Balancing The Scales - Part 14
by MMB
Kevin watched as Sydney turned to the door on the right and opened it, flipping on the overhead light. "This is the guest room - your room for the time being." The injured man stepped carefully aside so that his young guest could get his first good look at his living space. He knew that if Kevin's space at the house in Dover was anything like Jarod's at the Centre, this room would be as luxurious to him as the young man's room at the inn had been.
"This is for me?" Kevin was astonished. He moved into the room and looked around him in amazement that he was being allowed such riches.
"After I change the bed linens, that is," Jarod commented and moved past his old mentor. "When I left here after Syd was shot, I assumed I'd be returning in a little while - so I didn't do laundry." The older Pretender had already fetched fresh sheets and pillow slips from the linen closet and quickly set about his work.
"You should probably lay down and rest for a while," Kevin said after recovering his voice and then taking a look at his host. Sydney was pale again and obviously in pain. "While Jarod's doing things in here, maybe I should look at you..."
Sydney nodded. "I don't think I want to argue with you," he replied in a pinched voice that caught Jarod's attention immediately. "My room's across the hall," he explained, leading the way into it as he did. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I don't believe this," he grumbled as he felt Jarod pull back the covers behind him.
Kevin had unbuckled the older man's belt and pulled it carefully from the loops so that it wouldn't put any more pressure on the damaged lower chest than necessary, then pulled the shirt from the trousers. "Jarod," the young man called to his older counterpart, pointing at the yellowish stain he'd uncovered.
"We'll need to see what's going on here, Syd. Shirt off," Jarod directed in a don't-give-me-any-argument voice. He glanced at the younger Pretender. "Better go get the medical bag, in case I have stitches to replace." Kevin nodded and immediately set off for the stairs. Jarod turned back to his old friend. "I told you that you were being too active for your own good yesterday," the Pretender chided him sternly. "This is going to mean a couple of days of complete bed rest, you know."
"Save the 'I-told-you-so's', Jarod - it was that damned seat belt," Sydney argued without much energy. "No matter how I tried, I could never get the thing NOT to sit right on top of things."
"I didn't hear that it bothered you this badly the last time..."
"Yeah, well I was still taking the high doses of medication that you'd prescribed," the older man explained. "I was virtually unconscious for the whole trip after we got going - didn't move a muscle."
"You still did too much yesterday," Jarod insisted, his gentle fingers working carefully at the bloodstained medical tape. He looked up into the chestnut eyes seriously. "I mean it, Sydney. You will stay off your feet entirely for the next two days - and THEN we'll see if you can come down the stairs and start being human again."
"Jarod..."
"And if you DON'T stay in bed, I'll have Kevin come in and sit on you - literally, this time." Jarod carefully peeled the bandage away from the front wound and dabbed carefully at the weeping wound to see just what was going on. "Well, the stitches are holding. This is just seepage from the wound being irritated and the scabs dislodged. Otherwise, it's starting to heal quite nicely." He moved to the back and began removing the medical tape there as well. "This one's in much better shape," he announced presently.
"No seat belt rubbing on it..." Sydney remarked quietly, his eyes closed against the ache.
Kevin could be heard bounding up the stairs two at a time. "Ah, to have the energy of youth..." he quipped, barely appreciative of his own humor.
"As long as it's Kevin's energy and Kevin using it," Jarod retorted, then turned to his counterpart as the young man entered the room. "I'll take care of the front while you do the back so Syd can get horizontal as soon as possible."
Sydney sat patiently while the two worked on him. "How long do you suppose it will take for me to start feeling more like myself?" he asked finally.
"Depends," Jarod shrugged, "on how often you do more than you should and disturb the healing process."
"Did anybody ever tell you that you could be quite the nag?" Sydney growled at his former protégé.
"About as often as folks have told you that you're a lousy patient," Jarod retorted back. The older Pretender looked over his mentor's shoulder at the young man working carefully on the other wound. "Don't you let him walk all over you, Kevin. He knows better. Make him behave." Jarod turned back to his work. "I'm counting on you. Miss Parker will have both our hides if we don't get Sydney healed up soon."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien roused again and peered out the grate, this time with a contented smile. The corridor was virtually empty -empty of both Centre employees and of the imposing African security men. He was lucky. He'd been able to get plenty of rest while waiting for the activity level to die down, and now he'd be able to make serious progress towards getting the rest of the charges planted during the night, while things were relatively quiet. He pulled one of the bundled packs of plastique and electronics from the backpack and then zipped the main pocket up again.
He opened the grate and peered down the corridor in both directions when he saw that the security camera across the corridor and down a bit was aimed away from him. Moving as quickly as he dared, he slid his bulk out of the vent and closed the grate again, and moved across the empty corridor and under the camera where he couldn't be seen. Then he waited patiently until the camera had panned in the opposite direction before he stepped quickly a few paces down and around another blind corner. There, high against the wall above his head, he fastened his bundle with a healthy length of duct tape and then turned the electronic trigger to 'receive signal'.
He surveyed his work. Only chance would cause the pack close to the ceiling to catch anybody's eye, and it was totally out of the range of vision of the camera. Ideally, he'd prefer to place it a little less conspicuously, but time was now an element working against him. He had nine more charges to place at key points of the ground floor that were the main supports to the entire Tower structure. Combined with the fifteen charges he'd set the previous night, the explosive power of all of them detonating at once would be a massive blow to the main structural support system of the Tower, more than enough to bring everything above crumbling down like a house of cards.
An eye on the camera told him when he could slip back under the bracket and wait until the ventilation grate wasn't under surveillance again. Then he swiftly opened the grate and heaved his bulk back into the metal tunnel. He took out his wad of blueprints and X'ed out the green spot he'd marked that showed another charge placed, then traced the path to his next target position with a finger. He thrust the wad of paper back in the pack pocket and once more began to push the pack in front of him down the metal ducting.
At least the pack was getting lighter and easier to push than it was at first. Only nine more now...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"And he never came back to the motel room?" Tanaka was flabbergasted. All that money, just lying there waiting to be stolen...
"No, sir." Fujimori was mortified. "He must be at the Centre as we speak, setting the charges. That's the only possible explanation for his delayed return. You DID tell him you wanted the Tower destroyed by no later than Tuesday night." Tanaka-sama glared at him, and he knew he could venture no further toward a more obvious 'I told you so.' Instead, he remarked, "It takes time to set enough charges under the noses of the facility security detail to bring a building of that size down - several hours, at the very least."
"Damn. Just like a gai-jin to be focused on actually getting the job done promptly and properly just about the time we need him to be slip-shod and behind schedule and calling apologetically for extensions, like most others." Tanaka lit a cigarette, then dashed it out nervously in the ashtray before he'd taken more than a first, lengthy drag of nicotine. He looked over at his aides, both of them looking worried and frustrated, and threw his hands out. "Well? Do either of you have any suggestions at this point?"
Fujimori and Yoshikata looked at each other. "Tanaka-sama, you could always call Parker-san..." Yoshikata began hesitantly.
"Parker-san probably already knows that it was the Yakuza that killed her brother Lyle. We made the message as obvious as we could, remember?" Tanaka waved the suggestion away. "She'd have no reason to trust my word."
"And with the Triumverate, a phone call simply won't suffice," Fujimori added in a gloomy tone. "Are you willing to go into the Centre, and up into the Tower yourself to issue the warning personally? We know that the Triumverate, or at least some in there, understand issues of honor..."
"We don't know what time the gai-jin is going to blow the place up!" Yoshikata objected loudly. "Tanaka-sama, going up into the Tower personally at this point in time is a BAD idea. What if..."
Tanaka sat at the small table in the hotel room, his chin in his open palm, staring out the picture window at the city below. This wasn't Tokyo; he didn't own most of what lay spread below him. He was out of his element and running out of options - and time. "I don't know that I have a choice, Yoshikata-san. Fujimori-san is right - at least the Triumverate understands honor. And when push comes to shove, the Yakuza do NOT need to end up at war with the Triumverate."
"You mean you're going?"
The head of the Tokyo Yakuza straightened his posture. "Make the call, Torii-san. Get me in to see Ngawe-sama as early as possible tomorrow morning. The sooner I get in and give them my message, the sooner I can get the hell out of there before the thing blows."
"What do we do about Winwood?" Fujimori asked quietly as he drew out his cell phone.
Tanaka narrowed his eyes. "Call Ikeda-san after you call the Centre. Have him meet you tonight and give him a picture of Winwood-san. Tell him he has a second target, and not to miss."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ikeda Masao listened as the sound of Obayashi-san's little coupe pulled away from the motel room on its way to the Centre. While the Yakuza soldier cum Centre janitor had been polite and unobtrusive company, Ikeda was thankful that the little man was now on his way to another shift at a particularly thankless job - because what Ikeda had to do now was best done unobserved. From a hidden pocket in his briefcase, covered otherwise with the grey foam that cushioned the pieces of the high-powered rifle, he pulled a rarely-used cell phone and pushed a few buttons.
"This is Masao Ikeda," he blurted curtly. "I need to talk to Ngawe. Now." He listened to the melodious voice on the other end of the line. "I don't care if he's retired to the residence for the evening and isn't taking calls. This is important!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker turned as Jarod walked through the kitchen door and joined her at the sink where she was washing salad makings for supper. "Well, did you get Sydney and Kevin all deposited?"
"I'm glad Kevin's staying there with him, Parker. Syd did too much yesterday then had problems with the seat belt on the way home today." He sighed and leaned backwards against the kitchen counter watching her separate the lettuce leaves. "And now that stubborn old man is starting to mother hen Kevin just the way he did me - and you." He pulled a wry face. "I have a sneaky hunch that Davy and I'll have to take Kevin clothing shopping tomorrow morning while you go in to work, just so Syd doesn't get it in his head to do it himself when he SHOULD be keeping off his feet."
"Call Debbie and have her 'visit' her Grandpa while you take Kevin out," she suggested. "He's so proud of her - and she has him wrapped so tightly around her little finger it's not funny. She can make him stay still if anyone can."
"Not to mention that Kevin will be more than glad to have the company when he gets back," Jarod smiled knowingly. "Sam tells me that Deb and our Shadow are getting thick as thieves."
"I bet that has Broots brooding," she quipped with a mischievous grin. "Not only does he have to go through separation anxiety with her going off to school next weekend, but now contemplate possibilities that might come in the meanwhile." Jarod reached for a carrot, only to have his hand slapped away. "Stop that and go see if that stew is boiling yet."
"Are you going to be this bossy as Chairman?" he asked teasingly as he went to follow her instructions and carefully stir the stew.
"Absolutely!" she announced as she quickly and efficiently tore the lettuce into pieces and into a bowl. "Well?" she demanded.
"It's boiling," he told her belatedly.
"Call Davy and tell him to wash up, then." She handed him the salad bowl. "You too."
"Say the magic word," he smirked impishly at her.
"NOW!" She pointed.
"You're no fun," he pouted, his lower lip sticking out in exaggerated display.
Miss Parker decided that if he wanted to play games, he needed to know that SHE played to win. "That remains to be seen," she murmured in a low and sultry voice, snaking an arm around him and popping up into his face to kiss his chin before heading off for the stove. "Later, Casanova," she added pointedly as his arm whipped out to hold her close unexpectedly, "when little pitchers with big ears and eyes aren't around."
"Ah!" Jarod emoted a look of revelation, then kissed her nose back before releasing her. "I can be patient, then... for a little while longer..." He exited the kitchen after wagging his eyebrows up and down at her and making her chuckle and wave him off.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Where ARE you?" Ngawe demanded the moment he picked up the receiver. "Our people have been trying to reach you for hours!"
"In Blue Cove," Ikeda informed him in his quiet voice. "Tanaka-san has given me two targets. One is Raines-san."
"We can imagine," the elderly gentleman nodded as he sat down on the very comfortable couch. "Retribution for having botched the Yakuza involvement in Redux, no doubt."
Ikeda's eyebrows went up at the obvious level of information his secret boss had. "No doubt. I'm also ordered to take out a gai-jin named Winwood Damien. I meet Tanaka's man in an hour to get a picture of him."
"Who's this Winwood person?"
The assassin's head shook slowly. "I have no idea. My telephone contact didn't have or didn't want to give me that information over an open line. I'm hoping to find out tonight. But my orders regarding Raines-san are very specific."
Ngawe was silent, thinking very hard about the bald man tethered to the oxygen tank now languishing near the bottom of the Centre subterranean facility. He knew that, as long as the means by which Raines was relieved of the burden of his life didn't touch the honor of the Triumverate, there would be no stockholder reaction. On the contrary, removing Raines had been a priority response to potential stockholder revolt should news of the projects the man had been involved in ever come to light. At this point, only his moral scruples were holding him back from simply handing the man over to the Tanakas for whatever plans THEY might have for him.
The elderly black gentleman put his forehead in his hand. There were times, he decided, that moral scruples were a definite disadvantage in this job. He'd already known several of those times, and agonized over each and every one of them before clearing the way for what needed to be done. As painful a consideration as it was, he knew that taking Raines all the way back to Africa was an exercise in futility anyway. Raines had said it himself: he was dying, and only the time and means of that death were the unknowns now.
"Then listen closely. I don't want you anywhere near the Tower heli-pad tomorrow at midday, do you understand? Nowhere near Raines and the others when they leave for Africa." Ngawe gave the instructions with the clear understanding that he was in essence signing the former Chairman's death warrant.
"Yes sir, I understand completely," Ikeda returned immediately, keeping his voice even and calm. He knew exactly what his boss was doing. Raines was expendable - a liability even to Triumverate interests. He'd have to find a good vantage point that would give him a clear shot at the heli-pad in the morning.
Ngawe sighed. He was tired - and he was hoping that Miss Parker would be willing to step up to the plate and take the burden of the Chairmanship from his shoulders. He was more than ready to breathe African air again and stay in Nairobi for a long time to come. "And let me know when you hear the reason behind the contract on this Winwood, and why Tanaka would think he'd be at the Centre."
"Yes sir."
The moment the line was disconnected, he was dialing another number.
"Yes, sir?"
"Get me everything there is to know about a man by the name of Damien Winwood. I want it on my desk by morning."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien watched the little Japanese janitor making his slow rounds of the mail room, emptying first one trash bin after another into the maintenance cart. The man was taking his damned time, though - picking up the occasional piece of paper from a desk and look at it, then put it back where he'd found it or even drop it in one of the sorting bins. It was nearly midnight, and there were two charges that needed to be placed in this huge room - a task that couldn't begin until the janitor was history.
The tired bomber debated dropping the little janitor in his tracks, but decided against it. There were the ever-present security cameras to consider - four of them, placed at intervals around the walls edging the room. The time it would take to attack and hopefully neutralize the janitor would make him liable to be seen by security, and that would be VERY bad for him in more ways than one. Besides, you could never know what kind of training these Centre people had - from the executives right on down to the janitorial staff - they ALL could be trained in martial arts or something equally dangerous.
No, Damien decided with a deep and silent sigh, his best bet was to just settle down and wait the man out. After the two charges that needed to be set in this room, he only had two more to go before he could start to work his way back through the ventilation system to the parking garage. He'd be glad to get away from this virtual citadel with its omnipresent surveillance system - and with 20/20 hindsight wished he'd had the balls to ask his employers for twice what he was getting for this job.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Deb, can I ask you a question?"
Debbie turned, drying her hands from finishing with the evening dishes. "Sure, Dad. What?"
Broots had debated all day on how to ask her this - and even now he wasn't sure he wasn't stepping where he had no business. "This Kevin..." he began, then saw his daughter's face fold into a slight frown. "I just was wondering if you and he were..."
"I like him, Dad," she announced firmly, tossing her braid behind her, "and I'm hoping to spend some time with him before I take off for college. Is that OK?"
"Well... sure... I suppose..." Broots frowned at himself - he really wasn't handling this well. "I just thought that you might... I mean... you ARE leaving soon..."
"Daddy," Deb said, coming closer to her father and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, "I know I'm leaving. But I LIKE Kevin - he's smart, and shy, and so... well... innocent..."
"Be careful, Peanut," Broots worried at her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I don't want to see you hurt right now..."
She shook her head indulgently. "He's not going to hurt me, Dad. Frankly, I'm more worried about my hurting him when I leave."
"He has Sydney to take care of providing a shoulder for him," he reminded her primly. "You'll be all alone, with nobody you know. I just don't want..."
"I'll be careful, I promise," she swore and hugged him tightly. "But I'm a big girl now. You don't have to protect me quite so much anymore."
Broots hugged her back tightly, wishing for a brief moment that she were ten again and easily led. "I don't know about that," he said, unconvinced. "I think the older you get, the more you DO need protection."
"I'll be OK." She kissed him on the cheek and then pushed away. "Kevin and I are just good friends right now. He needs a friend."
She trotted off to go upstairs to her room, and Broots looked after her with a combination of pride and apprehension. "God you're growing up too fast!" he mumbled to himself, then turned off the kitchen light and headed for the stairs himself.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ngawe stifled a huge yawn and rolled over to pick up the phone receiver next to his bed in the Centre residence. If it weren't so important, he'd be demanding the resignation of the twit trying to call him at such an ungodly hour - but it WAS important. "Well?"
"My contact didn't give me a reason that Winwood has been targeted, just a picture and instructions not to miss." Ikeda's voice was his normal calm and quiet, but there was a subtle undercurrent of frustration. "I don't like it."
"My people have looked all the way through Centre employment rolls - there IS no Winwood working at the Centre," Ngawe told his contact.
"Then why would I be looking for a non-employee at the Centre?" Ikeda asked, his frustration growing slightly. "This doesn't make sense."
"Well, since he isn't involved in the Centre, I guess I have no say in whether you do as Tanaka has ordered or not," the African said with a yawn. "I'll leave that matter between you and the Yakuza - just make sure no blood splatters the Centre or the Triumverate. Understand?"
"Perfectly, sir. Thank you." Ikeda disconnected.
He tucked the cell phone back into the space in the protective foam of his thick briefcase, closed and latched it, then pulled on his suit jacket and straightened his tie. Somewhere in Blue Cove, there was a car that was going to get temporarily stolen for a small reconnoiter job and then returned so as to cause no comment.
Tomorrow, Randy's car would suffice to getting him where he needed to be by noon. Being in place to handle Raines as ordered was the more important task at the moment. The Winwood assignment didn't seem quite as time-constrained - he'd worry about finding the gai-jin later.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jarod roused as Miss Parker slowly withdrew herself from his embrace and rolled out of bed. Blinking sleepily in the dim summer moonlight, he watched her bend over and retrieve her nightgown from where it had dropped to the floor earlier and slip it over her head, then stand. The silken garment slithered down and draped her slender frame gracefully, and he had to hold back a gasp of appreciation - she was magnificent!
She was troubled too, he noticed a couple of seconds later, because she moved slowly and pensively over to the window and then stood staring out at the moonlit lawn below. The dim bluish light on her face exposed the worry there, and he rolled up on an elbow. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know," she answered softly, hesitantly. "I just... something's not right..."
"The voices?" he asked with a slight frown as he pushed aside the covers and stood, then walked over to stand behind her at the window.
"Something," she replied, pulling a frustrated hand through her tousled hair. "But if it IS the voices, I can't understand what they're telling me."
His hands on her shoulders pulled her back slightly to lean against him, and then his arms wrapped around her front and held her to him gently. "Maybe you're just worried about your meeting with Ngawe tomorrow - having second thoughts about actually taking responsibility for the running of that viper pit?"
"I suppose that's possible," she said, letting her head drop back against his chest and looking up and backwards into his face, illuminated in the moonlight. "After all these years of just wanting to get the hell away from the place, it's a helluva note for me to suddenly about-face and..."
"You can still tell him no," he informed her in a very soft voice, bending forward to drop a kiss on her cheek. "There's nothing that says that you can't change your mind for a few hours yet."
She crossed her arms over the top of his and held him back and yet turned her gaze out onto the dimly-lit landscape below. "We both know this is the right decision, Jarod," she answered with quiet firmness. "I trained my whole life for this job - both in handling it and in knowing where and how it needs changing the worst. And if I don't do it," she turned in his arms finally, "I can't trust that the person that ends up with the job will bother trying to put things right."
Jarod looped his arms loosely around her back. "So your taking the job is a 'lesser of the two evils' decision?" he asked pointedly. "You'd rather turn the job down, but you don't dare?"
"In some ways, perhaps." She looped her arms around his middle too. "But there's also Sydney to consider. Now that he has Kevin to mother-hen, he'll want to keep to his familiar digs for a while. That means I stay too." She leaned into him and kissed his bare chest softly. "And as long as I'm staying..."
"I remember." Jarod tightened his hold on her and buried his nose in her hair. "I know your reasons - I accepted them, remember? I just wonder why, at this late hour, you're bothered."
Miss Parker threw her hair back and looked into his face thoughtfully. "Maybe I just can't believe that I can actually pull this off without the devil himself climbing up out of Hell to make me sorry. The Centre has been Evil Incarnate for so long, surely there has to be a part of that evil that resents the idea that its time is past."
"Then again, maybe it's just a case of the jitters? You know it's a big job you'll be taking on, and you're understandably nervous just before you make it official and have your name painted on that damned glass door?"
Her lips twitched. "You don't like that glass door?" she asked, amused and finally willing to be lured away from her stewing.
He started to smirk a bit. He'd heard the shift in her tone. "I'll like it a helluva lot better when it's you sitting at the desk behind it," he admitted, then bent to nibble at her neck.
"You'll come and see me often, won't you?" she asked, her tone slowly becoming sultry.
His lips started travelling up the column of her neck to a spot on her chin just beneath her ear. "Oh, you can count on it," he breathed in a low tone.
As Miss Parker's hands smoothed both up and down his back from where they had been looped, relishing the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, Jarod turned his head so that his lips could meet hers again. The kiss deepened quickly, with his hands suddenly smoothing against the silken nightgown in search of skin as well. Then his fingers snagged hold of the nightgown and pulled it carefully over her head again and tossed it carelessly at the easy chair, where it landed precariously.
The mattress dipped beneath the weight of two bodies, and the nightgown slowly slipped against itself and ended up in a pool of cream-colored silk on the floor. Again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien wiped the perspiration from his face as he climbed for the last time into the metal tunnel of the ventilation ducting. His last charge was placed and armed, and he was tired! The central area of the Centre ground floor, where some of the most critical structural elements were located, also had the most thorough surveillance arrangements. He had had to spend precious time watching the sweeps of the cameras, timing the arcs and the approximate range of vision those sweeps exposed.
Then planning the complicated dance of steps that it would take to get to the spots he wanted and figuring out just how MUCH time he had to position the devices had taken even more of that precious time. From the lack of alarms going off, he was assuming that he hadn't exposed himself or his work. At this point, he really didn't care. The place was primed and ready to blow, and all he wanted was to get the Hell out before he pushed that button.
For the last time he consulted his blueprints. The crawl to the access grate near the elevator in the parking garage was a long one, but the most necessary. He was almost home free, and he could already feel the thrill of running his hands through another duffelbag of cash.
And he'd damned well earned it!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The door to Willy's cement living space crashed open, bringing the black sweeper awake and to his feet with well-trained reflexes. And despite the taciturn African sweeper's look of frank approval, the man said nothing as he motioned to another to enter. This man was carrying Willy's other suit from his locker, hung neatly on a set of hangers. "Take this," the man ordered in his melodic accent. "You'll be wanting to shower now for your trip today."
"Trip?" Willy took the hanger from him gratefully - he was starting to offend even himself and was looking forward to cleaning up and looking decent again - but this was a little unexpected.
"Come on with you now," the man ordered tersely, grabbing the American sweeper by the arm and dragging at him to get him to move.
Willy quickly moved to comply, but turned about just enough to look at his keeper directly. "Where am I going?"
The African who had brought him his suit looked over at his companion and then seemed to come to a decision. "You'll be among the first of us to be heading home - to Nairobi. There's where we'll be seeing if you have what it takes to become a part of OUR organization."
Willy straightened immediately. He WAS going to survive working for Raines after all! He shot Miss Parker a thought of pure gratitude as his keepers accompanied him into the old Pretender showers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Randy was surprised to see his new roommate up and dressed when he dragged himself into his motel room, thoroughly beat from one of the more demanding assignments. He didn't know what it was about those mail room people, but they left their stuff scattered across the floors and their desks in complete disarray. It always took him over an hour and a half to empty the trash and give order to the room - and this night, it had seemed as if the room was oppressive, watching him in disgust at his slowness.
He threw his light jacket over the back of a chair and parked himself at the end of his narrow bed and gazed up at the assassin. "Ikeda-san?"
"I will be requiring your car today, Obayashi-san," the older man pronounced calmly, then held out his hand expectantly.
"What for?" the young Yakuza turned janitor asked curiously.
Ikeda frowned. "You don't want to know," he told him, his voice calm but his exterior attitude anything but. "I'll have it back to you by the time you need it for work tonight."
Randy fished in his trouser pocket, dragged out the keys and dropped them into the waiting palm. "Just make sure I have enough gas to get to work then," he yawned. "And remember, we drive on the RIGHT side of the road around here."
Ikeda bowed politely to his young associate. "I shall take good care of your vehicle, Obayashi-san, this I promise." He peered at the keys, and Randy reached out and grabbed the one that both opened the door and turned on the ignition. "I have only one other question for you before I let you get to your rest..."
"Hai?"
"How do I find the Centre?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Jarod! Davy!" Kevin stood aside and let his friends into the house.
"Kevin!" Davy, his normal, energetic self, bounced into the house followed by an indulgent father, who immediately looked around the living room for Sydney.
"He still upstairs behaving himself?" Jarod asked with a smile.
Kevin nodded. "I took him some breakfast earlier, but we've got the pain meds back up where he just nods in and out again. He nibbled on some toast and then dropped off."
"Well, Deb should be here soon, so we can take off..." Jarod mentioned, putting a hand on his son's head to get the boy to keep his feet on the ground. "Davy here thinks he knows the coolest places for you to get some decent clothes..."
"Jarod," the younger Pretender sounded a little hesitant, "I don't have any way to repay you..."
Jarod only shook his head firmly. "You don't need to. The money for this little shopping trip comes right out of Raines' personal account - a little back pay owed you for several years' worth of involuntary servitude. The rest is in a checking account for you to use as you choose." The older Pretender grinned at his young counterpart. "You ain't rich, but you ain't without anymore either."
"'Ain't?'" Kevin's head tipped.
Jarod would have answered his obvious verbal confusion, but Deb's car could be heard pulling up into the driveway. Kevin's head twisted about quickly, and then he had the door open again and was trotting down the walk to greet her.
"Kevin likes Deb, Daddy," Davy commented to his father, watching his friend.
"I think so, kiddo." Jarod refrained from a wide grin of amusement when the two young adults came in the house hand in hand, and then gave Deb a warm hug. "So, you think you can keep Grandpa quiet again for a while?"
"What's he doing now?" the young woman asked, peeking up the stairs.
"Sleeping," Kevin answered. "But I don't know for how long. He dropped off before I could give him his morning pills. They're the ones on his nightstand..."
Deb put up a hand. "I'll see that he takes them," she assured the three. "So..." Her eyes were bright. "You're going to get Kevin decked out properly, eh?"
"And I know some of the best places to go," Davy announced with smaller bounce.
"You have my cell phone, in case..."
"Yes, Uncle Jarod," Deb gave the older Pretender a look of teenaged exasperation. "I have your cell, Dad's cell, Miss P's cell, Sam's cell..." She shook her head. "He's all doped up again, guys - what kind of trouble could he get into in THIS shape? Go on - enjoy yourselves!"
Jarod gave Davy a push toward the door and followed him, then turned on his way across the threshold to see Deb and Kevin still talking softly. "Come on, Kevin. Your participation in this excursion is essential or you may end up with clothes that don't fit!" Kevin suddenly leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Debbie's cheek and then turned to trot after his friends, leaving Deb with a happy and pensive look on her face.
"I won't tell either Broots or Sydney I saw that," Jarod told the young man conspiratorially as he put a hand on the young man's shoulder and led the way to the car.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The parking garage was finally full enough that Damien felt relatively safe in slipping out of the ventilation access grate and to the pavement behind the fancier town cars that were parked close by the elevator door. Keeping crouched so as not to be visible above the roof of the cars around him, he made his way carefully across the parking structure and down the line a ways to where several cars had been parked already since long before he'd gotten there. He'd been watching for hours now - their owners were obviously working late after pulling eight hours on the night shift.
He chose the aging gold Oldsmobile as the one with probably the largest and most comfortable trunk to hide in and then dug into his now-limp backpack for the lock pick set that he carried with him at all times and set to work. He didn't let the trunk lid open any more than necessary before slipping inside and pulling it down nearly shut after himself. He then dug in another pocket of the backpack and pulled out a heavy twist-tie and secured the trunk down and nearly latched - but capable of being opened with but a twist of his wrist for quick escape.
Now all he needed was for the jerk who owned the car to finally give up and take off for home...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What do you mean, the appointment isn't until one o'clock?" Tanaka was furious and stalked away from his valet as the man attempted to help his employer into his vest for the day.
Fujimori shrugged, resigned to bearing the responsibility for this small disappointment. "This was the earliest I was able to get from the Triumverate itself, Tanaka-sama. I am deeply sorry to have failed you." He bowed deeply and abjectly in his employer's direction as the man strode towards him.
"Did you at least get the picture of Winwood-san to Ikeda-san, as I requested?" the young Yakuza boss snapped as he strode past his bent right-hand man and flopped himself down in a chair with a bowl of fried rice in front of him.
"Hai. I met with Ikeda-san at midnight last night and gave him what you asked me to."
"Did he seem confident he'd be able to carry out his instructions?" Tanaka asked around a mouthful of rice.
Fujimori straightened, knowing himself at least partly forgiven, and approached the table. "He seemed to be fairly confident about Raines-san, but confused about Winwood-san. He wanted to know if the gai-jin worked at the Centre. I told him no, just that he needed to be eliminated too as soon as possible."
"Did you impress upon him the importance of this, Torii-san?" Tanaka demanded.
"To the best of my abilities, Tanaka-sama."
Tanaka continued to shovel his rice into his mouth for a moment, a frown of impatience on his face. "I hate the idea that I have to sit and wait upon an afternoon appointment," he fussed. "The gods only know when Winwood will be done setting his bombs and bring that Tower down. I want Ngawe-sama and Parker-san out of danger when that happens," he paused, "IF that happens - IF we don't get a call from Ikeda-san telling us all is clear."
Fujimori bowed. "Gomen nasai, Tanaka-sama, but I think the chances of that happening are pretty remote."
"Just go make sure the car is ready to leave at ten-thirty," the Yakuza boss snapped and stuffed another mouthful of rice in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Broots made a point of keeping his eyes firmly affixed to the monitor of his computer as Miss Parker walked behind him for at least the tenth time. The normally cool, calm and collected woman born and bred to Centre life was nervous about her upcoming meeting with the head of the Triumverate, and had abandoned her office in favor of coming to land and fuss in his. He smiled to himself. Were Sydney not out of commission, no doubt she'd have been hanging about the Sim Lab instead.
"I suppose I should..." she started, looking at her wristwatch for at least the twentieth time since she invaded Broots' space.
Now her friend did turn and look at her, his eyes filled with confidence and support. "You'll do fine, Miss Parker. They wouldn't be offering you the job if they didn't have faith in you too."
She smoothed her hands down her ash-grey silk pantsuit, adjusting things ever so slightly, then looking to Broots for confirmation. "Go on," he urged, nodding toward the door.
She nodded and straightened her posture, then walked out his office door with her head held high. Before she had taken more than ten steps down the corridor, she knew she had Sam two paces back on her heels. "Thanks," she said softly as the two of them entered the elevator for the ride up to the Tower office.
"Sure thing," he answered in a brisk sweeper's tone for the benefit of the still present surveillance cameras. She had specifically asked him to accompany her to the meeting, to come into the office and stand toward the back of the room with the rest of Ngawe's bodyguards while she official accepted their job offer. Frankly, he felt that he should be the one thanking her, for it was a demonstration of trust and confidence in him - and a sign that his status within the Centre hierarchy was going to be changing for the better.
The African standing at attention outside the glass doors to the top office at the Centre deferentially opened the door at their approach, and then carefully and quietly closed it behind them. Miss Parker's eyes met Sam's briefly, and she glanced at the spot she wanted him to stand at while she continued on toward Ngawe.
The elderly African's colorful sash stood out in stark contrast to his coal-black suit, and he rose as she neared the desk. "Miss Parker, good to see you again. You had a restful weekend, we hope?" He gestured gracefully at the comfortable chair in front of the desk, and seated himself when she had taken her seat.
"I did a lot of thinking this weekend," she admitted with candor. "I have to admit that I have wanted to leave the Centre for a very long time, and this wish made my decision a difficult one."
Ngawe nodded. "We heard rumors of your having made a 'deal' with Mr. Parker many years ago. We also know that Mr. Raines was fairly straightforward in expressing his... desire... to keep you within the Centre." He gazed at her with keen eyes. "And did you reach a decision this weekend?"
Miss Parker took a deep breath. "I accept your offer," she said in a voice that once upon a time had been a trademark of her 'Ice Queen' persona. "I have some ideas for reorganizing a great deal of Centre resources which, under the last two administrations, have been squandered on efforts that have done little for the Centre's reputation or the Triumverate's coffers. I'm looking forward to seeing what can be done to amend that problem - both to your satisfaction and to mine."
Ngawe rose and extended his hand to her again. "We are extremely pleased to hear this decision, Miss Parker. The Triumverate has observed you for some time now, working under very adverse conditions for either Mr. Parker or Mr. Raines at times. We spoke with the rest of the directors yesterday, and they offer you their complete cooperation and support during the transition period you are suggesting."
"I do have a question for you," she seated herself again, and Ngawe sat down again, intrigued.
"What question is that?"
"Will my authority be absolute, once I have passed through a period of probation?"
Ngawe smiled, his teeth a brilliant contrast to his ebony skin. "There is no probationary period, Miss Parker. You have accepted the job, and you ARE the Chairman now. Besides, we have always had the policy that the Chairman of the Centre has absolute authority over the Centre, but answerable directly to the Triumverate only when things begin to go awry. You will note that until we had unimpeachable proof of Mr. Raines' deliberate flaunting of policy, HE enjoyed absolute authority over Centre activities. If we remember properly, that authority had you strapped to an operating table only a few days ago."
Miss Parker nodded. "I know that. I just wanted to make sure that I understood the terms of my employment, and under what terms I become answerable to you and your directors."
"We do not see where our agenda and policies and yours will be much in conflict, Miss Parker - and we perceive in you a far more amenable person with whom to make compromise." Ngawe rose again. "And now, if you will excuse us, it is time for us to retire from this office, as the Centre is now under your direct authority." He extended his hand to her again as she rose as well. "Congratulations, Madam Chairwoman. May you have a long and prosperous career ahead of you."
The elderly man walked around the end of the massive carved desk and, with a flick of a finger in the direction of his bodyguards and assistants, had soon left Miss Parker and Sam alone in the huge office. The two of them looked at each other for a while, astonished that the meeting had been such a short and succinct one. Then, as Sam slowly stepped forward from his spot against the back wall, Miss Parker walked slowly around the end of the massive desk that had once been 'Daddy's' throne at the Centre and lowered herself into the leather chair.
"Can I get you anything, ma'am?" Sam asked deferentially, now standing directly in front of the desk.
"Sit down, Sam," Miss Parker pointed at the chair she had just vacated herself. "I have an idea, and I'd like to run it past you."
"Yes, ma'am," the ex-wrestler nodded and quickly seated himself before the imposing desk.
"The post of director of SIS has just become available," she announced with a business-like tone. "I think you are best suited for the position. You have experience working with the previous director, and have the kind of loyalty that I find indispensable right now." She watched coolly as Sam's lips twitched, but he managed not to break a smile across that rugged face. "I need the right people in the right place doing the kind of job I need done right the first time. Are you the right person for SIS?"
Sam's head straightened proudly, and his dark eyes met hers confidently. "I would like very much an opportunity to prove myself capable, ma'am."
"Good. You can consider the job yours as of immediately, then. I will be having my personal belongings and papers moved from the SIS office later today - you are welcome to move in anytime thereafter." She stood, and as expected, Sam was on his feet immediately. She, as Ngawe had done before her, extended her hand across the desk and shook Sam's hand warmly. "Congratulations, Sam. I'm going to be depending on you quite a bit from now on. So let me redefine our professional relationship as it will stand from this moment on. You are now one of six top executives in this organization and directly answerable only to me. I expect you to speak your mind and tell me what you think, whether I want to hear it or not, especially when it is in the best interests of making this a kinder, gentler, more genuinely beneficial Centre."
"Yes, ma'am!" Sam's lips twitched again, and this time he didn't prevent the smile from blooming.
"The first thing I want you to get started on," Miss Parker ordered, sitting down again, "is to start dismantling that damned invasive surveillance system that makes it impossible to sneeze anywhere in this place without being recorded for posterity. We are a research and development think tank, not a damned prison. Security cameras are to monitor areas of high sensitivity and all entrances only. I want them removed from elevators, restrooms, offices, and we'll keep only a reduced number in the most secured corridors. Have a proposal and a projected timeline for implementation on my desk by morning. Is that understood?"
Sam nodded, his grin now wide. He hated the cameras at least as much as she did, although he was aware that it had been those very cameras that had made their coup efforts successful. But that was 'taking lemons and making lemonade' - digging up the lemon tree was going to be a satisfying first task. "I'll get started on that right away, Miss Parker."
"That will be all, then. Oh," she smiled at him, "tell Broots I'd like to see him as soon as possible, and let my secretary know that I could use her help up here as of yesterday."
"Yes, ma'am!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When the door slammed open on Willy's space this time, he was ready. Pulling himself proudly erect, he rose from the thin pallet and grabbed up his suit jacket from the back of the chair and put it on quickly. "I'm ready," he announced calmly, then stepped between his African bodyguards as if that were the way he'd always been trained.
As he entered the hallway, he noted that Vernon looked a little the worse for wear, but was also clothed in far a less lived-in suit. The man had a sallow sheen to his face, however - no doubt the consequence of finding out that his new home would be thousands of miles from anywhere familiar. The Africans assigned as his keepers had him by the arms and were directing him to move his feet with some impatience.
The elevator took the six of them straight up, and Willy realized that he'd been taken to the executive elevator shaft. The ride seemed endless, and Vernon had a slightly wheezing cough that was rapidly growing annoying. When the elevator door slid open, the American sweeper realized that he'd been taken to the roof - to the heli-pad. Outside waited an olive-green double-rotored machine with both sets of blades spinning slowly. The African at the door looked at his watch, then motioned for the six newcomers to take the short walk to the vehicle.
As Willy climbed aboard the helicopter and took his seat at the near edge, he noticed that the door to the elevator access room had opened again, and two hefty Africans were approaching the helicopter with a pale and gasping Raines between them. The three had made it only halfway across the roof when, suddenly, Raines' body jerked and a red dot appeared in the middle of his forehead with a reddish cloud puffing out behind him as the bullet ripped through his skull. Without a word, he crumpled in his keepers' hands like a sack of potatoes.
The Africans on either side immediately dropped his arms and had their guns out, but the man at the elevator door simply gestured for them to join the others on the helicopter.
Willy watched the Tower, and the sprawled body of the man to whom he'd been loyal for so long, drop away from him. He shook his head. Someone was a DAMNED good shot - and it appeared that the event had been expected! But at least he wouldn't have to sit through an entire trip with a man who had betrayed him only to be betrayed in return. Whoever it had been that had shot Raines had done him a personal favor. He turned his gaze on Vernon, whose face had grown pasty at the sight and was wheezing nervously again, and then trained his eyes forward. For him, there was no going back now.
If he never saw the Centre again, it would be too soon.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker leaned forward and hit the button on the intercom. "Yes, Liz?"
"Mr. Ngawe to see you, Miss Parker," her secretary announced calmly.
"Show him in," she answered and straightened in her chair.
The aged head of the Triumverate walked steadily and calmly into the office that had, until only hours before, been his. "We regret to inform you that a sniper with a high-powered rifle assassinated Mr. Raines while we were in the process of loading him on the helicopter this noon. We felt, as you are his successor, you needed to be informed."
Miss Parker's jaw dropped. "Raines - dead?" She breathed in deeply several times, afraid that she was going to wake up soon and find this nothing but a wishful dream. "You're sure?"
Ngawe seemed to understand her hesitation. "We know how many times this man has apparently been destroyed, only to pop back up like the proverbial 'bad penny'." At Miss Parker's nod, he continued, "We assure you that it was a lifeless corpse that we ordered taken to the Centre morgue. I'm sure that if you go there sometime before the next scheduled cremation time, you'll be able to see for yourself."
Miss Parker rose slowly. "I... think I will..." Then she remembered herself. "What about the other two?"
The African raised his eyebrows at her. "Mr. Gautier and Dr. Grey have already been removed from the Centre grounds. They will be leaving New York for Nairobi this afternoon. We ourselves have but a few more things to take care of here, and then we will be taking our leave this evening."
Miss Parker extended her hand to the elderly man in front of her. "On behalf of the Centre, I'd like to extend our thanks and appreciation for all you've done for us during this... difficult... time."
Ngawe bowed graciously over her hand. "The pleasure was entirely ours, Miss Parker. Please, the next time you have the opportunity, come to visit us in Nairobi. I think you will find the trip enlightening and educational."
"I look forward to speaking to you again in the near future, Mr. Ngawe." Miss Parker watched the African take his time walking from her new office, then hit the button on her intercom. "Call down to the morgue and tell them I want to see Raines' body - that I'm on my way."
Liz knew better than to question her boss. "Yes, ma'am," she replied deftly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien was puffing and sweating in the Centre overalls he was still wearing, but he couldn't stop. He needed to get back to same general area he'd been at when he'd taken command of the mower. It was only a short walk in the cover of the brush at the edge of the vast lawn to a rise that would give his triggering mechanism's signal the benefit of direct line of transmission to all of the charges he'd set.
His plan to use the trunk of the Oldsmobile had finally paid off - and his precautions to make escape from that trunk simple had paid off as well. The only hitch was a skinned knee obtained when he climbed from the trunk while the car was stopped at the stop sign where the beachfront road connected with the highway into Dover. The car had traveled farther than he'd thought, however, and he was ready to be done with this job once and for all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Broots shut down his computer terminal and headed for the elevator. Sydney had called requesting a specific collection of his files from the Sim Lab pertaining to Jarod and his psychological profiles over time. The computer tech didn't have the slightest idea what the aging psychiatrist wanted with these old papers at this late date, but Sydney had sounded very firm about his request around the slurring from the pain medication during the call.
Broots was fairly certain he'd heard Debbie scolding her grandfather in the background for getting up - and smiled when he heard Sydney genuinely sound guilty in his tossed-back answer to her and then hang up rather quickly after that. That Debbie was with Sydney again wasn't surprising. At least Sydney could keep an eye on things there between her and Kevin - provided he didn't end up put back to bed upstairs again. A lot could go on downstairs while Grandpa slept unawares upstairs... No! He wouldn't worry about that now.
He'd go collect the files now, while he had the time and needed the opportunity to stretch his legs. It would help him not stew about Debbie and Kevin again. He walked to the elevator and pushed the button and waited.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tanaka looked around him as he walked through the airy foyer of the Centre Tower flanked by Fujimori and Yoshikata. Gods but he hated this place - the ostentation of the building itself was insulting - and now here he was, trying to warn of an ill-conceived plot to bring it down.
"Mr. Ngawe is waiting for you in the conference room on Tower-2," the African bodyguard who had met them at the front door had announced. "If you will follow me..."
Both Yoshikata's and Fujimori's faces looked grim with the stress of being inside a building they had paid a great deal of money to see destroyed within very little time. But both had been adamant about accompanying him into danger. Tanaka held himself just a little more haughtily; he walked among the gai-jin of two colors like a shogun with his trusted samurai at his side.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ikeda had indeed found himself a vantage point from which he could see the Tower roof. It had involved climbing very near the top of a very tall tree on a rise near the edge of the vast lawn that encircled the Centre facility itself, an effort that took time to undo. He had no intention of falling and breaking a limb, or his neck, in the commission of half a job.
His feet had just touched the ground, and he was pulling the briefcase from the overhead branch on which he'd rested it when he heard the steady rustling in the underbrush ahead of him that told him there was someone else in the cover with him. He froze in place and squatted down so as to be less visible, and listened very carefully.
There is was again - steady rustling behind him that was moving at an oblique angle to his location, moving ever forward towards the lawn and the Centre beyond. Ikeda quickly unpacked his rifle and began moving - hunting. He watched very carefully where he put his feet, avoiding as many of the brittle leaves and small dried weeks as he could so as to move more or less silently on an intercept course. Anybody out in this jumble of brambles and briars, this close to the monstrosity that was the Centre, couldn't have been out there for their health. Something was up.
And he intended it find out exactly what it was.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker moved past the morgue attendant toward the sheet-covered autopsy table. The man moved aside nervously, and she had the vaguest impression that the rumor mill had already reached this deeply into the subterranean levels that she was now running this circus. Her grey eyes caught his firmly. "Show me," she ordered in a steely tone.
The morgue attendant nodded and slowly peeled the white plastic sheet back from the corpse's face.
Miss Parker stared down into the dead eyes of her nemesis - the one person on earth she most detested. The bullet hole in his forehead had bled very little, and so looked almost fabricated. But she had to be sure. She swallowed and put her fingers up to where the carotid would be pulsing in any live man, and then drew away sharply as not only she felt nothing, but was disgusted by the coolness and lifelessness of the skin she'd touched. She drew her fingers down the blue cheek and then looked at them - nothing had rubbed off that indicated that it was an elaborate ruse.
"On behalf of me, my mother, Jarod, Kevin, Angelo, Faith, Davy, and everyone else you ever harmed in your life, may you rot in Hell for eternity, you bastard," she hissed down at him. She wished perversely that those dead eyes had some awareness left in them that would tell her he'd heard her.
"When do you cremate him?" she asked, pulling the sheet back into place and then looking up at the attendant.
"In an hour, ma'am."
She frowned. "Why so long?"
"Mr. Ngawe ordered that the body be vaporize - no ashes. It takes time to get the furnace up hot enough to do that."
"You will notify my secretary when you are ten minutes from that," she ordered firmly. "I intend to watch you put his miserable carcass into the fire, and then stand here and watch it burn. If he's truly dead, I want to make sure he STAYS that way!"
The morgue assistant blanched, but nodded. He didn't want to know.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien eased himself through the underbrush at the top of the rise and peered out across the lawn. There it lay, sprawled out like a languid octopus, with the three-story Tower building like a malignant head sitting high above the rest of the ground-floor offices. He studied it for a moment, appreciating the symmetry and architectural nuances that had been used in the planning of this place. Then he dragged up his backpack and began unzipping the main pouch for one last item.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ngawe stood straight and proud in front of the elegant picture window of the conference room and waited while the trio of Japanese entered the room. Two of the men stayed behind deferentially, but the youngest approached with the swagger of authority. "We are Ngawe," he announced, thoroughly unimpressed. "What does the Yakuza wish with the Triumverate?"
"Tanaka Toshiro," Tanaka introduced himself bluntly and bowed deeply. "I came myself this morning to warn you that you need to leave this building at once, and make sure that Miss Parker leaves too."
The elderly African began to chuckle. "Why in the name of heaven would I want to do such a thing, Mr. Tanaka?"
Tanaka stepped forward close enough to the old man that the African bodyguards at the back of the room began to bristle. "Because, sir, there is a bomb in this building that may go off at any second."
"And how do you know this?" The aged ebony eyes gazed at the young Japanese in complete disbelief.
"Because I hired the man myself before I knew Raines had been ousted," Tanaka admitted. "And now I can't get in touch with him to pull him back."
Finally the elderly African began to suspect that Tanaka was telling the truth, and his face tensed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ikeda moved stealthily through the brush, making little if any noise that couldn't also be attributed to the breeze blowing through the trees. He could begin to make out the head of the man who stood leaning against a birch sapling with a black box in his hands, antenna aimed out and across the lawn. He started - the face of the man in front of him was the same face that he had studied so carefully into the early hours of the morning: his second target.
Thanking whatever god or goddess it was that had brought him this incredible piece of luck, he raised his rifle for the killing shot.
Winwood whispered, "So long, suckers," and pushed the detonator button on his box just before the bullet ripped through his head above his right ear.
He fell backwards into the obscuring brush, never to know whether or not two days' worth of crawling through metal tunnels had done their job.
Feedback, please: mbumpus_99@hotmail.com
by MMB
Kevin watched as Sydney turned to the door on the right and opened it, flipping on the overhead light. "This is the guest room - your room for the time being." The injured man stepped carefully aside so that his young guest could get his first good look at his living space. He knew that if Kevin's space at the house in Dover was anything like Jarod's at the Centre, this room would be as luxurious to him as the young man's room at the inn had been.
"This is for me?" Kevin was astonished. He moved into the room and looked around him in amazement that he was being allowed such riches.
"After I change the bed linens, that is," Jarod commented and moved past his old mentor. "When I left here after Syd was shot, I assumed I'd be returning in a little while - so I didn't do laundry." The older Pretender had already fetched fresh sheets and pillow slips from the linen closet and quickly set about his work.
"You should probably lay down and rest for a while," Kevin said after recovering his voice and then taking a look at his host. Sydney was pale again and obviously in pain. "While Jarod's doing things in here, maybe I should look at you..."
Sydney nodded. "I don't think I want to argue with you," he replied in a pinched voice that caught Jarod's attention immediately. "My room's across the hall," he explained, leading the way into it as he did. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I don't believe this," he grumbled as he felt Jarod pull back the covers behind him.
Kevin had unbuckled the older man's belt and pulled it carefully from the loops so that it wouldn't put any more pressure on the damaged lower chest than necessary, then pulled the shirt from the trousers. "Jarod," the young man called to his older counterpart, pointing at the yellowish stain he'd uncovered.
"We'll need to see what's going on here, Syd. Shirt off," Jarod directed in a don't-give-me-any-argument voice. He glanced at the younger Pretender. "Better go get the medical bag, in case I have stitches to replace." Kevin nodded and immediately set off for the stairs. Jarod turned back to his old friend. "I told you that you were being too active for your own good yesterday," the Pretender chided him sternly. "This is going to mean a couple of days of complete bed rest, you know."
"Save the 'I-told-you-so's', Jarod - it was that damned seat belt," Sydney argued without much energy. "No matter how I tried, I could never get the thing NOT to sit right on top of things."
"I didn't hear that it bothered you this badly the last time..."
"Yeah, well I was still taking the high doses of medication that you'd prescribed," the older man explained. "I was virtually unconscious for the whole trip after we got going - didn't move a muscle."
"You still did too much yesterday," Jarod insisted, his gentle fingers working carefully at the bloodstained medical tape. He looked up into the chestnut eyes seriously. "I mean it, Sydney. You will stay off your feet entirely for the next two days - and THEN we'll see if you can come down the stairs and start being human again."
"Jarod..."
"And if you DON'T stay in bed, I'll have Kevin come in and sit on you - literally, this time." Jarod carefully peeled the bandage away from the front wound and dabbed carefully at the weeping wound to see just what was going on. "Well, the stitches are holding. This is just seepage from the wound being irritated and the scabs dislodged. Otherwise, it's starting to heal quite nicely." He moved to the back and began removing the medical tape there as well. "This one's in much better shape," he announced presently.
"No seat belt rubbing on it..." Sydney remarked quietly, his eyes closed against the ache.
Kevin could be heard bounding up the stairs two at a time. "Ah, to have the energy of youth..." he quipped, barely appreciative of his own humor.
"As long as it's Kevin's energy and Kevin using it," Jarod retorted, then turned to his counterpart as the young man entered the room. "I'll take care of the front while you do the back so Syd can get horizontal as soon as possible."
Sydney sat patiently while the two worked on him. "How long do you suppose it will take for me to start feeling more like myself?" he asked finally.
"Depends," Jarod shrugged, "on how often you do more than you should and disturb the healing process."
"Did anybody ever tell you that you could be quite the nag?" Sydney growled at his former protégé.
"About as often as folks have told you that you're a lousy patient," Jarod retorted back. The older Pretender looked over his mentor's shoulder at the young man working carefully on the other wound. "Don't you let him walk all over you, Kevin. He knows better. Make him behave." Jarod turned back to his work. "I'm counting on you. Miss Parker will have both our hides if we don't get Sydney healed up soon."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien roused again and peered out the grate, this time with a contented smile. The corridor was virtually empty -empty of both Centre employees and of the imposing African security men. He was lucky. He'd been able to get plenty of rest while waiting for the activity level to die down, and now he'd be able to make serious progress towards getting the rest of the charges planted during the night, while things were relatively quiet. He pulled one of the bundled packs of plastique and electronics from the backpack and then zipped the main pocket up again.
He opened the grate and peered down the corridor in both directions when he saw that the security camera across the corridor and down a bit was aimed away from him. Moving as quickly as he dared, he slid his bulk out of the vent and closed the grate again, and moved across the empty corridor and under the camera where he couldn't be seen. Then he waited patiently until the camera had panned in the opposite direction before he stepped quickly a few paces down and around another blind corner. There, high against the wall above his head, he fastened his bundle with a healthy length of duct tape and then turned the electronic trigger to 'receive signal'.
He surveyed his work. Only chance would cause the pack close to the ceiling to catch anybody's eye, and it was totally out of the range of vision of the camera. Ideally, he'd prefer to place it a little less conspicuously, but time was now an element working against him. He had nine more charges to place at key points of the ground floor that were the main supports to the entire Tower structure. Combined with the fifteen charges he'd set the previous night, the explosive power of all of them detonating at once would be a massive blow to the main structural support system of the Tower, more than enough to bring everything above crumbling down like a house of cards.
An eye on the camera told him when he could slip back under the bracket and wait until the ventilation grate wasn't under surveillance again. Then he swiftly opened the grate and heaved his bulk back into the metal tunnel. He took out his wad of blueprints and X'ed out the green spot he'd marked that showed another charge placed, then traced the path to his next target position with a finger. He thrust the wad of paper back in the pack pocket and once more began to push the pack in front of him down the metal ducting.
At least the pack was getting lighter and easier to push than it was at first. Only nine more now...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"And he never came back to the motel room?" Tanaka was flabbergasted. All that money, just lying there waiting to be stolen...
"No, sir." Fujimori was mortified. "He must be at the Centre as we speak, setting the charges. That's the only possible explanation for his delayed return. You DID tell him you wanted the Tower destroyed by no later than Tuesday night." Tanaka-sama glared at him, and he knew he could venture no further toward a more obvious 'I told you so.' Instead, he remarked, "It takes time to set enough charges under the noses of the facility security detail to bring a building of that size down - several hours, at the very least."
"Damn. Just like a gai-jin to be focused on actually getting the job done promptly and properly just about the time we need him to be slip-shod and behind schedule and calling apologetically for extensions, like most others." Tanaka lit a cigarette, then dashed it out nervously in the ashtray before he'd taken more than a first, lengthy drag of nicotine. He looked over at his aides, both of them looking worried and frustrated, and threw his hands out. "Well? Do either of you have any suggestions at this point?"
Fujimori and Yoshikata looked at each other. "Tanaka-sama, you could always call Parker-san..." Yoshikata began hesitantly.
"Parker-san probably already knows that it was the Yakuza that killed her brother Lyle. We made the message as obvious as we could, remember?" Tanaka waved the suggestion away. "She'd have no reason to trust my word."
"And with the Triumverate, a phone call simply won't suffice," Fujimori added in a gloomy tone. "Are you willing to go into the Centre, and up into the Tower yourself to issue the warning personally? We know that the Triumverate, or at least some in there, understand issues of honor..."
"We don't know what time the gai-jin is going to blow the place up!" Yoshikata objected loudly. "Tanaka-sama, going up into the Tower personally at this point in time is a BAD idea. What if..."
Tanaka sat at the small table in the hotel room, his chin in his open palm, staring out the picture window at the city below. This wasn't Tokyo; he didn't own most of what lay spread below him. He was out of his element and running out of options - and time. "I don't know that I have a choice, Yoshikata-san. Fujimori-san is right - at least the Triumverate understands honor. And when push comes to shove, the Yakuza do NOT need to end up at war with the Triumverate."
"You mean you're going?"
The head of the Tokyo Yakuza straightened his posture. "Make the call, Torii-san. Get me in to see Ngawe-sama as early as possible tomorrow morning. The sooner I get in and give them my message, the sooner I can get the hell out of there before the thing blows."
"What do we do about Winwood?" Fujimori asked quietly as he drew out his cell phone.
Tanaka narrowed his eyes. "Call Ikeda-san after you call the Centre. Have him meet you tonight and give him a picture of Winwood-san. Tell him he has a second target, and not to miss."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ikeda Masao listened as the sound of Obayashi-san's little coupe pulled away from the motel room on its way to the Centre. While the Yakuza soldier cum Centre janitor had been polite and unobtrusive company, Ikeda was thankful that the little man was now on his way to another shift at a particularly thankless job - because what Ikeda had to do now was best done unobserved. From a hidden pocket in his briefcase, covered otherwise with the grey foam that cushioned the pieces of the high-powered rifle, he pulled a rarely-used cell phone and pushed a few buttons.
"This is Masao Ikeda," he blurted curtly. "I need to talk to Ngawe. Now." He listened to the melodious voice on the other end of the line. "I don't care if he's retired to the residence for the evening and isn't taking calls. This is important!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker turned as Jarod walked through the kitchen door and joined her at the sink where she was washing salad makings for supper. "Well, did you get Sydney and Kevin all deposited?"
"I'm glad Kevin's staying there with him, Parker. Syd did too much yesterday then had problems with the seat belt on the way home today." He sighed and leaned backwards against the kitchen counter watching her separate the lettuce leaves. "And now that stubborn old man is starting to mother hen Kevin just the way he did me - and you." He pulled a wry face. "I have a sneaky hunch that Davy and I'll have to take Kevin clothing shopping tomorrow morning while you go in to work, just so Syd doesn't get it in his head to do it himself when he SHOULD be keeping off his feet."
"Call Debbie and have her 'visit' her Grandpa while you take Kevin out," she suggested. "He's so proud of her - and she has him wrapped so tightly around her little finger it's not funny. She can make him stay still if anyone can."
"Not to mention that Kevin will be more than glad to have the company when he gets back," Jarod smiled knowingly. "Sam tells me that Deb and our Shadow are getting thick as thieves."
"I bet that has Broots brooding," she quipped with a mischievous grin. "Not only does he have to go through separation anxiety with her going off to school next weekend, but now contemplate possibilities that might come in the meanwhile." Jarod reached for a carrot, only to have his hand slapped away. "Stop that and go see if that stew is boiling yet."
"Are you going to be this bossy as Chairman?" he asked teasingly as he went to follow her instructions and carefully stir the stew.
"Absolutely!" she announced as she quickly and efficiently tore the lettuce into pieces and into a bowl. "Well?" she demanded.
"It's boiling," he told her belatedly.
"Call Davy and tell him to wash up, then." She handed him the salad bowl. "You too."
"Say the magic word," he smirked impishly at her.
"NOW!" She pointed.
"You're no fun," he pouted, his lower lip sticking out in exaggerated display.
Miss Parker decided that if he wanted to play games, he needed to know that SHE played to win. "That remains to be seen," she murmured in a low and sultry voice, snaking an arm around him and popping up into his face to kiss his chin before heading off for the stove. "Later, Casanova," she added pointedly as his arm whipped out to hold her close unexpectedly, "when little pitchers with big ears and eyes aren't around."
"Ah!" Jarod emoted a look of revelation, then kissed her nose back before releasing her. "I can be patient, then... for a little while longer..." He exited the kitchen after wagging his eyebrows up and down at her and making her chuckle and wave him off.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Where ARE you?" Ngawe demanded the moment he picked up the receiver. "Our people have been trying to reach you for hours!"
"In Blue Cove," Ikeda informed him in his quiet voice. "Tanaka-san has given me two targets. One is Raines-san."
"We can imagine," the elderly gentleman nodded as he sat down on the very comfortable couch. "Retribution for having botched the Yakuza involvement in Redux, no doubt."
Ikeda's eyebrows went up at the obvious level of information his secret boss had. "No doubt. I'm also ordered to take out a gai-jin named Winwood Damien. I meet Tanaka's man in an hour to get a picture of him."
"Who's this Winwood person?"
The assassin's head shook slowly. "I have no idea. My telephone contact didn't have or didn't want to give me that information over an open line. I'm hoping to find out tonight. But my orders regarding Raines-san are very specific."
Ngawe was silent, thinking very hard about the bald man tethered to the oxygen tank now languishing near the bottom of the Centre subterranean facility. He knew that, as long as the means by which Raines was relieved of the burden of his life didn't touch the honor of the Triumverate, there would be no stockholder reaction. On the contrary, removing Raines had been a priority response to potential stockholder revolt should news of the projects the man had been involved in ever come to light. At this point, only his moral scruples were holding him back from simply handing the man over to the Tanakas for whatever plans THEY might have for him.
The elderly black gentleman put his forehead in his hand. There were times, he decided, that moral scruples were a definite disadvantage in this job. He'd already known several of those times, and agonized over each and every one of them before clearing the way for what needed to be done. As painful a consideration as it was, he knew that taking Raines all the way back to Africa was an exercise in futility anyway. Raines had said it himself: he was dying, and only the time and means of that death were the unknowns now.
"Then listen closely. I don't want you anywhere near the Tower heli-pad tomorrow at midday, do you understand? Nowhere near Raines and the others when they leave for Africa." Ngawe gave the instructions with the clear understanding that he was in essence signing the former Chairman's death warrant.
"Yes sir, I understand completely," Ikeda returned immediately, keeping his voice even and calm. He knew exactly what his boss was doing. Raines was expendable - a liability even to Triumverate interests. He'd have to find a good vantage point that would give him a clear shot at the heli-pad in the morning.
Ngawe sighed. He was tired - and he was hoping that Miss Parker would be willing to step up to the plate and take the burden of the Chairmanship from his shoulders. He was more than ready to breathe African air again and stay in Nairobi for a long time to come. "And let me know when you hear the reason behind the contract on this Winwood, and why Tanaka would think he'd be at the Centre."
"Yes sir."
The moment the line was disconnected, he was dialing another number.
"Yes, sir?"
"Get me everything there is to know about a man by the name of Damien Winwood. I want it on my desk by morning."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien watched the little Japanese janitor making his slow rounds of the mail room, emptying first one trash bin after another into the maintenance cart. The man was taking his damned time, though - picking up the occasional piece of paper from a desk and look at it, then put it back where he'd found it or even drop it in one of the sorting bins. It was nearly midnight, and there were two charges that needed to be placed in this huge room - a task that couldn't begin until the janitor was history.
The tired bomber debated dropping the little janitor in his tracks, but decided against it. There were the ever-present security cameras to consider - four of them, placed at intervals around the walls edging the room. The time it would take to attack and hopefully neutralize the janitor would make him liable to be seen by security, and that would be VERY bad for him in more ways than one. Besides, you could never know what kind of training these Centre people had - from the executives right on down to the janitorial staff - they ALL could be trained in martial arts or something equally dangerous.
No, Damien decided with a deep and silent sigh, his best bet was to just settle down and wait the man out. After the two charges that needed to be set in this room, he only had two more to go before he could start to work his way back through the ventilation system to the parking garage. He'd be glad to get away from this virtual citadel with its omnipresent surveillance system - and with 20/20 hindsight wished he'd had the balls to ask his employers for twice what he was getting for this job.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Deb, can I ask you a question?"
Debbie turned, drying her hands from finishing with the evening dishes. "Sure, Dad. What?"
Broots had debated all day on how to ask her this - and even now he wasn't sure he wasn't stepping where he had no business. "This Kevin..." he began, then saw his daughter's face fold into a slight frown. "I just was wondering if you and he were..."
"I like him, Dad," she announced firmly, tossing her braid behind her, "and I'm hoping to spend some time with him before I take off for college. Is that OK?"
"Well... sure... I suppose..." Broots frowned at himself - he really wasn't handling this well. "I just thought that you might... I mean... you ARE leaving soon..."
"Daddy," Deb said, coming closer to her father and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, "I know I'm leaving. But I LIKE Kevin - he's smart, and shy, and so... well... innocent..."
"Be careful, Peanut," Broots worried at her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I don't want to see you hurt right now..."
She shook her head indulgently. "He's not going to hurt me, Dad. Frankly, I'm more worried about my hurting him when I leave."
"He has Sydney to take care of providing a shoulder for him," he reminded her primly. "You'll be all alone, with nobody you know. I just don't want..."
"I'll be careful, I promise," she swore and hugged him tightly. "But I'm a big girl now. You don't have to protect me quite so much anymore."
Broots hugged her back tightly, wishing for a brief moment that she were ten again and easily led. "I don't know about that," he said, unconvinced. "I think the older you get, the more you DO need protection."
"I'll be OK." She kissed him on the cheek and then pushed away. "Kevin and I are just good friends right now. He needs a friend."
She trotted off to go upstairs to her room, and Broots looked after her with a combination of pride and apprehension. "God you're growing up too fast!" he mumbled to himself, then turned off the kitchen light and headed for the stairs himself.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ngawe stifled a huge yawn and rolled over to pick up the phone receiver next to his bed in the Centre residence. If it weren't so important, he'd be demanding the resignation of the twit trying to call him at such an ungodly hour - but it WAS important. "Well?"
"My contact didn't give me a reason that Winwood has been targeted, just a picture and instructions not to miss." Ikeda's voice was his normal calm and quiet, but there was a subtle undercurrent of frustration. "I don't like it."
"My people have looked all the way through Centre employment rolls - there IS no Winwood working at the Centre," Ngawe told his contact.
"Then why would I be looking for a non-employee at the Centre?" Ikeda asked, his frustration growing slightly. "This doesn't make sense."
"Well, since he isn't involved in the Centre, I guess I have no say in whether you do as Tanaka has ordered or not," the African said with a yawn. "I'll leave that matter between you and the Yakuza - just make sure no blood splatters the Centre or the Triumverate. Understand?"
"Perfectly, sir. Thank you." Ikeda disconnected.
He tucked the cell phone back into the space in the protective foam of his thick briefcase, closed and latched it, then pulled on his suit jacket and straightened his tie. Somewhere in Blue Cove, there was a car that was going to get temporarily stolen for a small reconnoiter job and then returned so as to cause no comment.
Tomorrow, Randy's car would suffice to getting him where he needed to be by noon. Being in place to handle Raines as ordered was the more important task at the moment. The Winwood assignment didn't seem quite as time-constrained - he'd worry about finding the gai-jin later.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jarod roused as Miss Parker slowly withdrew herself from his embrace and rolled out of bed. Blinking sleepily in the dim summer moonlight, he watched her bend over and retrieve her nightgown from where it had dropped to the floor earlier and slip it over her head, then stand. The silken garment slithered down and draped her slender frame gracefully, and he had to hold back a gasp of appreciation - she was magnificent!
She was troubled too, he noticed a couple of seconds later, because she moved slowly and pensively over to the window and then stood staring out at the moonlit lawn below. The dim bluish light on her face exposed the worry there, and he rolled up on an elbow. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know," she answered softly, hesitantly. "I just... something's not right..."
"The voices?" he asked with a slight frown as he pushed aside the covers and stood, then walked over to stand behind her at the window.
"Something," she replied, pulling a frustrated hand through her tousled hair. "But if it IS the voices, I can't understand what they're telling me."
His hands on her shoulders pulled her back slightly to lean against him, and then his arms wrapped around her front and held her to him gently. "Maybe you're just worried about your meeting with Ngawe tomorrow - having second thoughts about actually taking responsibility for the running of that viper pit?"
"I suppose that's possible," she said, letting her head drop back against his chest and looking up and backwards into his face, illuminated in the moonlight. "After all these years of just wanting to get the hell away from the place, it's a helluva note for me to suddenly about-face and..."
"You can still tell him no," he informed her in a very soft voice, bending forward to drop a kiss on her cheek. "There's nothing that says that you can't change your mind for a few hours yet."
She crossed her arms over the top of his and held him back and yet turned her gaze out onto the dimly-lit landscape below. "We both know this is the right decision, Jarod," she answered with quiet firmness. "I trained my whole life for this job - both in handling it and in knowing where and how it needs changing the worst. And if I don't do it," she turned in his arms finally, "I can't trust that the person that ends up with the job will bother trying to put things right."
Jarod looped his arms loosely around her back. "So your taking the job is a 'lesser of the two evils' decision?" he asked pointedly. "You'd rather turn the job down, but you don't dare?"
"In some ways, perhaps." She looped her arms around his middle too. "But there's also Sydney to consider. Now that he has Kevin to mother-hen, he'll want to keep to his familiar digs for a while. That means I stay too." She leaned into him and kissed his bare chest softly. "And as long as I'm staying..."
"I remember." Jarod tightened his hold on her and buried his nose in her hair. "I know your reasons - I accepted them, remember? I just wonder why, at this late hour, you're bothered."
Miss Parker threw her hair back and looked into his face thoughtfully. "Maybe I just can't believe that I can actually pull this off without the devil himself climbing up out of Hell to make me sorry. The Centre has been Evil Incarnate for so long, surely there has to be a part of that evil that resents the idea that its time is past."
"Then again, maybe it's just a case of the jitters? You know it's a big job you'll be taking on, and you're understandably nervous just before you make it official and have your name painted on that damned glass door?"
Her lips twitched. "You don't like that glass door?" she asked, amused and finally willing to be lured away from her stewing.
He started to smirk a bit. He'd heard the shift in her tone. "I'll like it a helluva lot better when it's you sitting at the desk behind it," he admitted, then bent to nibble at her neck.
"You'll come and see me often, won't you?" she asked, her tone slowly becoming sultry.
His lips started travelling up the column of her neck to a spot on her chin just beneath her ear. "Oh, you can count on it," he breathed in a low tone.
As Miss Parker's hands smoothed both up and down his back from where they had been looped, relishing the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, Jarod turned his head so that his lips could meet hers again. The kiss deepened quickly, with his hands suddenly smoothing against the silken nightgown in search of skin as well. Then his fingers snagged hold of the nightgown and pulled it carefully over her head again and tossed it carelessly at the easy chair, where it landed precariously.
The mattress dipped beneath the weight of two bodies, and the nightgown slowly slipped against itself and ended up in a pool of cream-colored silk on the floor. Again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien wiped the perspiration from his face as he climbed for the last time into the metal tunnel of the ventilation ducting. His last charge was placed and armed, and he was tired! The central area of the Centre ground floor, where some of the most critical structural elements were located, also had the most thorough surveillance arrangements. He had had to spend precious time watching the sweeps of the cameras, timing the arcs and the approximate range of vision those sweeps exposed.
Then planning the complicated dance of steps that it would take to get to the spots he wanted and figuring out just how MUCH time he had to position the devices had taken even more of that precious time. From the lack of alarms going off, he was assuming that he hadn't exposed himself or his work. At this point, he really didn't care. The place was primed and ready to blow, and all he wanted was to get the Hell out before he pushed that button.
For the last time he consulted his blueprints. The crawl to the access grate near the elevator in the parking garage was a long one, but the most necessary. He was almost home free, and he could already feel the thrill of running his hands through another duffelbag of cash.
And he'd damned well earned it!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The door to Willy's cement living space crashed open, bringing the black sweeper awake and to his feet with well-trained reflexes. And despite the taciturn African sweeper's look of frank approval, the man said nothing as he motioned to another to enter. This man was carrying Willy's other suit from his locker, hung neatly on a set of hangers. "Take this," the man ordered in his melodic accent. "You'll be wanting to shower now for your trip today."
"Trip?" Willy took the hanger from him gratefully - he was starting to offend even himself and was looking forward to cleaning up and looking decent again - but this was a little unexpected.
"Come on with you now," the man ordered tersely, grabbing the American sweeper by the arm and dragging at him to get him to move.
Willy quickly moved to comply, but turned about just enough to look at his keeper directly. "Where am I going?"
The African who had brought him his suit looked over at his companion and then seemed to come to a decision. "You'll be among the first of us to be heading home - to Nairobi. There's where we'll be seeing if you have what it takes to become a part of OUR organization."
Willy straightened immediately. He WAS going to survive working for Raines after all! He shot Miss Parker a thought of pure gratitude as his keepers accompanied him into the old Pretender showers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Randy was surprised to see his new roommate up and dressed when he dragged himself into his motel room, thoroughly beat from one of the more demanding assignments. He didn't know what it was about those mail room people, but they left their stuff scattered across the floors and their desks in complete disarray. It always took him over an hour and a half to empty the trash and give order to the room - and this night, it had seemed as if the room was oppressive, watching him in disgust at his slowness.
He threw his light jacket over the back of a chair and parked himself at the end of his narrow bed and gazed up at the assassin. "Ikeda-san?"
"I will be requiring your car today, Obayashi-san," the older man pronounced calmly, then held out his hand expectantly.
"What for?" the young Yakuza turned janitor asked curiously.
Ikeda frowned. "You don't want to know," he told him, his voice calm but his exterior attitude anything but. "I'll have it back to you by the time you need it for work tonight."
Randy fished in his trouser pocket, dragged out the keys and dropped them into the waiting palm. "Just make sure I have enough gas to get to work then," he yawned. "And remember, we drive on the RIGHT side of the road around here."
Ikeda bowed politely to his young associate. "I shall take good care of your vehicle, Obayashi-san, this I promise." He peered at the keys, and Randy reached out and grabbed the one that both opened the door and turned on the ignition. "I have only one other question for you before I let you get to your rest..."
"Hai?"
"How do I find the Centre?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Jarod! Davy!" Kevin stood aside and let his friends into the house.
"Kevin!" Davy, his normal, energetic self, bounced into the house followed by an indulgent father, who immediately looked around the living room for Sydney.
"He still upstairs behaving himself?" Jarod asked with a smile.
Kevin nodded. "I took him some breakfast earlier, but we've got the pain meds back up where he just nods in and out again. He nibbled on some toast and then dropped off."
"Well, Deb should be here soon, so we can take off..." Jarod mentioned, putting a hand on his son's head to get the boy to keep his feet on the ground. "Davy here thinks he knows the coolest places for you to get some decent clothes..."
"Jarod," the younger Pretender sounded a little hesitant, "I don't have any way to repay you..."
Jarod only shook his head firmly. "You don't need to. The money for this little shopping trip comes right out of Raines' personal account - a little back pay owed you for several years' worth of involuntary servitude. The rest is in a checking account for you to use as you choose." The older Pretender grinned at his young counterpart. "You ain't rich, but you ain't without anymore either."
"'Ain't?'" Kevin's head tipped.
Jarod would have answered his obvious verbal confusion, but Deb's car could be heard pulling up into the driveway. Kevin's head twisted about quickly, and then he had the door open again and was trotting down the walk to greet her.
"Kevin likes Deb, Daddy," Davy commented to his father, watching his friend.
"I think so, kiddo." Jarod refrained from a wide grin of amusement when the two young adults came in the house hand in hand, and then gave Deb a warm hug. "So, you think you can keep Grandpa quiet again for a while?"
"What's he doing now?" the young woman asked, peeking up the stairs.
"Sleeping," Kevin answered. "But I don't know for how long. He dropped off before I could give him his morning pills. They're the ones on his nightstand..."
Deb put up a hand. "I'll see that he takes them," she assured the three. "So..." Her eyes were bright. "You're going to get Kevin decked out properly, eh?"
"And I know some of the best places to go," Davy announced with smaller bounce.
"You have my cell phone, in case..."
"Yes, Uncle Jarod," Deb gave the older Pretender a look of teenaged exasperation. "I have your cell, Dad's cell, Miss P's cell, Sam's cell..." She shook her head. "He's all doped up again, guys - what kind of trouble could he get into in THIS shape? Go on - enjoy yourselves!"
Jarod gave Davy a push toward the door and followed him, then turned on his way across the threshold to see Deb and Kevin still talking softly. "Come on, Kevin. Your participation in this excursion is essential or you may end up with clothes that don't fit!" Kevin suddenly leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Debbie's cheek and then turned to trot after his friends, leaving Deb with a happy and pensive look on her face.
"I won't tell either Broots or Sydney I saw that," Jarod told the young man conspiratorially as he put a hand on the young man's shoulder and led the way to the car.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The parking garage was finally full enough that Damien felt relatively safe in slipping out of the ventilation access grate and to the pavement behind the fancier town cars that were parked close by the elevator door. Keeping crouched so as not to be visible above the roof of the cars around him, he made his way carefully across the parking structure and down the line a ways to where several cars had been parked already since long before he'd gotten there. He'd been watching for hours now - their owners were obviously working late after pulling eight hours on the night shift.
He chose the aging gold Oldsmobile as the one with probably the largest and most comfortable trunk to hide in and then dug into his now-limp backpack for the lock pick set that he carried with him at all times and set to work. He didn't let the trunk lid open any more than necessary before slipping inside and pulling it down nearly shut after himself. He then dug in another pocket of the backpack and pulled out a heavy twist-tie and secured the trunk down and nearly latched - but capable of being opened with but a twist of his wrist for quick escape.
Now all he needed was for the jerk who owned the car to finally give up and take off for home...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What do you mean, the appointment isn't until one o'clock?" Tanaka was furious and stalked away from his valet as the man attempted to help his employer into his vest for the day.
Fujimori shrugged, resigned to bearing the responsibility for this small disappointment. "This was the earliest I was able to get from the Triumverate itself, Tanaka-sama. I am deeply sorry to have failed you." He bowed deeply and abjectly in his employer's direction as the man strode towards him.
"Did you at least get the picture of Winwood-san to Ikeda-san, as I requested?" the young Yakuza boss snapped as he strode past his bent right-hand man and flopped himself down in a chair with a bowl of fried rice in front of him.
"Hai. I met with Ikeda-san at midnight last night and gave him what you asked me to."
"Did he seem confident he'd be able to carry out his instructions?" Tanaka asked around a mouthful of rice.
Fujimori straightened, knowing himself at least partly forgiven, and approached the table. "He seemed to be fairly confident about Raines-san, but confused about Winwood-san. He wanted to know if the gai-jin worked at the Centre. I told him no, just that he needed to be eliminated too as soon as possible."
"Did you impress upon him the importance of this, Torii-san?" Tanaka demanded.
"To the best of my abilities, Tanaka-sama."
Tanaka continued to shovel his rice into his mouth for a moment, a frown of impatience on his face. "I hate the idea that I have to sit and wait upon an afternoon appointment," he fussed. "The gods only know when Winwood will be done setting his bombs and bring that Tower down. I want Ngawe-sama and Parker-san out of danger when that happens," he paused, "IF that happens - IF we don't get a call from Ikeda-san telling us all is clear."
Fujimori bowed. "Gomen nasai, Tanaka-sama, but I think the chances of that happening are pretty remote."
"Just go make sure the car is ready to leave at ten-thirty," the Yakuza boss snapped and stuffed another mouthful of rice in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Broots made a point of keeping his eyes firmly affixed to the monitor of his computer as Miss Parker walked behind him for at least the tenth time. The normally cool, calm and collected woman born and bred to Centre life was nervous about her upcoming meeting with the head of the Triumverate, and had abandoned her office in favor of coming to land and fuss in his. He smiled to himself. Were Sydney not out of commission, no doubt she'd have been hanging about the Sim Lab instead.
"I suppose I should..." she started, looking at her wristwatch for at least the twentieth time since she invaded Broots' space.
Now her friend did turn and look at her, his eyes filled with confidence and support. "You'll do fine, Miss Parker. They wouldn't be offering you the job if they didn't have faith in you too."
She smoothed her hands down her ash-grey silk pantsuit, adjusting things ever so slightly, then looking to Broots for confirmation. "Go on," he urged, nodding toward the door.
She nodded and straightened her posture, then walked out his office door with her head held high. Before she had taken more than ten steps down the corridor, she knew she had Sam two paces back on her heels. "Thanks," she said softly as the two of them entered the elevator for the ride up to the Tower office.
"Sure thing," he answered in a brisk sweeper's tone for the benefit of the still present surveillance cameras. She had specifically asked him to accompany her to the meeting, to come into the office and stand toward the back of the room with the rest of Ngawe's bodyguards while she official accepted their job offer. Frankly, he felt that he should be the one thanking her, for it was a demonstration of trust and confidence in him - and a sign that his status within the Centre hierarchy was going to be changing for the better.
The African standing at attention outside the glass doors to the top office at the Centre deferentially opened the door at their approach, and then carefully and quietly closed it behind them. Miss Parker's eyes met Sam's briefly, and she glanced at the spot she wanted him to stand at while she continued on toward Ngawe.
The elderly African's colorful sash stood out in stark contrast to his coal-black suit, and he rose as she neared the desk. "Miss Parker, good to see you again. You had a restful weekend, we hope?" He gestured gracefully at the comfortable chair in front of the desk, and seated himself when she had taken her seat.
"I did a lot of thinking this weekend," she admitted with candor. "I have to admit that I have wanted to leave the Centre for a very long time, and this wish made my decision a difficult one."
Ngawe nodded. "We heard rumors of your having made a 'deal' with Mr. Parker many years ago. We also know that Mr. Raines was fairly straightforward in expressing his... desire... to keep you within the Centre." He gazed at her with keen eyes. "And did you reach a decision this weekend?"
Miss Parker took a deep breath. "I accept your offer," she said in a voice that once upon a time had been a trademark of her 'Ice Queen' persona. "I have some ideas for reorganizing a great deal of Centre resources which, under the last two administrations, have been squandered on efforts that have done little for the Centre's reputation or the Triumverate's coffers. I'm looking forward to seeing what can be done to amend that problem - both to your satisfaction and to mine."
Ngawe rose and extended his hand to her again. "We are extremely pleased to hear this decision, Miss Parker. The Triumverate has observed you for some time now, working under very adverse conditions for either Mr. Parker or Mr. Raines at times. We spoke with the rest of the directors yesterday, and they offer you their complete cooperation and support during the transition period you are suggesting."
"I do have a question for you," she seated herself again, and Ngawe sat down again, intrigued.
"What question is that?"
"Will my authority be absolute, once I have passed through a period of probation?"
Ngawe smiled, his teeth a brilliant contrast to his ebony skin. "There is no probationary period, Miss Parker. You have accepted the job, and you ARE the Chairman now. Besides, we have always had the policy that the Chairman of the Centre has absolute authority over the Centre, but answerable directly to the Triumverate only when things begin to go awry. You will note that until we had unimpeachable proof of Mr. Raines' deliberate flaunting of policy, HE enjoyed absolute authority over Centre activities. If we remember properly, that authority had you strapped to an operating table only a few days ago."
Miss Parker nodded. "I know that. I just wanted to make sure that I understood the terms of my employment, and under what terms I become answerable to you and your directors."
"We do not see where our agenda and policies and yours will be much in conflict, Miss Parker - and we perceive in you a far more amenable person with whom to make compromise." Ngawe rose again. "And now, if you will excuse us, it is time for us to retire from this office, as the Centre is now under your direct authority." He extended his hand to her again as she rose as well. "Congratulations, Madam Chairwoman. May you have a long and prosperous career ahead of you."
The elderly man walked around the end of the massive carved desk and, with a flick of a finger in the direction of his bodyguards and assistants, had soon left Miss Parker and Sam alone in the huge office. The two of them looked at each other for a while, astonished that the meeting had been such a short and succinct one. Then, as Sam slowly stepped forward from his spot against the back wall, Miss Parker walked slowly around the end of the massive desk that had once been 'Daddy's' throne at the Centre and lowered herself into the leather chair.
"Can I get you anything, ma'am?" Sam asked deferentially, now standing directly in front of the desk.
"Sit down, Sam," Miss Parker pointed at the chair she had just vacated herself. "I have an idea, and I'd like to run it past you."
"Yes, ma'am," the ex-wrestler nodded and quickly seated himself before the imposing desk.
"The post of director of SIS has just become available," she announced with a business-like tone. "I think you are best suited for the position. You have experience working with the previous director, and have the kind of loyalty that I find indispensable right now." She watched coolly as Sam's lips twitched, but he managed not to break a smile across that rugged face. "I need the right people in the right place doing the kind of job I need done right the first time. Are you the right person for SIS?"
Sam's head straightened proudly, and his dark eyes met hers confidently. "I would like very much an opportunity to prove myself capable, ma'am."
"Good. You can consider the job yours as of immediately, then. I will be having my personal belongings and papers moved from the SIS office later today - you are welcome to move in anytime thereafter." She stood, and as expected, Sam was on his feet immediately. She, as Ngawe had done before her, extended her hand across the desk and shook Sam's hand warmly. "Congratulations, Sam. I'm going to be depending on you quite a bit from now on. So let me redefine our professional relationship as it will stand from this moment on. You are now one of six top executives in this organization and directly answerable only to me. I expect you to speak your mind and tell me what you think, whether I want to hear it or not, especially when it is in the best interests of making this a kinder, gentler, more genuinely beneficial Centre."
"Yes, ma'am!" Sam's lips twitched again, and this time he didn't prevent the smile from blooming.
"The first thing I want you to get started on," Miss Parker ordered, sitting down again, "is to start dismantling that damned invasive surveillance system that makes it impossible to sneeze anywhere in this place without being recorded for posterity. We are a research and development think tank, not a damned prison. Security cameras are to monitor areas of high sensitivity and all entrances only. I want them removed from elevators, restrooms, offices, and we'll keep only a reduced number in the most secured corridors. Have a proposal and a projected timeline for implementation on my desk by morning. Is that understood?"
Sam nodded, his grin now wide. He hated the cameras at least as much as she did, although he was aware that it had been those very cameras that had made their coup efforts successful. But that was 'taking lemons and making lemonade' - digging up the lemon tree was going to be a satisfying first task. "I'll get started on that right away, Miss Parker."
"That will be all, then. Oh," she smiled at him, "tell Broots I'd like to see him as soon as possible, and let my secretary know that I could use her help up here as of yesterday."
"Yes, ma'am!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When the door slammed open on Willy's space this time, he was ready. Pulling himself proudly erect, he rose from the thin pallet and grabbed up his suit jacket from the back of the chair and put it on quickly. "I'm ready," he announced calmly, then stepped between his African bodyguards as if that were the way he'd always been trained.
As he entered the hallway, he noted that Vernon looked a little the worse for wear, but was also clothed in far a less lived-in suit. The man had a sallow sheen to his face, however - no doubt the consequence of finding out that his new home would be thousands of miles from anywhere familiar. The Africans assigned as his keepers had him by the arms and were directing him to move his feet with some impatience.
The elevator took the six of them straight up, and Willy realized that he'd been taken to the executive elevator shaft. The ride seemed endless, and Vernon had a slightly wheezing cough that was rapidly growing annoying. When the elevator door slid open, the American sweeper realized that he'd been taken to the roof - to the heli-pad. Outside waited an olive-green double-rotored machine with both sets of blades spinning slowly. The African at the door looked at his watch, then motioned for the six newcomers to take the short walk to the vehicle.
As Willy climbed aboard the helicopter and took his seat at the near edge, he noticed that the door to the elevator access room had opened again, and two hefty Africans were approaching the helicopter with a pale and gasping Raines between them. The three had made it only halfway across the roof when, suddenly, Raines' body jerked and a red dot appeared in the middle of his forehead with a reddish cloud puffing out behind him as the bullet ripped through his skull. Without a word, he crumpled in his keepers' hands like a sack of potatoes.
The Africans on either side immediately dropped his arms and had their guns out, but the man at the elevator door simply gestured for them to join the others on the helicopter.
Willy watched the Tower, and the sprawled body of the man to whom he'd been loyal for so long, drop away from him. He shook his head. Someone was a DAMNED good shot - and it appeared that the event had been expected! But at least he wouldn't have to sit through an entire trip with a man who had betrayed him only to be betrayed in return. Whoever it had been that had shot Raines had done him a personal favor. He turned his gaze on Vernon, whose face had grown pasty at the sight and was wheezing nervously again, and then trained his eyes forward. For him, there was no going back now.
If he never saw the Centre again, it would be too soon.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker leaned forward and hit the button on the intercom. "Yes, Liz?"
"Mr. Ngawe to see you, Miss Parker," her secretary announced calmly.
"Show him in," she answered and straightened in her chair.
The aged head of the Triumverate walked steadily and calmly into the office that had, until only hours before, been his. "We regret to inform you that a sniper with a high-powered rifle assassinated Mr. Raines while we were in the process of loading him on the helicopter this noon. We felt, as you are his successor, you needed to be informed."
Miss Parker's jaw dropped. "Raines - dead?" She breathed in deeply several times, afraid that she was going to wake up soon and find this nothing but a wishful dream. "You're sure?"
Ngawe seemed to understand her hesitation. "We know how many times this man has apparently been destroyed, only to pop back up like the proverbial 'bad penny'." At Miss Parker's nod, he continued, "We assure you that it was a lifeless corpse that we ordered taken to the Centre morgue. I'm sure that if you go there sometime before the next scheduled cremation time, you'll be able to see for yourself."
Miss Parker rose slowly. "I... think I will..." Then she remembered herself. "What about the other two?"
The African raised his eyebrows at her. "Mr. Gautier and Dr. Grey have already been removed from the Centre grounds. They will be leaving New York for Nairobi this afternoon. We ourselves have but a few more things to take care of here, and then we will be taking our leave this evening."
Miss Parker extended her hand to the elderly man in front of her. "On behalf of the Centre, I'd like to extend our thanks and appreciation for all you've done for us during this... difficult... time."
Ngawe bowed graciously over her hand. "The pleasure was entirely ours, Miss Parker. Please, the next time you have the opportunity, come to visit us in Nairobi. I think you will find the trip enlightening and educational."
"I look forward to speaking to you again in the near future, Mr. Ngawe." Miss Parker watched the African take his time walking from her new office, then hit the button on her intercom. "Call down to the morgue and tell them I want to see Raines' body - that I'm on my way."
Liz knew better than to question her boss. "Yes, ma'am," she replied deftly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien was puffing and sweating in the Centre overalls he was still wearing, but he couldn't stop. He needed to get back to same general area he'd been at when he'd taken command of the mower. It was only a short walk in the cover of the brush at the edge of the vast lawn to a rise that would give his triggering mechanism's signal the benefit of direct line of transmission to all of the charges he'd set.
His plan to use the trunk of the Oldsmobile had finally paid off - and his precautions to make escape from that trunk simple had paid off as well. The only hitch was a skinned knee obtained when he climbed from the trunk while the car was stopped at the stop sign where the beachfront road connected with the highway into Dover. The car had traveled farther than he'd thought, however, and he was ready to be done with this job once and for all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Broots shut down his computer terminal and headed for the elevator. Sydney had called requesting a specific collection of his files from the Sim Lab pertaining to Jarod and his psychological profiles over time. The computer tech didn't have the slightest idea what the aging psychiatrist wanted with these old papers at this late date, but Sydney had sounded very firm about his request around the slurring from the pain medication during the call.
Broots was fairly certain he'd heard Debbie scolding her grandfather in the background for getting up - and smiled when he heard Sydney genuinely sound guilty in his tossed-back answer to her and then hang up rather quickly after that. That Debbie was with Sydney again wasn't surprising. At least Sydney could keep an eye on things there between her and Kevin - provided he didn't end up put back to bed upstairs again. A lot could go on downstairs while Grandpa slept unawares upstairs... No! He wouldn't worry about that now.
He'd go collect the files now, while he had the time and needed the opportunity to stretch his legs. It would help him not stew about Debbie and Kevin again. He walked to the elevator and pushed the button and waited.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tanaka looked around him as he walked through the airy foyer of the Centre Tower flanked by Fujimori and Yoshikata. Gods but he hated this place - the ostentation of the building itself was insulting - and now here he was, trying to warn of an ill-conceived plot to bring it down.
"Mr. Ngawe is waiting for you in the conference room on Tower-2," the African bodyguard who had met them at the front door had announced. "If you will follow me..."
Both Yoshikata's and Fujimori's faces looked grim with the stress of being inside a building they had paid a great deal of money to see destroyed within very little time. But both had been adamant about accompanying him into danger. Tanaka held himself just a little more haughtily; he walked among the gai-jin of two colors like a shogun with his trusted samurai at his side.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ikeda had indeed found himself a vantage point from which he could see the Tower roof. It had involved climbing very near the top of a very tall tree on a rise near the edge of the vast lawn that encircled the Centre facility itself, an effort that took time to undo. He had no intention of falling and breaking a limb, or his neck, in the commission of half a job.
His feet had just touched the ground, and he was pulling the briefcase from the overhead branch on which he'd rested it when he heard the steady rustling in the underbrush ahead of him that told him there was someone else in the cover with him. He froze in place and squatted down so as to be less visible, and listened very carefully.
There is was again - steady rustling behind him that was moving at an oblique angle to his location, moving ever forward towards the lawn and the Centre beyond. Ikeda quickly unpacked his rifle and began moving - hunting. He watched very carefully where he put his feet, avoiding as many of the brittle leaves and small dried weeks as he could so as to move more or less silently on an intercept course. Anybody out in this jumble of brambles and briars, this close to the monstrosity that was the Centre, couldn't have been out there for their health. Something was up.
And he intended it find out exactly what it was.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker moved past the morgue attendant toward the sheet-covered autopsy table. The man moved aside nervously, and she had the vaguest impression that the rumor mill had already reached this deeply into the subterranean levels that she was now running this circus. Her grey eyes caught his firmly. "Show me," she ordered in a steely tone.
The morgue attendant nodded and slowly peeled the white plastic sheet back from the corpse's face.
Miss Parker stared down into the dead eyes of her nemesis - the one person on earth she most detested. The bullet hole in his forehead had bled very little, and so looked almost fabricated. But she had to be sure. She swallowed and put her fingers up to where the carotid would be pulsing in any live man, and then drew away sharply as not only she felt nothing, but was disgusted by the coolness and lifelessness of the skin she'd touched. She drew her fingers down the blue cheek and then looked at them - nothing had rubbed off that indicated that it was an elaborate ruse.
"On behalf of me, my mother, Jarod, Kevin, Angelo, Faith, Davy, and everyone else you ever harmed in your life, may you rot in Hell for eternity, you bastard," she hissed down at him. She wished perversely that those dead eyes had some awareness left in them that would tell her he'd heard her.
"When do you cremate him?" she asked, pulling the sheet back into place and then looking up at the attendant.
"In an hour, ma'am."
She frowned. "Why so long?"
"Mr. Ngawe ordered that the body be vaporize - no ashes. It takes time to get the furnace up hot enough to do that."
"You will notify my secretary when you are ten minutes from that," she ordered firmly. "I intend to watch you put his miserable carcass into the fire, and then stand here and watch it burn. If he's truly dead, I want to make sure he STAYS that way!"
The morgue assistant blanched, but nodded. He didn't want to know.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damien eased himself through the underbrush at the top of the rise and peered out across the lawn. There it lay, sprawled out like a languid octopus, with the three-story Tower building like a malignant head sitting high above the rest of the ground-floor offices. He studied it for a moment, appreciating the symmetry and architectural nuances that had been used in the planning of this place. Then he dragged up his backpack and began unzipping the main pouch for one last item.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ngawe stood straight and proud in front of the elegant picture window of the conference room and waited while the trio of Japanese entered the room. Two of the men stayed behind deferentially, but the youngest approached with the swagger of authority. "We are Ngawe," he announced, thoroughly unimpressed. "What does the Yakuza wish with the Triumverate?"
"Tanaka Toshiro," Tanaka introduced himself bluntly and bowed deeply. "I came myself this morning to warn you that you need to leave this building at once, and make sure that Miss Parker leaves too."
The elderly African began to chuckle. "Why in the name of heaven would I want to do such a thing, Mr. Tanaka?"
Tanaka stepped forward close enough to the old man that the African bodyguards at the back of the room began to bristle. "Because, sir, there is a bomb in this building that may go off at any second."
"And how do you know this?" The aged ebony eyes gazed at the young Japanese in complete disbelief.
"Because I hired the man myself before I knew Raines had been ousted," Tanaka admitted. "And now I can't get in touch with him to pull him back."
Finally the elderly African began to suspect that Tanaka was telling the truth, and his face tensed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ikeda moved stealthily through the brush, making little if any noise that couldn't also be attributed to the breeze blowing through the trees. He could begin to make out the head of the man who stood leaning against a birch sapling with a black box in his hands, antenna aimed out and across the lawn. He started - the face of the man in front of him was the same face that he had studied so carefully into the early hours of the morning: his second target.
Thanking whatever god or goddess it was that had brought him this incredible piece of luck, he raised his rifle for the killing shot.
Winwood whispered, "So long, suckers," and pushed the detonator button on his box just before the bullet ripped through his head above his right ear.
He fell backwards into the obscuring brush, never to know whether or not two days' worth of crawling through metal tunnels had done their job.
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