got custody. I can see it as plain as day - she was swinging back and forth and playing with her teddy bear..." He looked back out the curtained glass of the doors. "Now she's getting ready to go off to college and making young men swoon. Where did the time go?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Now that you mention it, I can remember Davy the day I brought him home from the Centre - two and a half and into everything. Now every time I see him, it seems he's grown another inch or something." She lifted her hand from her friend's shoulder and ran it through the thin line of close-cut fringe that was the remains of his hairline. "Deb and Davy get more grown up, I get more grey, and you get balder."

"Oh, thanks a bunch!" Broots swatted playfully at the fingers tickling his hair. "That was a real boost to the self-esteem." At her answering toothy grin, he grumbled, "I thought so - but I, at least, am gentleman enough not to mention your grey hair until viciously provoked."

"Oh yes, you are ever the epitome of chivalry, Broots." She smiled at him. It felt good to be back on stress-free, casual terms with him again.

"I just brought my suitcase down, and see the luggage pile has grown some. Are we almost ready to take off now?"

"Ben said he wanted to serve us lunch before we left, so we could travel on full stomachs," she replied. "Jarod's helping him set up. I was just coming to tell you to call the kids - but I think we can let them have just a little more time alone, can't we?"

Broots turned to look at his old friend in amazement. "Why, Miss Parker! I do believe you're a romantic at heart after all. Whatever happened to that good ole 'Ice Queen'?"

Now it was her turn to slug him softly in his upper arm. "Take that, smart ass. Now, go see if you can rouse Sydney for lunch and round up Davy, OK? I'll go find Sam. We'll send HIM out there for the kids. R.H.I.P. after all..."

Both chuckling loudly, the two of them separated and went their ways to gather the group for the meal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Damien roused again and raised his head from his backpack in frustration. He was hungry, thirsty, his bladder was uncomfortably full, and he knew that either he would have to climb out of the ventilation system to find a restroom FAST or have to back down the duct he'd climbed through hours ago. Three grates back, the opening had been near a men's room, but if he were to use the corridors like a normal person, he might not be able find it easily - and he was simply too big to turn himself around. Lips moving and forming a stream of obscenities, he began to back his bulk down the ventilation ducts, leaving the backpack where he'd been waiting.

There were a lot of people working at the Centre on a Sunday, he decided, too damned many of them. And there were too damned many of those African fellows too - enough that the amount of time he spent setting his charges would have to be shortened considerably from now on, just to be safe. He had no idea if the number of black security officers would abate once the day was over, and he DID want to meet his official deadline.

Crawling backwards was far more difficult than crawling forwards, and the tendency to make noise in the process was all too great to make it a rapid way to move. The middle-aged bomber found that he was having to concentrate hard not to let his shod feet bang against the metal sides of the ducting with every backwards step, or to lift his head too quickly and bang IT on the top of the metal tunnel. The distance that had taken but a few minutes to traverse forwards took nearly half an hour backwards; and several times after making noise he had forced himself to lay very still and quiet, praying that nobody had been close enough to hear and take notice.

The restroom was around a blind corner from the main corridor, however, and somewhat protected from view. Damien found that, just like with all the other grates he'd used as access points, this one swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself out of the ducting and stood for a moment on legs that felt more like jelly than flesh and bone. He looked down at his janitorial overalls and self-consciously brushed at the dust he'd collected on his belly, then closed the grating and moved stiffly through the door of the empty restroom and straight to a stall.

A goodly share of his disgruntlement evaporated as the pressure on his bladder eased. He flushed, then decided that washing his hands would give him an opportunity to take a quick drink of water to satisfy his thirst before heading back into his metal cavern. He finished his business quickly and then peeked out the restroom door to make sure there were no observers as he made his way back to his grate and back into the ventilation system.

Then he swore silently, backed out again, and got himself going in the right direction this time, backed up so that he could pull the grate shut again, and headed back to where he'd left his backpack. He paused en route long enough to push the button to light up his wrist watch. One-thirty - forty-five minutes had elapsed in this exercise. Hopefully by five or six, he'd be able to get back to work setting charges. He only had ten more to go...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Miss Parker straightened after carefully helping a still-drowsy Sydney into his front passenger seat again and adjusting the seat belt so that it didn't irritate his wound as he rode. Behind her, Ben stood watching the process of loading eight people into two cars.

"I don't know how to thank..." she began, reaching out to put her arms around the neck of the man that had been her mother's refuge.

Ben's arms wound fondly around Catherine's little girl. "It was my pleasure," he assured her gently. "Anytime you folks want a place to get away from things, you feel free to come on up." He tightened his arms into a quick hug. "And you take care of yourself, understand?"

"I will," she promised, then gave the grey-haired innkeeper's cheek a soft peck. "And you take care of yourself too. If ever you need anything..." She pressed a card into his hand. "This is my home phone number, my work number, and my cell. Use it, if you need to."

"I will, thanks," he responded, trying to imagine a situation where he'd need to. "Drive carefully, now - the roads are slick from the rain."

He watched her climb into the driver's seat beside Sydney and buckle herself in after adjusting the seat to fit her legs rather than Jarod's. The older Pretender was behind Sydney, next to Broots. Sam sat in the driver's seat of the other car, with Deb next to him and Davy and Kevin in the back. She started the motor, then put her hand out the window to wave goodbye at him, started down his long drive toward the lane that led to the highway.

Ben waved and then stood patiently watching until both cars had turned onto the lane and gone out of sight. Then he pulled his windbreaker a little more closed against the still-chilled wind and began walking slowly back to the inn. This visit had done him as much good as it had done any of them. At least now he knew that Catherine's daughter - and her legacy - were safe.


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