A half hour later I was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and raincoat stolen from a thrift shop. The cutlass was concealed, and I was walking briskly along the street. Planning to get farther away from Jacob, then spend the night in a bus shelter.

Suddenly, the sky was lit up by another burst of fireworks. This one across town, and clearly on a rooftop.

A Quickening.

Far as it was from me, I dove for cover in a doorway. When I'd caught my breath, I watched the light show with my mind in a whirl.

A Quickening on a rooftop in New York? Even late at night, that was outrageous! These people were insane. It was 1985 all over again.

I knew Jacob wasn't involved. He couldn't even have gotten there, let alone been up to a swordfight.

And yet there had to be a connection. Immortals didn't throw caution to the winds like this unless they were desperate.

If it wasn't Jacob, it had to be the MacLeods.

x

x

x

I'd robbed the till of that thrift shop. So come morning I was able to buy newspapers, didn't have to try to swipe those thick Sunday editions from newsstands. I camped out in Penn Station to read them.

Back in '92, the Watchers - the ones who didn't know about the Sanctuary - had speculated that Connor MacLeod might have persuaded Duncan to take his head. He hadn't done it then; but now I thought that was the most likely explanation of what I'd seen. There was, however, a chance that if Duncan had absolutely refused to do it, Connor had beheaded him, to deny Jacob his Quickening.

I was surprised by the depth of my respect for Duncan. I really wanted him to be alive.

I had to hunt for news of a rooftop killing. I almost gave up, thinking it hadn't made the deadline. But I finally saw a small item. The body of a murdered man had been found on the roof of the Phoenix Hotel after "a minor electrical explosion and fire caused by a satellite dish." This death, like the one in the antique-shop loft, was blamed on drug dealers; the article implied stray bullets had damaged the satellite dish. There was no mention of a severed head.

The dead man was described as Caucasian, with light brown hair and blue eyes.

When I'd glimpsed Connor MacLeod in the Sanctuary, he'd had long hair and a beard. They were light brown.

And while Duncan was beating the shit out of me, I'd observed that his hair and eyes were as dark as mine.

I let out the breath I'd been holding.

But I knew it must have been hell for Duncan, having not only to kill his friend, but leave the body. Firefighters had gotten there quickly. I was sure he'd only escaped because he didn't have to drag himself any farther than a rented room in that hotel.

At the hour it happened, it was a safe bet that New York's well-behaved Immortals were tucked in their beds - as were the Watchers assigned to them. So there were probably only two people who'd seen that Quickening and recognized it for what it was. Myself...and Jacob Kell.

x

x

x

The deaths in the Kathedral, as we'd nicknamed it, had gotten more coverage. But they'd also been covered up. Nary a mention of the interrupted dinner, the satin or the swords. According to the papers, three homeless men and one woman had sought shelter in the unfinished building, started a fire to warm themselves, and died of smoke inhalation when it got out of hand.

What an epitaph for the legendary Jin Ke.

I half heard some later news on a TV in one of the railroad station's restaurants. Advocates for the homeless were making an issue of the slow Fire Department response time. Firefighters argued that no one should have been in the structure, and they'd known no others were in danger. Besides, the fire itself had done little damage even to the Kathedral.

Their slow response had aided Jacob.

But he hadn't really needed that sort of help. Unlike the rest of us, he'd explored every inch of the place. He undoubtedly had hidey-holes where no mortal would ever find him.

And I knew he'd go right on living there.

Waiting for the challenge that was sure to come.

x

x

x

I couldn't leave New York before the showdown.

By late afternoon I'd found the perfect hideout. An office building a few doors from the Kathedral, on the other side of the street, had a seldom-used penthouse apartment for visiting execs. It even had its own private elevator.

After I'd spent a few minutes tampering with locks, it was mine.

I knew I wouldn't be disturbed, even if I was still around when the offices opened Monday. I'd used digs like these before I met Jacob. If no one was supposed to be in a VIP suite, it never occurred to office staff to check whether someone actually was. Even if they spotted me using the elevator, I'd be mistaken for a workman who had a right to be there.

Under different circumstances, I would have gotten a kick out of my luxurious new home - a striking contrast to the room I'd been sharing with four other men.

Now I just wished those men were alive.

I didn't plan to waste time enjoying the bed, let alone the bathtub. There was only one part of the penthouse I cared about: its picture window.

The window that overlooked the main entrance to Jacob's Kathedral.

x

x

x

I was barely settled when someone else tried to break in.

I was amused, in a grim way. Well, I know Duncan's Watcher is in town...

I'm an expert at rigging locks. My rival for the best seat in the house had to go elsewhere.

x

x

x

I knew Duncan MacLeod would wait until dusk.

But would it be dusk on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or even later? How much time would he need to recover from Connor's death and train for the fight of his life?

Faith had probably told him where she was staying. If he read newspapers or turned on the TV, he'd learned about the deaths in the Kathedral and realized Jacob had killed his followers. He'd even be aware there was one henchman unaccounted for - no, two, because there was no way he would have spotted the news reports of Carlos's death. But he knew he wouldn't have to face a gang.

Did he understand that as Jacob assimilated the power of the Sanctuary Immortals, he grew stronger with each passing day?

I got at least one answer quickly. I'd been at my post just an hour when the tall, proud form of the Highlander came striding toward his destiny.

x

x

x

My measly take from the thrift shop had only paid for a cheap pair of binoculars. Given another twenty-four hours, I would have stolen better ones or the cash to buy them. Had high resolution and infrared.

As it was, I couldn't see much after MacLeod entered the building. Moving figures glimpsed through windows in the section illegally wired for electricity; moonlight glancing off swords in areas with no walls at all. That was about it.

I told myself that if MacLeod walked out alive, I'd recognize him by his build and carriage. The streetlights would show all I needed to see.

Until then I had time on my hands.

Too much time.

x

x

x

Of course, I told myself, Duncan would be able to defeat Jacob.

Of course he wouldn't.

Until the Sanctuary killings, I would have picked him as the winner in a fair fight.

But now? Yes, he'd been strengthened by Connor's Quickening; but Jacob had Jin's to offset it. Even there, Jacob probably had the edge. Jin had been two thousand years old, Connor not five hundred.

The real key to the outcome might be the powers of the Sanctuary Immortals. Those Quickenings would take longer to absorb, be harder to "digest" - especially, perhaps, for an unworthy foe who'd won them by murder.

But I'd seen proof Jacob had begun to master them.

If I'd killed Jacob when I had the chance - when he was weak after treacherously beheading my friends - Duncan wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe he was looking that night. Would actually have seen the second Quickening and grasped what it meant. Wouldn't have been forced to kill Connor.

Duncan MacLeod is dying for my sins...

x

x

x

I was jolted out of my guilt trip by the last thing I expected to hear on a quiet Sunday evening.

A volley of gunshots.

Directly beneath me. In my building!

I held my breath.

But nothing else happened. A quick look through my binoculars showed the silhouettes of two Immortals still locked in combat. At their distance, they hadn't heard the shots.

Apparently no one else had, either.

I was unsure what to do, so I did nothing.

Silence descended once again.

x

x

x

In the silence, I heard the voice of a murdered friend. "This guy's a threat to the world... Things have gone too far. Someone's gotta take a stand."

I cursed. Damn Carlos! Why did he have to be such a frigging hero?

I wished I could see more through the damned cheap binoculars. In the darkness, ghosts were gathering round. All the men I'd failed to help, or avenge, or even bury.

Duncan MacLeod is dying for my sins...

x

x

x

At last light came to dispel the ghosts.

It came in the form of a soul-shattering Quickening.

x

x

x

An Immortal is as weak as a baby for up to a half hour afterward...

x

x

x

I clutched my cutlass in one sweat-soaked hand and bolted for the elevator. When the doors opened on Ground, I burst out of it on the run. Lightning still flared and crackled as I raced out of the building and toward the Kathedral, ducking flying debris.

x

x

x

You take a terrible pounding, physical and mental. Sometimes you have to fight to hang onto your identity...

x

x

x

I was a survivor, damn it! That didn't have to translate into running away. I'd survive Jacob Kell's Quickening as I had everything else.

x

x

x

This guy's a threat to the world... Things have gone too far. Someone's gotta take a stand...

x

x

x

I told Carlos he'd made his point. He could shut up now.

x

x

x

The lightning had tapered off by the time I barreled into the Kathedral, but I'd noted where it was centered. No roof there, not even much in the way of walls; the East River churning below. But it didn't lie far outside the area I knew.

When I got close enough to sense the living Immortal, it was clear he hadn't moved from the site of the Quickening. I gritted my teeth and kept going. Made myself slow down, to avoid tumbles that would cost even more time. But I knew a quick-recovering Jacob might confront me at any moment, and my sword throbbed with a life of its own.

At last I stepped onto a railed platform slick with blood. All my senses tingled. The very air seemed alive, battering me with stray tendrils of an essence beyond my imagining. Contempt, bitterness, anger, regret...despair.

Crumpled at my feet lay a man who was bloody and bedraggled, limp as a rag doll, but very much alive.

Duncan MacLeod.

x

x

x

I wanted to cheer.

There was no sign of Jacob, body or severed head. I guessed both had plummeted into the river.

Duncan had been unconscious, but woke with a gasp as he sensed my Immortality. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Clearly recognized me - and saw the cutlass in my hand.

Before I could speak, he croaked, "I...won't beg...for my life. But...for your sake...I don't think you want...the Quickening I just took."

I said quickly, "You're right, I don't. I didn't come here to kill you. Thank you, Mr. MacLeod."

But I wasn't sure he'd heard me. His eyes were closed again.

x

x

x

All was well. I knew Duncan would recover; he'd been taking Quickenings and getting away after them for hundreds of years. And when he came to his senses, he couldn't be expected to have friendly feelings toward a member of Jacob's gang. So I tucked my unneeded sword into my belt and left by the route I'd come.

I was already outside when I heard the sirens.

Shit! This time they were coming quickly. Too late, I realized they were doing it - empty building or no - because of the flak they'd taken for the night before.

I told myself that if Duncan was unconscious, the sirens would rouse him.

Maybe. A big maybe.

He'd only taken one Quickening. But it occurred to me now that it might have a mega-effect, because it was the Quickening of a man who'd taken fourteenof them within the last ten days.

There was no body, no proof he'd done anything...

What about his sword? Forensic analysis could prove that sword had been used in the killing at the Phoenix Hotel. If the cops could make an arrest, they'd gladly reveal how the victim had died.

He could chuck his sword in the river. Or I could run back and if he was unconscious, I could take it or hide it or chuck it in the river. Think Connor MacLeod at Madison Square Garden...

Connor's fight had been nothing like this. Duncan was a mess. He undoubtedly had fresh blood on him that wasn't his own.

And what of the blood that was his own? I'd even seen a hastily applied tourniquet on one of his legs. By the time the cops got to him, there'd be blood and a tourniquet, but no wounds! So much for the secret of Immortality.

His Watcher. Joe Dawson was lurking somewhere. Let him rescue Duncan...

Oh yeah, brilliant idea. How could an unconscious man be rescued by someone with two artificial legs?

The thought of the Watchers made my blood curdle. If Duncan was picked up by the cops, even if he couldn't be held...if his name and picture were in the news...other Watchers would figure out that he'd had contact with Connor or Jacob. That he'd learned the holy ground secret, maybe even from a Quickening.

And he'd be dead.

x

x

x

But if I went back there trying to save him, and got caught, I'd be dead. There probably wasn't any crime that could be pinned on me. But if my picture made the news, the Watchers would be waiting when the police let me go. I wouldn't last a day.

I wasn't a coward, never had been. But I wasn't the stuff heroes are made of, either.

Just a survivor.

I wanted to keep going, save myself, like I always had.

I wanted to survive!

But too many heroes had been setting too many good examples.

I cursed Carlos.

I cursed Duncan MacLeod.

I ran back into the building.

x

x

x

No slow, cautious movements this time. I sped back to where I'd left Duncan, hoping I remembered the hazards and wouldn't step through a door into nothingness.

I reached him safely. But he was out cold, and I couldn't revive him. On top of that, I didn't know Jacob's hiding places; I'd have to get Duncan out of the building. A taller man than me - probably heavier, though he didn't have an ounce of fat on him.

The sirens were getting closer. A lot closer.

I heaved Duncan over my shoulder, held him steady with one hand, and grabbed his sword with my other. The same katana I remembered from the loft, though I had no idea how he'd gotten it back.

Time to make tracks.

x

x

x

My previous route had involved some climbing, ducking around and under obstacles. Carrying another man, I couldn't risk it. Had to go a different way, more slowly. My nerves were at the snapping point.

I heard the first emergency vehicles pull up; firefighters started yelling back and forth. There actually were fires blazing, but I was skirting them with no trouble.

I began to think we'd make it to the alley.

But then I stumbled over a major complication.

A dead body.

x

x

x

More precisely, a body with a sword stuck in it.

I couldn't tell whether the guy was dead or "dead," if you get my drift.

Jacob had swords to spare, so it was possible he'd used one to off a nosy mortal reporter. If I'd been sure of that, I could have stepped over the corpse with no time wasted.

But if this was an Immortal, I had a problem on my hands. Either Jacob or Duncan could have put him out of the way temporarily, if he showed up and challenged one of them at an inopportune moment. Even if he'd come to pick a fight with Jacob, he might be just as ready to kill Duncan or me.

But if I left him there, and he came back to life when a firefighter or cop pulled the sword out, we Immortals could kiss our "secret" goodbye.

I couldn't take time to agonize over the decision. I yanked the sword out of him, tossed it a little distance away, and had Duncan's katana at his throat when he came gasping back to life.

There wasn't much light; I could barely see his face. But his sudden head movement told me a lot. However implausibly, his first concern was not the man menacing him with a sword, but the one slung over my shoulder. And the small sound he made held a world of relief.

I poked him with the sword. "Who are you?"

He took a deep breath. "Adam Pierson," he said, in a voice that was weak but confident. "A friend of MacLeod's. He'll confirm that when he comes around."

"Okay." I lowered the weapon. "We have to get out of here. Police, Fire, sounds like half the city trooping in."

"Ye gods." Pierson struggled to a sitting position. He was still looking at Duncan. "Uh, what's wrong with him?"

"Major league Quickening."

"Good. That's what I thought." He began groping on the floor. "Where's my sword?"

"Oh, sorry." I gestured in the direction I'd tossed it, and he scuttled after it. "What the hell happened?"

"I got here before MacLeod," he explained. He still sounded out of breath. "Thought I might have a better chance, solely because I'm willing to fight dirty against a dirty opponent. But Kell shot me before I could shoot him. Those are the breaks - always a risk when you're on the enemy's turf." He found the sword, and used it to lever himself to his feet. But when he took a step he almost fell.

"Oh, shit," I muttered. "Can you -"

"Don't worry, I'll make it," he promised. "Maybe a little slower. You go. Here!" It took me a second to realize he was dangling a set of car keys in front of me. "Black Mercedes. In the alley."

"Meet you there," I told him. He saw I had my hands full, and stuffed the keys in my pocket. Then I tightened my grip on my unconscious burden - and his sword - and made a dash for the exit.

x

x

x

True to his word, Pierson staggered out of the building two or three minutes after me. I got my first good look at him when he reached the rental car; if I hadn't known Jin Ke, I would have been surprised by his youthful appearance.

Wobbly as he was, he claimed the driver's seat. I climbed in back with the still unconscious Duncan. "Where are we going?" I asked as we shot out of the alley.

"MacLeod's hotel, the Phoenix. That's where his clothes and belongings are. He probably has the room key on him." Pierson glanced over his shoulder. "It's funny how we snap back faster from being 'dead' than just passed out. Has he been conscious at all? Did he, uh, seem all right?"

I knew he was remembering the Dark Quickening. "He came to for a minute back there," I said. "It was a rough Quickening, but he seemed to be handling it."

"Good."

"I haven't told you who I am," I began tentatively.

"I already know. Manny, right? I've never seen your picture, but I've heard a description. Sorry I don't know what last name you're using at the moment -"

I said good-naturedly, "I don't know what last name I'm using at the moment." Then it hit me. "You knew I was one of Jacob's gang?"

"Doesn't bother me. You obviously weren't trying to avenge him. And I've never had the impression his followers were evil." Before I could ease into the subject, he asked, "Can you tell me what's happened to Carlos? Is he all right?"

I gave him the bad news, and he swore softly.

At last he said, "So you knew Carlos had been working for me, and that's why you trusted me? I was surprised you were so quick to believe I was a friend."

"Yeah, that was it. I knew Adam Pierson had a British accent. And I was impressed that your first concern was for MacLeod's being alive. Why did you trust me right away? I could have been taking him somewhere to behead him."

"I trusted you because he was alive," he explained. "If you planned to behead him he would have been 'dead,' with a dagger in his heart. Or at least tied up."

That made sense.

But there was something about Pierson that I found perplexing.

I had to ask. "You risked your life, just because MacLeod is your friend?"

"Oh, I wasn't risking much," he said lightly. "I was fairly sure that if Kell got the drop on me, he wouldn't take my head. Wouldn't risk a Quickening to call more attention to his place, and force a postponement of the fight he really wanted. And he wouldn't try to use me as a hostage, because he had no idea who I was."

I found myself wondering if he'd been Joe Dawson's mystery companion. If so - and if Jacob had looked at those men through binoculars - Jacob had known he was an ally of Duncan's. Pierson was lucky he'd wanted to fight Duncan, not toy with him.

"I've been around a while." He was sober now. "If he had taken my Quickening, and fought MacLeod even months later, I could have worked actively against him." I heard the ring of steel in his voice, and knew this was a very old, very strong Immortal.

Duncan MacLeod was fortunate in his friends.

Just then the Highlander stirred beside me and began coming to.

Pierson heard him, and said cheerfully, "MacLeod! Have you met our new friend Manny? He just saved both our lives."

x

x

x

Duncan was still dazed. But when he finally understood what Pierson was telling him, he couldn't have been more grateful and gracious. He didn't seem to harbor any resentment about my past.

First Pierson, and then I, expressed cautious sympathy about Connor. That was a delicate topic, and neither of us said much. Duncan's pain was so obvious that I had to look away.

After a few minutes, I told him how Carlos had also saved his life - at the cost of his own.

He closed his eyes, shuddered, and said softly, "I'll never forget him."

Then he tried to scold Pierson for not having gone back to England a few days before, when he'd urged him to. But between his exhaustion and his relief that the older Immortal was okay, he didn't manage to sound very angry.

I noticed he was careful not to call this close friend by name till I did. Drained as I felt, that was good for a chuckle.

So the Brit used different aliases, real name on a need-to-know basis?

Been there, done that.

But I was impressed by Duncan's having the presence of mind, even in these circumstances, to protect that kind of secret.

He expressed concern about Joe Dawson, and asked whether he too was still in New York.

"Yep," Pierson, or whoever he is, said easily. "Haven't seen him in a day or so. But he was probably watching your fight, even if it can't go in the official Chronicle."

I remembered my speculation that it had been Dawson who'd tried to break into my penthouse.

And then, the gunfire I'd heard on a lower floor...

I'd forgotten about that. Who'd been shooting? God, I should have checked it out. What if Dawson was lying back there, wounded?

Just as I was about to say something, Pierson's cell phone rang.

He flipped it open. "Pierson here - Joe! We were just talking about you... Yes, MacLeod's all right. We're together, in the car, on our way back to the hotel. See you there."

He put the phone away. "All accounted for. Don't know how Joe's getting around - combination of cabs and walking, I guess. But he's headed for the hotel."

This was a man I wanted to meet.

x

x

x

By the time we reached the Phoenix, Duncan was able to walk with support from both of us. And he did indeed have his room key. He looked terrible, but we made it through the lobby without being challenged. When we passed a knot of staring onlookers, Pierson muttered something about a "drunken brawl." No one was close enough to realize there was no smell of liquor.

Once we'd gotten Duncan to his room, Pierson indicated I should make myself comfortable. Have a beer, stay out of the way.

He seemed prepared to do whatever his friend needed. Undress him, bathe him, put him to bed and sing lullabies, if that would help.

But Duncan gently let him know he could manage. He peeled his torn and bloody clothes off, threw them in a heap, and tottered into the bathroom.

We heard the shower running for a very long time.

While we sat around discussing - of all things - the beer.

Duncan eventually came back, still unsteady on his feet. His damp hair and ill-fitting hotel robe made him look young and vulnerable. He flopped on the sofa, took the can of beer Pierson handed him, and stared at it as if he didn't know what to do with it.

x

x

x

At that moment we heard a series of taps on the door. Pierson mumbled something, and went to admit Joe Dawson.

I knew at once that Dawson hadn't been my rival for that ringside seat in the penthouse.

But if not MacLeod's Watcher, who in blazes -?

Dawson was also seeing Duncan for the first time since Connor's death. They embraced, and when the gray-haired man turned away, there were tears in his eyes.

Pierson introduced me, and explained how I'd saved him and MacLeod from being caught in the Kathedral. Dawson wrung my hand till I thought it would fall off.

Duncan was staring helplessly at his beer again.

We all sat down and clustered around him. It felt like we were lending support to the chief mourner at a wake.

x

x

x

And it wasn't only a wake for Connor MacLeod. After a few minutes, Duncan ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "I still feel dirty."

Pierson said steadily, "You did what you had to do."

"Did I?" The dark eyes were haunted - as if, behind them, the Highlander was seeing things we weren't. "Kell wanted to end that fight...to walk away without killing me.

"It wasn't an act of mercy. He was gloating over his victory. Planned to torture me the way he had Connor. But still, it was a fight in which no one had to die...until I insisted one of us must."

I couldn't believe my ears. He felt guilty about having killed Jacob?

"That man couldn't have been allowed to live, MacLeod," Pierson said in the same calm, firm voice.

"No? He was more insane than evil."

"No! He was mad, that's true. But the Quickenings he'd taken in the Sanctuary made him a greater threat than Kronos ever was."

I remembered from the Chronicle that Kronos was a three-thousand-year-old megalomaniac Duncan had killed. The story had seemed to have a lot of gaps, and I wondered if Pierson had played a part in it.

"There was no way Kell could have been stopped," Pierson continued, "short of killing him."

"He meant to go on killing on holy ground," I put in. "He actually talked about 'cleansing' it by wiping out all the Immortals who'd taken refuge there."

Dawson cringed. "That would have been a disaster. And not just for clergy! Most Immortals wouldn't fight if they were caught on holy ground. Out of reverence - even if they'd learned there was no penalty."

"You wouldn't, MacLeod," Pierson pointed out. "If you'd followed Kell into a convent where he planned to murder Immortal nuns, you would have frozen, stood there and let him do it. He had to be stopped now."

Duncan buried his face in his hands and moaned. At last he looked up and said slowly, "What bothers me most is that I...slipped into...hating him."

That admission seemed to stun his old friends.

But Pierson recovered quickly. "Listen to me! In spite of the things you've been through these last few years, the role you've had to play, you're still human. We humans can't help feeling some emotions we don't want.

"What you felt isn't important. What matters is what you did, and why you did it. You didn't kill Jacob Kell for revenge. You killed him to protect the world."

Duncan asked again, "Did I?" His voice was hollow.

"Consider this," Pierson responded. "Suppose I had been able to take his head before you got there. Shot him and whacked him, with no more concern for the rules than he'd shown in whacking others.

"Would you have hated me for robbing you of his Quickening? Making Connor's sacrifice to strengthen you count for nothing?"

Duncan recoiled as if he'd been struck.

But then a light dawned in his eyes. "No," he whispered. "I'd be thankful that you were still alive. That I hadn't been forced to do it."

He looked at his friend, and for the first time, I saw the ghost of a smile.

x

x

x

A half hour later he was asleep. Still on the sofa; the bed he'd shared with Faith held too many memories.

His Watcher was drinking the beer he hadn't touched.

Dawson emptied the can and said quietly, "I didn't want to tell Mac this - he had enough on his mind. But he's not the only one who killed a man tonight."

Pierson looked up from his own beer - his fourth. "What?"

Dawson made a face. "While Mac and Kell were fighting, Matthew Hale was planning to shoot them both and snatch them for a new Sanctuary. He was camped out in a building down the street - had a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight.

"I'm sure he'd gone renegade. But I couldn't take even a slight risk of other Watchers' learning Mac had fought Kell. So I didn't just stop Hale, I stopped him permanently. Like they say, terminated with extreme prejudice."

Matthew Hale.

It was Matthew Hale who'd been messing with my lock?

I almost blurted something out.

But then I saw Pierson's face.

He already knew what I'd been about to tell him. And he wasn't planning to share it with Joe.

Watcher Matthew Hale had been a pre-Immortal.

x

x

x

Epilogue

Two weeks later I was once again in a car driven by Adam Pierson. But this time the other passenger was Joe Dawson, and we were in Paris.

I'd spent those weeks with Pierson. Back in the States, it had taken him less than twenty-four hours to get a passport that identified me as a citizen of Guyana. Since then I'd been hiding in his London mansion. Pierson had explained that he'd amassed a quick fortune in software development. That enabled him to live well, without betraying the fact that he'd been making shrewd investments since before the reign of the first Elizabeth.

He called his software company Cutting Edge.

And yes, he was also the proud owner of a California vineyard - named, at least ostensibly, for the software company. I never told him he'd lost a fan with the death of Jacob Kell.

x

x

x

While we were in England, Joe Dawson had been at a secluded resort in Jamaica. Hopefully, he'd convinced the Watchers Duncan MacLeod had been there as well, taking a much-needed rest.

In fact, Duncan had traveled to Scotland to bury Connor's remains with those of his first wife. He'd known all along he'd be able to claim the body. The NYPD had identified it - not as Connor MacLeod, but as Russell Nash, whom they'd fingerprinted in '85. All they knew about Nash was that he'd dropped out of sight after turning his antique shop over to his assistant, Rachel Ellenstein. She had later taken on a partner, Connor MacLeod. But he'd disappeared after her death, and his cousin Duncan had paid taxes on the building ever since. Not knowing of anyone else who might have been acquainted with Nash, the police contacted Duncan. He told them he'd never met the man, but would gladly assume responsibility for his burial for the sake of their mutual friend Rachel.

x

x

x

Jacob's body hadn't been found; the second fire in the Kathedral had been officially written off as "set by pranksters." Of course, no one who'd seen the Quickening lightning would believe that. But on weekend nights in a non-residential neighborhood, neither of the Kathedral Quickening extravaganzas could have been seen by many people.

x

x

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I now knew that Matthew Hale and his men had actually grabbed Duncan once, after his plunge from the loft. Dawson and Pierson had seen it. They couldn't risk following Hale's vehicle on lightly-traveled country roads; but from the direction it was headed, they knew it was bound for the monastery. They rescued Duncan a few days later, and Pierson even retrieved his sword.

The original Sanctuary had been an officially sanctioned Watcher operation, though only known to a select few. But Dawson couldn't believe their Tribunal would endorse seizing an Immortal against his will - at least, not without knowing he'd learned the holy ground secret. That was why he was sure Hale and his fanatical supporters had turned renegade. Hale undoubtedly had realized at some point that Duncan knew the secret; but if he'd been out of contact with the organization, they were still in the dark. They didn't know Connor MacLeod and Jacob Kell were dead, or that Duncan had encountered either of them.

Pierson and I had told MacLeod Dawson had "killed" Hale, and we'd agreed not to tell him he might have made a bad situation worse. We couldn't guess how Hale would react to discovering he was Immortal. But he hadn't seen the outcome of Duncan's fight with Jacob. If he was out of touch with the Watchers and not able to hack into their files, he didn't know whether Duncan MacLeod was still alive.

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Anyway, Dawson had timed his return to Paris for the same day as MacLeod's. Duncan had e-mailed Pierson and asked him to come over too, and bring me along. He said he now felt able to talk about some things he'd learned from Connor's Quickening. And the three of us - that included Dawson - had been of such help to him that we deserved to hear the whole story.

Pierson was puzzled by his not having suggested we meet in London. The Watchers didn't know Pierson was an Immortal, but they did know he was a friend of MacLeod's. The Highlander's paying him another visit on his way home from Jamaica wouldn't have caused any raised eyebrows.

On the other hand, my going outdoors at all was a risk. The Watchers knew what Jacob's henchmen looked like and wanted to kill us. But I told Pierson it was okay. I was going stir crazy. I wanted to stay alive, but being holed up forever - even in a mansion - wasn't being alive.

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"I think Mac wants to show you his place, Manny," Dawson said as we drove along the bank of the Seine. "That's a sign he really thinks of you as a friend."

I looked around. "He lives on a barge, right?" We were on the fringe of the city, in another of those non-residential areas dominated by recently constructed office complexes. We hadn't passed any houseboats for miles.

"Yeah," Dawson replied. He apparently thought I'd meant that was nothing to get excited about, because he continued, "There's more to see than the boat. He used to keep it moored at the Quai de la Tournelle, but he moved a few years ago because too many enemies knew where to find him. It wasn't fair to guests.

"Out here, he was able to buy a piece of land on the riverbank. He has it landscaped. Features a collection of sculptures by his great love, Tessa Noel - that's where he meditates every day. Come spring he'll have a flower garden too."

Pierson snickered. "Good work, Joe. You did a great job of spoiling the surprise."

Dawson harrumphed, and I said, "I'm glad he did. I hate sculpture, but I'll know I'm supposed to admire this stuff and act impressed."

We were all laughing until, suddenly, Pierson slammed on the brake. "What the hell -?"

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I looked at Dawson, and saw that he too was agape.

"What's the matter?" There were no buildings in sight, no boats, no other cars. Just a stretch of riverbank with a still-thriving crop of autumn weeds. "I don't see anything."

"Problem is, we should be seeing something." Pierson started the car and drove a few yards more, then pulled over to the side of the road. He jumped out and began walking along the bank, occasionally kicking the unoffending plant life.

He seemed stunned.

Dawson also struggled out of the car, and I followed. "It was here," Dawson said in a bewildered voice. "Right here."

"What was?" I demanded.

"MacLeod's barge!" Pierson was almost shouting.

I gulped.

"He could have moved it..." I let my voice trail off as I belatedly saw why that explanation wouldn't work.

Dawson spelled it out. "The barge, yeah. Even the sculptures. But all this property was landscaped! I saw it less than a month ago, and now it looks like it hasn't been touched in years. This is...weird."

"Oh, bloody hell," Pierson said. Then he let out what I assumed was a string of oaths in a language I'd never heard. "There is another Immortal here. Feel him, Manny?"

I stopped to consider it and realized I did. Pierson's presence had been masking the other one.

"Yeah, you're right." I began looking around, thinking Duncan must be lying injured somewhere. But there was nothing that could have blocked my view of a man on the ground.

In the water?

Pierson cursed again, then strode over to the bank. "Not funny, MacLeod," he said in a hard, angry voice. "Are you going to let me see the bloody gangplank, or do I have to stand here and feel for it all afternoon?" To my amazement, he stuck a foot out and began "feeling" for where an invisible gangplank might have been.

I was more amazed when a gangplank actually did swim into view. Pierson's guess at its location had only been off by about three feet.

A moment later the entire barge appeared as a shimmering vision, then solidified before my eyes. Duncan MacLeod, standing at the head of the gangplank, said, "Not meant to be funny."

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Ten minutes later - after I'd said polite things about the sculptures that materialized along with the barge - we were settled in the main cabin. But I couldn't shake the thought that it might vanish any second and dump me in the Seine.

Pierson was still glowering. "You brought us here for this, MacLeod? To show off what you've become?"

"No!" I could see Duncan was distressed at having upset his friend. "I haven't changed, and I won't. I swear it.

"But I wanted to give you a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the powers Jacob Kell was close to mastering. And I couldn't risk startling you like that anywhere but on my own property.

"That power is one Cassandra had." He glanced at me. "Sorry, Manny, you don't know who I'm talking about. An Immortal who saved my life when I was a child. She could make people - groups of people - look right at her hut and not see it. Even perceive her as a wolf.

"But in modern times, she let her powers atrophy. I'll do the same. I won't even experiment with anything beyond what I just did, and I won't repeat that."

He looked at Pierson again, pleading for understanding. "I just wanted to show you what we could have been dealing with. Can you imagine trying to fight an invisible Immortal?"

Pierson shuddered. "I don't like to think about it."

"What I'm really saying" - Duncan gripped the older man's arm - "is that you were right. I had no choice but to kill him when I did. I know that now."

All Pierson said was "Oh."

But the warmth was back in his voice.

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We relaxed with drinks - a choice of Scotch or beer, no Cutting Edge in sight - and Duncan whipped up a pasta dinner. That came as a pleasant surprise to me; the others had been well aware of his culinary talents.

While we were lingering over coffee, he finally raised the subject of Jacob's vendetta. "Manny, I suppose you've been wondering whether Connor really did start the whole thing by murdering a priest."

Actually, I hadn't been wondering - I'd taken it for granted. Why would Jacob have let his own life be so horribly disrupted, for centuries, if he didn't have a legitimate grievance?

Of course I didn't say that.

"Connor didn't defend himself to me," Duncan said softly. "Didn't tell me anything while he was alive. But I learned from his Quickening that it was much more complicated.

"The people of Glenfinnan had driven him out, calling him a demon. Years later, when their crops failed, they needed a scapegoat - so they blamed his mother. His adoptive mother, though they didn't know that. They claimed she was in league with demons. Connor knew she was in danger and slipped into the village to save her. But they beat him into unconsciousness and burned her alive. On a cross."

"My God," I whispered.

I too had once had a mother.

"Father Rainey - the priest who'd raised Jacob Kell - was pretty much the ringleader. And Kell didn't take heroic risks to stop it." Duncan's voice shook with emotion. "But things weren't as black and white as Connor thought. He knew the two priests were better educated than the rest of the villagers - and he and Jacob had grown up as friends. He was sure those priests didn't really believe he was a demon or allied with demons.

"I can't be sure about Rainey. But I know from Kell's Quickening that he did believe it. He didn't believe Connor's mother was evil. He thought that if Connor was a demon, an incubus might have molested Caoilin in her sleep and made her pregnant. He also thought Connor might be a normal human who was so afraid of dying in battle that he'd made a pact with the Devil - again, no fault of Caoilin's.

"Kell did try to save Caoilin. He won Rainey's agreement to a compromise - that she'd be spared if she'd agree to say Connor was not her own child. He thought he was asking her to tell a small, harmless lie. It was really the truth - but she still refused to say it. Kell felt he'd done all he could. And who knows - I don't think any of us can say for sure what we would have done, facing a crazed sixteenth-century mob.

"Connor broke out of the cell where they'd been holding him, tried desperately to save his mother - and failed. He was half out of his mind at that point. When someone began urging him to leave his mother's body, he spun around and struck out at the person without looking. And that was when he killed the unarmed priest."

We sat in stunned silence.

Indeed that was "more complicated" than Jacob had led me to believe.

When Duncan resumed his story, he surprised me again. "Kell grabbed a sword and charged Connor. And Connor, still not thinking clearly, ran him through.

"That day, he'd realized for the first time that Kell was a pre-Immortal! When he saw what he'd done, he was appalled. But he had to decide whether to carry his dead mother's body off with him, or Kell's. He chose his mother.

"In later years, he never blamed himself for having killed Father Rainey - or for having given Kell his first death. He could plead temporary insanity on both counts. But he'd come to his senses after that. And he never forgave himself for having abandoned that newly made Immortal. It haunted him all the days of his life."

I was the first to find my voice. "When Jacob came to understand Immortality, he thought that if Connor had known what he was, he would have beheaded him."

Duncan shook his head. "There was never a chance of that. Connor believed he should have taken him as a student."

"Jacob's having a teacher would have changed everything," I mused. "Everything! But it never occurred to him that Connor could have been that teacher."

Duncan could only murmur, "I know."

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He had yet another bombshell to drop.

The biggest of all.

"Connor didn't think Kell had survived long," he told us. "And he certainly didn't suspect him of being his mystery enemy, because the murders didn't start till late in the seventeenth century. I know now that in those early years, Kell had been afraid Connor had magical powers he didn't." The pain written on his face told me he was thinking of the powers Jacob himself had so recently won - and lost to him. "Connor, of course, never imagined such a thing.

"But in 1987, Connor had a Watcher who respected and admired him. Dana Brook. She was almost as devastated as he was when Brenda was murdered.

"Brook couldn't bear the thought of anything like that happening again. So she violated her oath. She revealed herself to Connor. Told him about the Watchers - and about Kell."

Joe Dawson practically erupted out of his seat. "She did what?"

I was thinking less of Brook's oath-breaking than of what it implied about Connor.

And I wasn't alone. "He knew?" Pierson whispered. His face was ashen. "He learned Kell had murdered his wife. But he did nothing. And later, he knew Kell must have been the one who'd murdered his daughter. But he still did nothing. He went into the Sanctuary instead of going after him..."

"Yes," Duncan said bleakly. "Because of the guilt he felt over what he'd done to Kell. That was why he welcomed the idea of the Sanctuary. He knew he'd never be able to change his mind, give in to the temptation to seek revenge." I saw his fist clench. "But Matthew Hale knew about Kell too, and he wasn't aware Connor knew. Brook didn't dare tell him she'd broken her oath. I think his urging Connor into the Sanctuary was criminal."

None of us had any argument with that.

"So that was why Connor made you take his head?" Pierson asked gently. "Because of the...sin on his conscience?"

Duncan nodded. "Yes. He knew by then that Kell had to be stopped, and only our combined strength could do it. He insisted on being the one to die." His voice sank to a whisper. "The only reason I agreed to kill him was to save his Quickening. I knew he wouldn't defend himself against the Watchers.

"I didn't think I'd need his strength to defeat Kell.

"But he was right. I did."

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After that we stopped drinking coffee.

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Duncan still had a different kind of surprise in store for me. Hours later, when we were all feeling loose, he said, "Hey, Manny, I had another reason for wanting to see you. I know you have a problem on your hands, needing to dodge the Watchers."

I grunted. "Too bad plastic surgery isn't an option for Immortals."

"I think I have a better idea than plastic surgery." His eyes were twinkling. "Have you ever heard the expression, hide in plain sight?"

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And that's how I came to my present employment - as manager of a legit business in the United States, a dojo called De Salvo's Martial Arts. I'm doing what I love. Offering more real instruction than anyone else has done here since Charlie De Salvo's death; we're actually in the black.

I anticipate a long, happy life. After all, what Watcher would expect to find a member of Jacob Kell's gang working for Duncan MacLeod?

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The End

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Author's Afterword: Of course, it's also permissible to use a first-person narrator who doesn't die in the end! (grins)

This fic is based primarily on the theatrical version of Endgame (the Sanctuary is on holy ground, Faith is killed), but there are borrowings from the other versions. In inventing elements of my own, I tried to work around what we saw onscreen without actually contradicting it.

We do not, in any version, see a close-up of Manny as he's about to be whacked. (Though we do see it in the "Special Effects" feature on the DVD.) I know the filmmakers' intent was that Manny dies in between Bob and Winston, while the camera is on Duncan MacLeod at another location. But if we don't see it, I don't accept it as canon.

I couldn't resist ending Manny's story as I did, because actor Vernon Rieta is or was Adrian Paul's martial arts instructor.

I changed the name of Connor's mother because, based on my knowledge of Irish names, "Caoilin" looks more right to me than "Caiolin." I know there's an Irish feminine name Caoilfhionn (meaning "slender and fair"), rendered in English as Keelin.

I had two things in mind in naming that famous hotel the Phoenix. You'll understand one if you read one of my later fics in this series, "Land of My Birth."

The other consideration was more personal. My mother had a childhood sweetheart who died at about age eight, and his family operated a historic hotel in our home town - the Phoenix Hotel.

A further Addendum, 5/12/15: In case there might, someday, be someone reading this who never saw any version of the film...

I chose not to look at the film's website, so I don't know what intended canon might have been established there. But in the film itself, all we were told about the Sanctuary was that it had existed (somewhere) since before Duncan MacLeod was born; that the Immortals in it were there voluntarily; and that it was on holy ground.

That last statement, in the theatrical version, was removed in the Producers' Cut because fans had complained that Immortals wouldn't kill on holy ground - or if they did, either something horrendous should have happened, or there should have been shocked discussion about nothing's having happened.

I can't see any Immortal's having agreed to make himself ultra-vulnerable by going into the Sanctuary if it wasn't on holy ground. It can be argued that the Watchers were trying to fake holy ground with their sham "monastery," may even have misled the Immortals. But why would they have done such a thing? Even from their point of view, it would have been infinitely safer to have those Immortals protected by real holy ground. And purchasing some probably wouldn't have been a whit more difficult, or even more expensive, than faking it. So I follow the theatrical version - and have the Watchers, later, trying desperately to prevent more Immortals' learning there'd be no repercussions if they took heads on holy ground.

But the main point I want to make here is that the Sanctuary's having been created in the year 990, all the Immortals in it (save Connor) having been there from the start, there being significance in the number of Immortals, and their all having been old and powerful, were my own ideas.

Carlos's being a "mole" reporting to "Adam Pierson," his having wanted to save Duncan MacLeod, Manny's having come to admire MacLeod, Manny's having survived Kell's "Last Supper," Methos's having gone after Kell, and MacLeod and Methos - one unconscious, the other "dead" - having been at risk of discovery by firefighters...also my own ideas.

What happened after that: As I recall, the film cut from MacLeod's receiving Kell's Quickening to his being at Connor's burial site in Scotland. And that, originally, was the end. All that was added in the Producers' Cut was a scene in which a surprised MacLeod had a happy reunion with a still-living Kate/Faith. (Personal opinion: Ugh!)

Hopefully-final thoughts, 4/2/17:

I just looked at the Producers' Cut again, and have to express my irritation with the scene showing Duncan at Connor's grave.

It's understandable that the producers wouldn't have sent a crew to the Highlands of Scotland just to film someone standing at a gravesite. But this was originally their finale! And the background looks so phony that I'm not sure Adrian Paul was really even outdoors.

My biggest gripe, however, is with a change made in the Producers' Cut: I'm sure they deliberately obscured the peace-symbol insignia on Adrian's shirt. Now, no one seeing the film for the first time would realize what it was.

I think the fuss made over that was outrageous! Yes, Adrian called his fan club P.E.A.C.E. - standing for "Protect, Educate, Aid Children Everywhere" - and used the peace symbol on fan-club merchandise. He was a responsible actor, wanting to use his celebrity to raise money for a worthy cause. But a peace symbol has a universally understood meaning, that Duncan MacLeod could very plausibly have been thinking of when he visited that grave. The fault-finders carried on as if Adrian had been wearing something emblazoned with the words "Adrian Paul Fan Club"!

I suppose the decision to cut the peace symbol was made by the same geniuses who later gave us Highlander: The Source...