White Owl
by MMB & NIOMR
The Beginning of the End
Triumvirate Safe House
California Coast
May 28th
He had to admit that this was a beautiful place to put a safe house - and a place he'd have to keep in mind as time moved on. Lyle couldn't help admiring the view as he drove southward toward the tiny California beach hamlet to which the Triumvirate had summoned him. The highway had just come up over a rise between two tall hills to have the entire Pacific Ocean, a deep sapphire blue, lay itself out at his feet. The hamlet itself lay between the steep hillsides and the craggy cliffs that dropped twenty feet into the surging surf below.
He followed the service road past the beach cabins turned businesses, the few brick and mortar commercial buildings that had obviously been through their earthquake retrofitting from the huge bolts at regular intervals along the walls, the elementary school with its portable classrooms slowly filling what had once been playgrounds. At the stop sign by the used bookstore that looked barely large enough to have two people inside it comfortably, he turned right toward the cliffs. The houses on both sides of the street were an eclectic mixture of well-kept 1940's beach cabins and modern two-story structures doing battle for scenic views. At the end of the street was nothing but a guardrail in front of a sidewalk along the edge of the continent - and a street led off to the left that hugged the edge of the cliffs.
His destination soon became readily apparent - it was one of the most magnificent houses he'd ever seen, on either side of the continent. Old and yellowing cement buttressing protected the cliff face below the house from crumbling away with the same speed that it was evidently eating into the roadway. The Tudor-style house itself was a grey-tan, stucco below with open beam work reaching two stories toward the steep, wood-shingled roof. To the left of the main building was what looked like a small lighthouse, constructed from rough-hewn stones similar to the rock that made up the cliffs. To the right, cypress trees marked the end of dry land, stretching like dark silhouettes into the sky above ragged rocks and splashing surf, one with a long rainbow-colored pennant billowing out in the ocean breezes.
Lyle drove closer, and reached for the garage door opener that had been included in the packet holding his orders to come to this place on this day. A push of the button had one of three rather rustic-looking garage doors pulling open in the stonework and wood-shingled garage, revealing plenty of space within for the sleek sports car he'd chosen to use that morning in his drive down from San Francisco. How they had known that he'd decided to take a short vacation in his secret condo on the outskirts of Chinatown, he'd never know - but the voice on the phone had been insistent that he leave immediately in order to make connections with Triumvirate dignitaries who would be there for only the rest of the day.
He pulled his garment bag and suitcase from the back seat where he'd tossed it so carelessly a few hours earlier and, after locating the access door at the left corner of the back of the garage, he pushed the button to close the garage door again. The door opened up to the curved stone wall of the lighthouse, with a narrow sidewalk leading toward the main house. He followed the sidewalk to a glassed sunroom with a tall, pyramid roof, where a tall and imposing African bodyguard silently pulled the door open.
The bodyguard pointed to a chair, where Lyle figured he was being invited to deposit his luggage, and then waited patiently for the Centre employee to comply. Once Lyle had carefully draped his garment bag across the back of the chair and leaned his suitcase against a chair leg, the bodyguard simply gave him a curt gesture that told him to follow. The tall African led him through a sitting room and then down a short hallway and into a formal dining room where three somber men were seated at one end of the long dining table waiting for him.
"Sit down, Mr. Lyle," the eldest at the very head of the table said in an accent that was as unidentifiable as it was musical. Lyle, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and more than a little nervous, pulled out the nearest chair at the opposite end of the table and took a seat, folding his hands quietly in front of him and unconsciously rubbing his right index finger over the stump that was all that was left of his left thumb. It was itching, and that was never a good sign.
"The Triumvirate has been keeping a very close eye on the Centre of late. We have had reason to believe that there might be a few employees working there who have questionable loyalties..."
He couldn't help it - just being in the presence of these powerful men who had always held complete control of his destiny meant that he just had to make sure of his own position. He hadn't done anything RECENTLY that would have called the attention of the Triumvirate to him that he knew of - and he hadn't been in San Francisco long enough to even get started on a new Hunt... "Surely MY loyalties are beyond reproach," Lyle complained immediately in a voice of bravado that did a very poor job hiding insecurity. "I've done everything you people have ever asked of me..."
"Your actions and... appetites... have tended to keep you under constant surveillance to make sure that you cause neither the Centre or the Triumvirate any undue scrutiny by law enforcement," the youngest man at the table commented dryly. Lyle shivered at the thought that the Triumvirate knew exactly where and what he was up to, even when he was engaging in The Hunt. "But you were not summoned here to explain or excuse your own actions. We are here to discuss Dr. Sydney Green."
"Sydney!" Lyle sat up straighter, both in relief and in surprise.
"We have been re-assessing his loyalty as evidenced by his behavior since the beginning of the search for the escaped Pretender, Jarod, and we have decided that what we have been seeing lately is no longer acceptable. He is now viewed as a potential security risk."
"Sydney has enjoyed the protection of the Parker administration for a long time," Lyle stated slowly, "but I have wondered for a very long time..."
"Enough!" the oldest barked abruptly. "Kindly save us your protestations of suspicion, Mr. Lyle. You are here to listen and then do as you're told, not talk. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." His stump was beginning to itch again - badly.
"Dr. Green has several times interfered with attempts by Centre operatives to shoot Jarod and bring him in, wounded but alive - but those episodes had been overlooked due to connection that he represents to Jarod. Then came the assassination attempt on Mr. Raines. We know that officially there has been no assignation of blame in that incident, but our independent assessment team has determined that Dr. Green was the only person present at the time with both the motive and means to make that shot." The older man's gnarled hands shifted papers on the table in front of him. "Then there was that bombing on SL-27..."
"Uh..." Lyle was beginning to sweat. "My findings exonerated Sydney from any part in..."
"Your findings," the older man snapped impatiently, "were an obvious ploy to manipulate Dr. Green and had very little to do with any genuine investigation into the incident. Miss Parker's report, which you tried to sweep under the rug, was far more complete, comprehensive, and believable. That Mr. Parker decided to back your plan was unfortunate, because your record in retrieving Jarod isn't a whole lot better than Miss Parker's is - and hers is abysmal."
Lyle squirmed in his seat. He didn't appreciate his lack of success where it came to Jarod to be continually thrown in his face - not by Mr. Raines, and certainly not by the Triumvirate - but he knew better than to argue. It was the truth, as uncomfortable as that made him.
"What you may NOT be aware of is the role Dr. Green played in managing to free the clone - I believe the Centre called him Gemini. One of our surveillance team acquired the transcript of a phone call between Dr. Green and Jarod that led Jarod directly to a file buried in the Centre mainframe that detailed where the clone was being housed and transfer plans to move him back to Africa."
"I'll be damned," Lyle shook his head. "Sydney, you sly dog..."
"Mr. Lyle, subterfuge is NOT an admirable trait," the younger man at the elder's left stated in a distinctly disapproving tone. "All of these findings, when looked at as a general pattern of behavior, caused a great deal of consternation among the members of the consortium. Dr. Green had, prior to Jarod's escape, been a top contributor both to the financial health of the Centre and to the influence both the Centre and the Triumvirate have acquired in many areas of international politics and trade. When a man such as that - a man who, due to his relationship with the Parker family and regime, has enjoyed almost unlimited access to every level of Centre operations - begins to behave in a less than loyal manner, some kind of action MUST be taken. We have considered the matter very carefully."
"Dr. Sydney Green knows far too much about Centre activities and methods to be allowed or even forced to just retire," the eldest pronounced in a sepulchral voice. "His obvious loyalty to Jarod over and above the interests of the Centre cannot be ignored. We debated this long and hard, and eventually made the decision to remove Dr. Green as a potential problem."
Lyle's eyebrows soared. "Remove?"
The oldest man at the table was obviously ready to take over the rest of the meeting. "Luckily, the Centre hierarchy has recently been putting in place certain failsafe measures to protect the security of the Centre from those who would betray it from within - and we are more than willing to take advantage of these measures in the case of Dr. Green."
"What kind of measures are those?" Lyle was curious now - perhaps he could learn something that he could make use of a little later on to vouchsafe his own eventual rise to the Chairmanship of the Centre.
"Many key Centre employees have received gastric implants containing poison during otherwise routine or emergency medical procedures that took place at the Centre itself. Releasing the poison would be a simple matter of administering a simple combination of chemicals in a precise dosage that would radically increase the acidity level of the stomach, causing the casing of the implant to dissolve. Dr. Green received one of these implants while he was recovering from the effects of his bombing attempt. We have decided that the time has come to trigger his implant under controlled circumstances. Once the poison is released, there is no antidote, and death occurs within twelve hours."
Lyle struggled to keep private the feelings of horror and worry that he, too, had received one of these implants - perhaps while in surgery in the Renewal Wing to close the wound left when he'd lost his thumb to the Yakuza. "So... That's something that's already done - what do you need ME for?"
"We don't want Dr Green's death to cause any questions - especially not among his friends at the Centre or with Jarod himself - at least, not for a short while. One of the many elements of the particular poison in the implant is that it decomposes chemically within two hours after death. This assures that any unsuspecting coroner will mark down the cause of death as heart attack." The older man grinned coldly. "What WOULD cause commentary, however, would be the symptoms as the poison began to work. THAT'S where you come in. Dr. Green's departure from the Centre and his regular companions must not cause undo comment - and that is something we have already put into motion. YOUR task, when the time comes, will be to isolate him completely as the implant dissolves through when the poison has done its work, at which time you will call the authorities and let them take care of things from there."
Lyle had to admit that there was a simple elegance to this plan, and he certainly didn't have any trouble with the idea of getting rid of the pesky and secretive psychiatrist and mentor. He had always considered that Sydney had far too much influence over Miss Parker as it was. Without that Belgian voice of caution and suspicion whispering in her ear, maybe they'd finally be able to put together some kind of relationship as siblings...
Still, there was the implementation of the plan to consider - and the biggest obstacle to the success was Sydney himself. "How do you expect me to lure Sydney away from the Centre? The man isn't dumb, and he suspects everything I say or do..." Lyle spread his hands open at the table in front of him.
With an abbreviated gesture, the elder had the taciturn bodyguard behind Lyle move forward to hand him a folder. Lyle stared at the dour faces ahead of him, and then opened the folder to find himself looking at a brochure publicizing a psychiatric symposium to be held in about a month's time in a town only minutes away from this very safe house. "We have taken care of that part of things," the elder told Lyle matter-of-factly. "In years past, every time Mr. Raines proposed an interesting study that required the use of Jarod without the protection or interference of his mentor, we would assist him by sponsoring a seminar or convention that Dr. Green would be interested in attending. We then made sure that he was convinced of the benefit of attending by smoothing away any obstacles to his willing compliance. Since Jarod's escape, however, we've had no reason to put together such a ruse again - until now."
Lyle opened the brochure and began chuckling in appreciation. This was SURE to do the trick! The topic of the symposium was psychiatric and psychological studies dealing with identical twins - with Dr. Sydney Green scheduled to present a paper on his findings based on a study to be published soon in a premier psychiatric journal. Lyle raised his eyes to the men at the end of the table.
"The study is legit? He really is going to publish...?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Lyle. Both the study and the paper are quite legitimate. As the silent partner of the publishing company that owns that particular journal, we were alerted ahead of time of the intent to publish Dr. Green's research paper - and we made it known that we wished that it be accepted. And for all intents and purposes otherwise, the symposium itself is quite legitimate as well. All of those chosen to receive invitations as either speakers or attendees will be pre-eminent psychiatrists and psychologists in their fields of research - and all of them either have outstanding debts to the Triumvirate or work for us in one way or another." The elder nodded. "As a matter of fact, Dr. Green is fairly familiar with several of them from his attendance at previous events we arranged in the past. There will be no reason to raise his suspicions at all."
"This should work, then," Lyle commented with a grin of confidence. "And once he gets to the conference center..."
"No. It is important that he attend the Friday night formal dinner, for that is when the chemical trigger will be administered - in the pilaf. You will find a way to draw him away from the conference sometime shortly after that and then isolate him until the poison has done its work. We will leave the details of THAT to you." The nameless trio at the end of the table rose in unison. "But be warned, Mr. Lyle. This is a Triumvirate sanction - Mr. Raines is and must remain out of the loop to give the Centre and its administration complete deniability. What is more, there is a definite time frame in which you'll need to take action - once Dr. Green has eaten his dinner, he will begin displaying symptoms of extreme heartburn within three to four hours. From that point, you will have between twelve to fourteen hours before the poison will have been released and caused his death. Our biochemical advisors recommend that you isolate him prior to the heartburn symptoms becoming acute so as to cause as little commentary as possible. Whatever you do, you will be expected to handle any complications that might arise on your own WITHOUT any outside help. Once the Friday night dinner is concluded, our direct involvement in the fate of Dr. Green is concluded as well - you will succeed or fail on your own merits, and nothing less than total success will be an acceptable outcome."
"You can count on me..." Lyle began his confident spiel, only to have the eldest man hold up a silencing hand.
"Save the bravado. Just be assured that failure will not be tolerated at all - and no excuses, however reasonable otherwise, will be acceptable. We need this sanction to happen quietly and without any official notice whatsoever. If you cannot handle this small matter for us in a timely and understated manner, your usefulness to the Triumvirate will come under a similar re-evaluation as Dr. Green's." A chill ran up Lyle's spine. "Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, sir." Lyle understood something else perfectly clearly: he needed to have a complete physical - including x-rays - from a non-Centre-related physician in the very near future. He was damned if HE was going to have someone decide to have HIS morning coffee chemically spiked and then supposedly die of a heart attack after eight to ten hours of agony.
"You are welcome to the use of the facilities here for the rest of the day and evening." The trio inclined their heads in unison. "Mr. Lyle..." They turned as one and moved in stately and determined steps from the room.
"Your room is this way, sir," the bodyguard said in musical African accents, breaking the silence that had fallen with the Triumvirate departure.
Lyle blinked and followed the man obediently, his mind only partially involved in paying attention to the layout of the beautiful house or even noticing that the bodyguard had retrieved his luggage. But by the time the bodyguard had shown him up the stairs and to the door of a spacious bedroom, however, Lyle was beginning to feel a sort of inner elation. He nodded curtly to the African as he pushed past into the room and closed the door firmly behind himself, then tossed his suitcase on the bed with a silent whoop.
This was it - the opportunity of a lifetime! Sydney may be a pain in the ass and not long for this world, but he was also one of the best ways to get to Jarod. Miss Parker had never fully appreciated the resource that she'd had at her beck and call all this time, and his own previous attempt to get to Sydney through Sydney's son, Nicholas - and in that way snare Jarod - had failed miserably. But now that the Triumvirate had spoken and removed all sense of reprisal should the Belgian scientist come to a bad end in the process, Lyle could use him as bait for a trap even as he expired. Talk about killing two birds with one stone! What better way to cement his own position of power not only within the Centre but within the Triumvirate but by executing termination orders for Sydney and using the threat to Sydney as bait in the trap to bring Jarod back to the Centre once and for all?
Now all he had to do was figure out how to build the trap in a way that didn't doom the entire effort, and himself right along with it...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The fog was so thick that it was like walking into a pillow fight. Wisps of the white stuff swirled around each and every step taken, giving lie to the sensation of solid ground beneath the feet. The fog was everywhere, below the feet, above the head, to every side as far as the eye could see, and yet perception of movement was continual, steady. Every once in a while, a barren tree branch would begin to form somewhere behind the white mist, reaching out a gnarled and grasping claw as if to snag on a shirt. A few more steps, and the ghostly hand had faded once more behind the billowing veil of white.
Slowly the fog began to thin, until finally more and more ghostly branches and twigs could be seen. There was an entire forest on all sides, blasted and sere, not a bud or blade of grass to give sign of any life. The fog was now like a ripped curtain, shreds of it hanging desperately to gnarled roots and fluttering in the upper branches.
The "Hooo!" of an owl brought Jarod up out of a sound sleep, panting as if he'd been running for an hour. In the darkness of his warehouse, the feeling of dread and danger was almost palpable. Jarod shuddered in the night air; his mind still caught enough in the environment of his dream that he could almost feel the damp whisper of fog draping his shoulders. He wiped at his face with a hand, surprised to pull it away covered in perspiration. As had become his habit of late, he rose and paced the perimeter of his warehouse den, checking security alarms and making sure that locks and bars were all sturdily in place.
The Pretender frowned as he sat back down heavily on the edge of his bed. This was the third such dream that had shattered what would otherwise have been a peaceful night's sleep - three dreams all being broken by the sound of an owl in his ear, startling him. He shook his head and lay back against his pillow, staring up into the darkness at the high ceiling that he knew was up there somewhere.
And just as it had happened the last two times, he got no more sleep that night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Centre: SL-15
June 3
"Yes! Here it is!" Sydney pounced on the envelope in his in-box like a cat nailing a mouse and whipped his letter opener out of his desk drawer to slit the envelope open. He pulled the letter out and read it immediately, then settled back in his desk chair fanning himself with the letter, his face that of the satiated cat who had not only nailed a mouse, but a canary too.
"Hey, Syd," commented a softer voice from just outside the office door, and then the balding head of the computer technician that was the third member of the team hunting Jarod poked around the doorjamb. "You don't often whoop loudly enough to be heard from the front of the Sim Lab..."
"I don't often get a research paper published in one of THE pre-eminent psychiatric journals either," Sydney announced with a grin of pride lighting his face. He waved the letter in his friend's direction. "And yet, it seems, my latest paper has been accepted for publication in the next quarterly edition."
Broots' grin widened. "You're kidding? Really? That's pretty cool, Syd!"
The psychiatrist's greying eyebrows made a quick journey up his forehead and then back down again. "Mon ami, 'cool' doesn't BEGIN to cover it!" He folded the letter very carefully and slipped it neatly back into its envelope, his grin of delight still broad. Then he quickly disciplined his attitude back to its normal scientific objectivity and turned his gaze back up into his friend and colleague's face. "Is there something you needed, Broots?"
"Oh, yeah. Miss Parker wanted me to see if you'd finished that report on the timeframes yet."
"I finished that just this afternoon," Sydney commented dryly, sorting through his outbox for the folder with the requested report - another piece of busywork that was the Centre misusing his training and expertise yet again. "You know, one of these days, Broots, I swear I'll get asked to do some genuine analytical research on the emerging patterns in Jarod's behavior, and I'm going to have a heart attack from the shock." His face while handing over the folder was frustrated. "If they wanted an analysis of the time frames that Jarod uses to decide which Pretend to do as opposed to the clues he leaves behind for us, they could call in an efficiency expert!"
"Uh-uh, Freud. When it comes to Jarod, we all know YOU'RE the expert." Miss Parker's semi-sarcastic tone preceded her through the office door. She glared down at Broots. "Is that the report I asked you to bring to me over an HOUR ago?"
"Y...yes, ma'am," Broots stammered, immediately thrusting the folder out and nearly spilling its contents when his rough gesture rammed the folder into Miss Parker's upper arm. "Oh, s...sorry..."
"And weren't YOU supposed to have a report on the times and purposes of Jarod's hacking into the Centre mainframe on my desk at about the same time?" She put a hand at her hip and put all her weight on that one leg, her traditional "let's see how well we can rattle Broots' cage today" stance.
"I...It's almost ready..." Broots whimpered, casting a shy and frightened glance at Sydney, who merely raised patient and mildly disapproving chestnut eyes to look at his nominal boss. Seeing that he wouldn't at least be getting any verbal backup from the Belgian today, Broots scampered through the door and then out of the Sim Lab as if chased by wolves.
"Really, Parker, Broots was just..." Sydney began chiding her gently.
"Stow it, Sydney." She wasn't taking any constructive criticism today. "Raines is breathing down my neck for these reports; and, as you know, the cliché rightfully goes, 'shit rolls downhill.'"
"And still only manages to make a mess in the end," he added in a dry tone. "Raines demanding reports is nothing new around here - his 'breathing down your neck,' as you put it, is an everyday occurrence. Admit it, Parker, you simply enjoy bullying the man to watch his reaction."
Grey eyes met his sharply and found that he simply continued to gaze calmly and directly at her. Whether she was willing to listen to constructive criticism or not today, he wasn't backing down from offering it one way or the other. "We all have our little vices," she tossed off nonchalantly, smarting under the barb more because she didn't like the ugly little truth he'd spoken.
"As long as you recognize it as a vice and not admirable or acceptable behavior," he retorted evenly, turning away from her and punching the power button on his computer terminal. "Is there anything else you want of me?" he asked finally, swiveling his chair around so he could look at her again - his action speaking clearly of afterthought.
Miss Parker had to admire the way her attitude and behavior generally just bounced off of him as if he were made of Teflon. Sydney was one of the few people whom she could NOT intimidate or move unless he was convinced she was justified in her demand. He was also the only person at the Centre she knew now - other than Raines and her demon-twin Lyle - who felt no hesitation whatsoever to be as dismissive of her when he was displeased with her as she could be of him under similar circumstances. It rankled when it happened - but it was also the basis of a strange intimacy and respect between them that was the closest thing she had felt to kinship in years now.
"A little more timeliness in submitting your reports would be nice," she shrugged at him, trying to act as blasé as he seemed to be.
His response was simply to turn back to his computer terminal and begin to type in the newest data from his current study, letting her presence in his office no longer register in his mind at all. This latest study measuring the difference between the bond developed by identical twins with that of fraternal twins promised to be more groundbreaking research that might earn him a second by-line in the psychiatric journal later on. He might no longer be earning kudos with his research papers dealing with the consequences of genius in carefully monitored situations, but the letter in his pocket told him that he wasn't falling behind when it came to still doing valuable research of some interest to the scientific community.
Miss Parker watched with a quiet and normally disguised look of fondness on her face as he narrowed his focus of concentration to the stream of words flowing through his fingers to the keyboard and onto his monitor screen. After a few moments, she shook herself out of her reverie and left him typing away contentedly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Centre: Chairman's Office
June 17
"Absolutely not!"
Inwardly, Sydney seethed. This was the chance of a lifetime to bask in a little bit of peer esteem. Now, it seemed, the cantankerous nature of his questionably sane superior seemed destined to put a serious kink in his plans. The psychiatrist carefully disciplined both his facial expression and his tone of voice into studious neutrality. "May I inquire why you cannot spare me for the extended weekend? Just what is it that I do around here that is so indispensable and vital that I cannot take a four-day weekend to attend a symposium as keynote speaker?"
"You forget," Raines wheezed, then pulled noisily on his oxygen tank to continue, "that your first and foremost job..." another wheeze, "is to aid in recapturing Jarod..."
"A task, I might point out, that has not needed much of my attention for weeks," Sydney retorted pointedly. "Jarod has virtually stopped leaving us breadcrumbs to follow, and seems to have mastered the art of avoiding most of Mr. Broots' attempts to track him. *I* have had nothing to contribute to that for weeks."
"Still..." Raines gasped noisily.
"IF I may," Lyle insinuated smoothly, giving both Raines and Sydney the opportunity to turn and glare at his audacity, "Sydney has a point, 'Dad.' He's been spending more time with the research we've assigned him in the interim than with psychoanalyzing Jarod's pretends and clues. What is it going to hurt to let him bring a little reflected glory to the Centre's Psychogenics Department by letting him give his speech?"
Raines glared at Sydney as if his ability to write a paper deemed worth for publication was a deliberate attempt to double-cross Centre agendas. "The Centre doesn't need reflected glory..."
"But it can use it," Lyle insisted persuasively.
"What's more, my having to decline due to job constraints won't go over well," Sydney added sharply. "I have been forced to miss any number of these events in recent years. What if one of the discussions that I miss would give me a key to knowing how Jarod thinks BEFORE he thinks?"
Raines shifted his disgruntled glare from Sydney to Lyle and then back again, feeling distinctly manipulated. "I still don't like the timing," he wheezed and then drew in a noisy breath, "and against my better judgment, I guess I have to approve. BUT..." He shook a skeletal finger in Sydney's direction. "If we get one word - one peep - about a location for Jarod, you are to join your group immediately. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Sydney refrained from allowing the slightest hint or tone of triumph to seep into his voice or demeanor. "And I understand that you expect me to be on a Centre jet heading back to Delaware the moment the symposium is concluded."
The Chairman drew in another noisy breath, only to let it out in an equally noisy sigh of frustration. "And just when is it that we're going to have to do without your expertise for a weekend?"
"I would be leaving for California on the 26th of this month," Sydney answered smoothly.
"I expect nothing less than your full attention to your work..." Raines gasped in his oxygen deeply, "...until that day."
"Of course," the psychiatrist agreed easily.
"And you will inform your fellow team members of your plans."
"Understood." Sydney sighed inwardly. A meeting with Raines always ended this way: with infinite trivial instructions that normally would be understood implicitly as part of his regular duties and responsibilities. Raines simply couldn't help micromanaging every thing and everybody - probably a compensating mechanism for his physical disability.
"Very well," the bald man waved his bony hand dismissively at both Sydney and Lyle. "Go on. I have work to do."
"Yes, sir." Sydney gave a slight bow and turned on his heel to walk calmly through the etched glass doors, waiting long enough and holding the door to let Lyle out after him. "Why?" he demanded the moment they were alone in the corridor.
"Why what?" Lyle blinked and looked at Sydney with a deceptively innocent gaze.
"Why did you convince him to let me go?" There was something up, Sydney concluded, if Lyle threw his weight behind his getting that weekend off. Lyle never did ANYTHING that didn't serve an agenda in one way or another...
The younger Parker simply shook his head and shrugged. "I just couldn't see 'Dad' standing in your way over nothing," he lied smoothly. "You were right to point out that we're not exactly swimming in information about Jarod lately, and that your giving that speech would be a feather in the Centre's cap."
Sydney narrowed his eyes and gazed hard at the younger man, as if he could by force of will plumb Lyle's devious mind. Frustrated when the only thing he could discern from the younger man was patently false innocence and camaraderie, he sniffed and turned away to the elevator.
Lyle watched the Belgian psychiatrist step into the elevator car, push the button and then stare at him with mild suspicion until the silver door slid closed in front of him, at which time his face broke into a satisfied and predatory grin. Things were moving along right on cue - and, as ordered, Raines was none the wiser. Sydney was suspicious, but his pride at being tapped for the speech would prevent him from acting on that suspicion until it was far too late.
The younger Parker turned on his heel and headed down the corridor and past his newest Chinese secretary, giving the girl a wicked wink. He then closed his office door tightly and sat down at his desk to stare down at the newspaper. It was the local paper to the resort area of coastal California where the symposium had been arranged - and local to the safe house he'd visited only weeks ago. And on an inside page of the front section, there was a picture of one of the local artists standing in front of a Children's Art Gallery that she was sponsoring. Her face was perfect - the quintessential Chinese beauty.
Lori Cheung - yes! She would be perfect as additional bait for BOTH Sydney and Jarod - and a perfect prey for a Hunt. With his trip to San Francisco so rudely and suddenly disrupted, leaving not enough time to target anyone for proper stalking, he was feeling distinctly deprived - and hungry.
Lyle lifted the telephone receiver. "Mei-La," he greeted the accented voice that picked up immediately - Chinese secretaries were always SO much more efficient - "put me through to Chavez in the Los Angeles office. Now, please."
"Yes, Mr. Lyle. Right away."
It was time to begin to build the web that would catch a Pretender and beat that damned shrink at his own game in the process.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
Sydney's home
June 20
"This is Sydney."
"It's me."
Sydney relaxed back into his easy chair. "Jarod! Good to hear your voice."
"Tell me something..."
A brief frown crossed the silver-haired psychiatrist's face. "You sound troubled this evening. What is it?"
"How do you... when something you work so hard at doesn't work..." Jarod was having trouble organizing his thoughts - his mind filled with the cries of horror and grief that had accompanied the denouement of his latest Pretend. They were cries that he'd tried so very hard to prevent... "When something you do goes terribly wrong, how do you live with the pain of knowing..."
"What went wrong - was it directly your fault?" Sydney asked patiently, firmly steering his mind away from his own complicity in the immense suffering Jarod had survived at the Centre so that he could hear what his Pretender was telling him.
"Not really, although I contributed in the end." The Pretender's eyes found again the newspaper photograph of the mother and her son who had died so tragically - and futilely. Pressure he had put on the people to whom her deadbeat husband had owed money had resulted in them putting even more pressure on her as widow, until taking the life of her son and then her own to escape their threats had been her only solution. Two innocent people had died even as the loan sharks who had been killing them slowly were being loaded into police cars across town.
Sydney closed his eyes. Yes, he understood all too well the pain of being indirectly responsible. "Was there nothing you could do to prevent it?" he pressed gently, again trying to keep his mind on the situation at hand.
"I didn't know until it was too late." Jarod's voice was bleak, heartbroken.
"Jarod, you cannot reasonably take responsibility for what others do," the psychiatrist soothed into the phone. "You are responsible for your actions, and for the consequences of your actions..."
"Even if those consequences are that innocent people die?"
"Did you kill them yourself?" Sydney decided to take the direct approach.
"No..."
"Did you tell someone else TO kill them?"
"No, but..."
"Was their death in your plans at all?"
"Of course not!" Jarod was indignant.
"Was their death considered a risk in the situation at all?"
"No," Jarod's voice now had a guilty overtone. "I didn't see it coming at all."
"You mean you're not psychic, and you can't see into the future?"
Jarod sighed in frustration. "I'm a Pretender, Sydney. You trained me to see all of the possibilities in a situation..."
"You're also human, Jarod. Humans make mistakes."
"Mistakes get people killed."
Now it was Sydney's turn to sigh. "Yes, sometimes they do. But when you're not directly responsible, you simply cannot allow grief and guilt to eat you from within. You assess where it was that you erred, and make that death an object lesson that saves lives as a consequence. If your complicity is indirect, then it is up to YOU to give that indirect responsibility meaning."
Jarod was silent, and Sydney sat patiently. This, too, was part of the process the two of them had developed over the years Jarod had been free. Sydney would offer the key piece of advice, and Jarod would think it through for a while before commenting. Finally: "I'm not sleeping well either lately..."
Sydney frowned again. "Do you know why?"
"I'm having the strangest of dreams. As a rule, I can't remember the details except that I'm moving through a fog. I'm alone, and I think I'm lost. Then this owl hoots in my ear, and I wake up panting as if I'd just run a mile and sweating..." He paused to collect himself. "I get the strangest feeling of danger, and I have to get up and make sure I'm secure - and I can't get back to sleep. What does it mean, Sydney?"
"Did your dreams begin after this latest situation went bad?"
"Uh-uhn. Before that."
Sydney rubbed his finger under his nose thoughtfully. "Dream imagery and meaning has been a field of some speculation for a long time, Jarod. The need to get up and make sure of your surroundings could be simple paranoia left over from living at the Centre for all those years."
"I know that," Jarod interrupted. "But this thing about the owl waking me up. That's the part I don't understand."
"Tell you what - I'll do a little digging through my old textbooks and see what I can come up with," Sydney suggested. "The answer could be there, or it could be perhaps in a book of folklore. Give me a few days, and then call me back. I'll tell you what I know."
"Thanks, Sydney." Jarod sounded a little more settled than he had at the beginning of the call.
"Oh, and Jarod? Will you be leaving us any indication at all..."
"Is Miss Parker getting hungry for clues?" Now Jarod sounded amused.
"Having at least a little something would keep Mr. Raines off of her neck - which would have a consequence of keeping Miss Parker off of mine," Sydney's voice smiled back.
"I'll see what I can do," Jarod said absently, "but to be honest, I'm getting tired of the game."
"Well, don't leave anything if you don't want to," Sydney conceded, "and for God's sake, don't start leaving clues next weekend. I'm scheduled to give a speech in California at a psychiatric symposium, and I'd hate to have to cancel at the last minute."
"You talked Raines into giving you time off?" Jarod sounded impressed. "You haven't gone to one of those things..."
"I know, since you escaped. That's why I don't want to miss this one. I managed to get one of my papers published and now have been invited to give a speech based on it as a keynote address. This is... my chance, Jarod..." Sydney could only hope that Jarod had enough of a scientist's heart to understand what was, to him, at stake.
"Don't worry, Sydney. I won't mess up your vacation."
The psychiatrist breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
"I'll call back about the owl." Jarod punched the button on his cell phone and disconnected the call.
Something Sydney had said had raised a small warning flag in the back of his mind. Sydney HADN'T been invited to or gone to any psychiatric symposium or conference since long before his escape. Those he had gone to back when had very conveniently been timed so that rather than getting a short respite himself, Raines or Lyle had made use of Sydney's absence to test out all kinds of horrific and painful theories on him. The memory of some of them could still cause nightmares that made him wake up screaming.
Which begged the question: why would Raines or Lyle want Sydney out of the way NOW?
Jarod began booting his laptop. Maybe digging into this would get his mind off of that mother and child...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker pulled her sleek, black Boxster into its customary spot behind her house and turned off the engine. She took a long, deep breath and relaxed against the headrest. It had been a very long day, and between Lyle's poking into all kinds of matters that didn't concern him and a two-hour-long meeting with Raines, it was already dark outside before she'd left the Centre garage structure.
She couldn't help it if Jarod wasn't leaving the slightest sign of what he was up to anymore - and just exactly why Raines expected her to find a man smart enough to just vanish whenever he felt like it was beyond her. Broots' complicated computer system wasn't finding any recent hacks into the Centre mainframe, and Sydney was far too involved with his twins research when she didn't have anything for him to analyze. I need a vacation, she thought to herself as she climbed wearily from behind the wheel and then reached behind the seat for her briefcase.
The "Hoo!" of the owl sounded close behind her, making her start and straighten quickly. A blur of white and grey feathers was all she could see - evidently it had swooped down at her and now was flying off in the general direction of town. Still, the shock of the owl's call sounding so close in her ear had her heart pounding hard in her chest.
"Shit!" she bit out and slammed the car door shut. What a lousy end to a perfectly lousy day!
God, she needed a drink!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Long Beach, California
Warehouse District
June 24
Jarod settled back into his chair and stared at the laptop screen with a smile on his face. So Sydney really WAS going to be published - all that work on twins research was finally going to pay off for the old psychiatrist. Jarod felt a rush of pride at the thought that Sydney would finally start to get some of the recognition outside the Centre walls that he'd deserved for a long time. And to be published in such a pre-eminent journal - no wonder Sydney hadn't wanted him to drop breadcrumbs and blow the vacation and exposure the publication of his paper had brought to him.
Still, he hadn't been able to nail down the group that was sponsoring the symposium his mentor had mentioned. While not exactly frequent, there were enough conventions and symposiums being carried out across the country on any given weekend that it would take time to figure out just which one he'd been invited to. Jarod smirked. Sydney moving outside Centre circles and attending a public symposium was just too good an opportunity to let slide. But he'd need more information - information that he could no doubt get from Sydney himself, if he asked the right questions in the right way.
He picked up the telephone...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Centre: SL-15
June 24
Miss Parker walked through the front door of the Sim Lab, not at all happy with the message she'd been sent to deliver. She hadn't seen Sydney genuinely angry for a very long time - asking him to essentially redo several days' worth of statistical busywork when he had research subjects to investigate was guaranteed to remedy that deficiency. It was mid-afternoon, long after most research subjects had been sent home so the researcher could begin to tabulate his data. With any luck, nobody else would witness the explosion. As she neared the door to his office, she heard his phone ring.
Sydney barely even looked up from his review of his notes and a draft of his finished paper as he picked up the receiver. "This is Sydney," he answered mechanically.
The familiar voice resonated in the handset. "Did you find out anything about owls and dreams, Sydney?"
"Jarod!" Sydney put his pen down and stretched back in his comfortable office chair, the telephone receiver pressed against his head. The call was well-timed; he could use the break.
"Incidentally, I checked up on your article in the journal - that was a good, solid piece of research. Congratulations on the publication AND your invitation to the symposium!"
Sydney grinned. "Thanks. It feels good to know that all these past few years' worth of experimentation hasn't been for naught... It isn't often one gets one's paper printed in Modern Psychiatric..."
Miss Parker's eyebrows raised, and she paused just out of sight and considered. Sometimes subterfuge and eavesdropping had their uses. So, the old goat finally got a paper published. She made sure she was out of sight and focused her attention tightly on what Sydney was saying to his trained monkey on the other end of the phone.
Jarod could hear how proud his mentor was of his accomplishment. "That was a minor coup," his voice through the receiver communicated his delight, "but tell me more about the speech you were telling me about.
Sydney's wide smile was positively preening. "I don't know how they heard about it, or got an advanced copy of the article, but I got an invitation from the West Coast Psychiatric Society about a week ago to give a keynote address at their symposium in Santa Luisita the last weekend of this month. Needless to say I was flabbergasted and honored, and I accepted immediately."
Miss Parker's jaw dropped and her brows collided swiftly. Sydney was taking time off to go give a speech based on the paper he'd published - and he hadn't said anything about either event to her? He'd brag to Jarod, but not to her? That stung...
"You deserve to be recognized," was Jarod's reply. Jarod was taking notes on a post-it. "So when do you leave?"
"The day after tomorrow," the psychiatrist reminded his protégé pointedly. "The symposium gets started with a dinner Friday night, and then goes through Sunday lunch. My speech is scheduled for late Saturday afternoon."
Now Miss Parker seethed. Not only was Sydney going to be taking time off, but also his departure was very short notice. Briefly she considered just what it would take to teach Freud a good lesson about what happens when he didn't tell his boss what he was up to. She'd have to dream up a new and creative way to make sure that he never EVER left her out of the loop again. They were a TEAM, after all - he needed to remember that.
"And I did do the research on owls and dream imagery you asked me to." Sydney was saying.
Jarod's voice on the other end of the line was immediately curious. "What did you find out?"
"Overall, the owl has a very contradictory meaning, both in folklore as well as in dreams. On the one hand, the owl symbolizes wisdom, and yet on the other, death. From what I've been able to gather, however, hearing an owl hoot in your dreams warns the dreamer of disappointment - or of death creeping in closely behind joy and health." Sydney paused to let Jarod process the information. "That's about all I could discover."
That did it. Talking about omens and harbingers of death was just a little too far out for even her. Miss Parker began to cackle derisively as she came around the corner of the office door as if just arriving and only hearing the end of his last statement. "As if any of that hooey held any water. Hell, I had an owl dive-bomb me just the other day, and you don't see me running to a psychic - or a psychiatrist - to have him read my fortune..." She waved her finger at the phone. "Who is that?"
Sydney glared at her in startled surprise. "Excuse me? This is a private conversation..."
She stepped closer. "Who are you talking to, Sydney?"
They stared at each other for a moment before he finally dropped his gaze. "Jarod."
"Put him on the speaker." When he looked up again defiantly and just continued staring at him, she pointed again. "Now, Syd."
The psychiatrist stabbed at the button in frustration and then hung up the receiver. "It seems we have company," he announced unhappily.
"This is the Centre," she announced very carefully, jabbing a finger into his shoulder painfully to make her point. "When you talk on the phone here, you do so on company time - which means the company has the right to listen in. There IS no expectation of privacy here, and you know it."
"Miss Parker." Jarod's voice took on that smooth arrogance with which he normally talked to her. "What are you doing down in the Sim Lab, slumming?"
"Figure it out, genius - I work here, and Doctor Dolittle here works for me." She didn't need to look down to know that Sydney was fuming. Good! So was she. "As for slumming, we won't mention you two talking about superstitious clap-trap, will we? What's the matter, Jarod - did the plug come out and leak all the dirty water out of your Magic Eight Ball again?"
"Anything that just doesn't fit into your nice, tidy, Centre-oriented view of the world is worthless, is that it, Miss Parker?" Jarod sneered back, stung. "Well, thanks for the info, Sydney. Enjoy your symposium." The click on the other end of the line was audible.
"For God's sake, Parker, must you always..." Sydney began chiding her in earnest as he set the receiver back on the hook.
She had a warning finger out immediately and was shaking it in his face. "Don't you dare scold me, Sydney. You knew you were going to be taking off days ago - and you kept me in the dark about it... So spill - just when did you plan on taking off?"
"This weekend, as a matter of fact. I leave the day after tomorrow."
Finely arched eyebrows soared in surprise and consternation. "What is this, Vacation Weekend for the Centre Elite? First Lyle takes off for the rest of the week after dumping his load on me, and now YOU tell me YOU'RE off to..."
"And your problem with that is...?" He glared at Miss Parker and let his voice carry his frustration with the grilling she was giving him. "Just how long has it been now since I've had any time off at all?"
"Down boy," Miss Parker glared back at him. "Just when did you intend to tell me you were going to be incommunicado for half a whole week?" she snarled with her hand on her hip.
"Later today," Sydney answered her, his voice no less angry. "I fail to see what is making you so angry about this. I didn't tell you earlier so that I wouldn't have to put up with your temper any longer than necessary," he added bluntly and sourly. "I have enough to do that I could do WITHOUT the attitude for as long as possible."
That stung too. "You'd get a helluva lot less attitude if you'd just TELL me these things..."
"I'd be a helluva more than willing to tell you these things if I didn't have to dread the inevitable reaction. Just for once, Parker, couldn't you be happy for me?" Sydney complained bitterly, facing her directly for a long moment before reaching for his briefcase. "Why is it that my accomplishments only serve to make you angry?" he asked rhetorically as he opened the case and began to quickly move his papers into it.
Miss Parker opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she realized that her old friend had a valid point. "What about if we get a lead on Jarod?" she asked petulantly instead.
Sydney glowered at her, then relented. "I'll have my cell phone," he reminded her in a tired voice. "If need be, I can always cut my time short and leave right after my speech."
They stared at each other for a long moment. "Congratulations, Syd," she said finally. "I'm really happy for you."
"Thank you," he answered a little less defensively, recognizing the concession that he'd just won. He sighed at last. "I'm assuming that your being here originally had some other purpose than just hanging around my office to eavesdrop on my phone calls. If not, I should point out that phone taps are by far a more efficient..."
"Shut up," she snapped, not in the mood. "Do you remember that report on timeframes that I had you do a couple of weeks ago?"
"Yes," he answered warily.
"Well, Raines wants it redone, figuring in the amount of time since we last heard from Wonder-Boy. Not counting just now." She watched him narrow his eyes in frustration, and she glared back defensively. "Look. Don't blame me! The Wheezing Geezer has got it in his head that there's some hidden meaning in the scheduling of Jarod's pretends as contrasted to when he hands over clues to what he's up to."
Sydney's next sigh was profound. "Oh, very well. I'll work on recalibrating my statistics on the way to California so you can have my timeframes report hopefully next Monday. Will that satisfy everyone?"
She nodded, realizing that this was about as close to cooperation as she was going to get from him now. "It'll have to do, I suppose." She then turned to leave the office, brushing against Broots roughly in the process. The balding technician turned and watched her stalk from the Sim Lab before turning back to Sydney. "What's with her?"
"I didn't tell her that I was leaving to give a speech at a symposium as soon as she would want me to..." the psychiatrist answered dully.
"You're getting published, and now you're off to give a speech too?" Broots' grin of happiness was wide. "Sydney! Are you even going to speak to us mere mortals once you are a psychiatric celebrity?"
Sydney blinked and then chuckled at his friend's gentle humor. The simple compliment had gone far to repair the mood Miss Parker had so blithely destroyed. "I'll always have time for YOU, mon ami - always!"
Feedback, please: mbumpus_99@hotmail.com
by MMB & NIOMR
The Beginning of the End
Triumvirate Safe House
California Coast
May 28th
He had to admit that this was a beautiful place to put a safe house - and a place he'd have to keep in mind as time moved on. Lyle couldn't help admiring the view as he drove southward toward the tiny California beach hamlet to which the Triumvirate had summoned him. The highway had just come up over a rise between two tall hills to have the entire Pacific Ocean, a deep sapphire blue, lay itself out at his feet. The hamlet itself lay between the steep hillsides and the craggy cliffs that dropped twenty feet into the surging surf below.
He followed the service road past the beach cabins turned businesses, the few brick and mortar commercial buildings that had obviously been through their earthquake retrofitting from the huge bolts at regular intervals along the walls, the elementary school with its portable classrooms slowly filling what had once been playgrounds. At the stop sign by the used bookstore that looked barely large enough to have two people inside it comfortably, he turned right toward the cliffs. The houses on both sides of the street were an eclectic mixture of well-kept 1940's beach cabins and modern two-story structures doing battle for scenic views. At the end of the street was nothing but a guardrail in front of a sidewalk along the edge of the continent - and a street led off to the left that hugged the edge of the cliffs.
His destination soon became readily apparent - it was one of the most magnificent houses he'd ever seen, on either side of the continent. Old and yellowing cement buttressing protected the cliff face below the house from crumbling away with the same speed that it was evidently eating into the roadway. The Tudor-style house itself was a grey-tan, stucco below with open beam work reaching two stories toward the steep, wood-shingled roof. To the left of the main building was what looked like a small lighthouse, constructed from rough-hewn stones similar to the rock that made up the cliffs. To the right, cypress trees marked the end of dry land, stretching like dark silhouettes into the sky above ragged rocks and splashing surf, one with a long rainbow-colored pennant billowing out in the ocean breezes.
Lyle drove closer, and reached for the garage door opener that had been included in the packet holding his orders to come to this place on this day. A push of the button had one of three rather rustic-looking garage doors pulling open in the stonework and wood-shingled garage, revealing plenty of space within for the sleek sports car he'd chosen to use that morning in his drive down from San Francisco. How they had known that he'd decided to take a short vacation in his secret condo on the outskirts of Chinatown, he'd never know - but the voice on the phone had been insistent that he leave immediately in order to make connections with Triumvirate dignitaries who would be there for only the rest of the day.
He pulled his garment bag and suitcase from the back seat where he'd tossed it so carelessly a few hours earlier and, after locating the access door at the left corner of the back of the garage, he pushed the button to close the garage door again. The door opened up to the curved stone wall of the lighthouse, with a narrow sidewalk leading toward the main house. He followed the sidewalk to a glassed sunroom with a tall, pyramid roof, where a tall and imposing African bodyguard silently pulled the door open.
The bodyguard pointed to a chair, where Lyle figured he was being invited to deposit his luggage, and then waited patiently for the Centre employee to comply. Once Lyle had carefully draped his garment bag across the back of the chair and leaned his suitcase against a chair leg, the bodyguard simply gave him a curt gesture that told him to follow. The tall African led him through a sitting room and then down a short hallway and into a formal dining room where three somber men were seated at one end of the long dining table waiting for him.
"Sit down, Mr. Lyle," the eldest at the very head of the table said in an accent that was as unidentifiable as it was musical. Lyle, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and more than a little nervous, pulled out the nearest chair at the opposite end of the table and took a seat, folding his hands quietly in front of him and unconsciously rubbing his right index finger over the stump that was all that was left of his left thumb. It was itching, and that was never a good sign.
"The Triumvirate has been keeping a very close eye on the Centre of late. We have had reason to believe that there might be a few employees working there who have questionable loyalties..."
He couldn't help it - just being in the presence of these powerful men who had always held complete control of his destiny meant that he just had to make sure of his own position. He hadn't done anything RECENTLY that would have called the attention of the Triumvirate to him that he knew of - and he hadn't been in San Francisco long enough to even get started on a new Hunt... "Surely MY loyalties are beyond reproach," Lyle complained immediately in a voice of bravado that did a very poor job hiding insecurity. "I've done everything you people have ever asked of me..."
"Your actions and... appetites... have tended to keep you under constant surveillance to make sure that you cause neither the Centre or the Triumvirate any undue scrutiny by law enforcement," the youngest man at the table commented dryly. Lyle shivered at the thought that the Triumvirate knew exactly where and what he was up to, even when he was engaging in The Hunt. "But you were not summoned here to explain or excuse your own actions. We are here to discuss Dr. Sydney Green."
"Sydney!" Lyle sat up straighter, both in relief and in surprise.
"We have been re-assessing his loyalty as evidenced by his behavior since the beginning of the search for the escaped Pretender, Jarod, and we have decided that what we have been seeing lately is no longer acceptable. He is now viewed as a potential security risk."
"Sydney has enjoyed the protection of the Parker administration for a long time," Lyle stated slowly, "but I have wondered for a very long time..."
"Enough!" the oldest barked abruptly. "Kindly save us your protestations of suspicion, Mr. Lyle. You are here to listen and then do as you're told, not talk. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." His stump was beginning to itch again - badly.
"Dr. Green has several times interfered with attempts by Centre operatives to shoot Jarod and bring him in, wounded but alive - but those episodes had been overlooked due to connection that he represents to Jarod. Then came the assassination attempt on Mr. Raines. We know that officially there has been no assignation of blame in that incident, but our independent assessment team has determined that Dr. Green was the only person present at the time with both the motive and means to make that shot." The older man's gnarled hands shifted papers on the table in front of him. "Then there was that bombing on SL-27..."
"Uh..." Lyle was beginning to sweat. "My findings exonerated Sydney from any part in..."
"Your findings," the older man snapped impatiently, "were an obvious ploy to manipulate Dr. Green and had very little to do with any genuine investigation into the incident. Miss Parker's report, which you tried to sweep under the rug, was far more complete, comprehensive, and believable. That Mr. Parker decided to back your plan was unfortunate, because your record in retrieving Jarod isn't a whole lot better than Miss Parker's is - and hers is abysmal."
Lyle squirmed in his seat. He didn't appreciate his lack of success where it came to Jarod to be continually thrown in his face - not by Mr. Raines, and certainly not by the Triumvirate - but he knew better than to argue. It was the truth, as uncomfortable as that made him.
"What you may NOT be aware of is the role Dr. Green played in managing to free the clone - I believe the Centre called him Gemini. One of our surveillance team acquired the transcript of a phone call between Dr. Green and Jarod that led Jarod directly to a file buried in the Centre mainframe that detailed where the clone was being housed and transfer plans to move him back to Africa."
"I'll be damned," Lyle shook his head. "Sydney, you sly dog..."
"Mr. Lyle, subterfuge is NOT an admirable trait," the younger man at the elder's left stated in a distinctly disapproving tone. "All of these findings, when looked at as a general pattern of behavior, caused a great deal of consternation among the members of the consortium. Dr. Green had, prior to Jarod's escape, been a top contributor both to the financial health of the Centre and to the influence both the Centre and the Triumvirate have acquired in many areas of international politics and trade. When a man such as that - a man who, due to his relationship with the Parker family and regime, has enjoyed almost unlimited access to every level of Centre operations - begins to behave in a less than loyal manner, some kind of action MUST be taken. We have considered the matter very carefully."
"Dr. Sydney Green knows far too much about Centre activities and methods to be allowed or even forced to just retire," the eldest pronounced in a sepulchral voice. "His obvious loyalty to Jarod over and above the interests of the Centre cannot be ignored. We debated this long and hard, and eventually made the decision to remove Dr. Green as a potential problem."
Lyle's eyebrows soared. "Remove?"
The oldest man at the table was obviously ready to take over the rest of the meeting. "Luckily, the Centre hierarchy has recently been putting in place certain failsafe measures to protect the security of the Centre from those who would betray it from within - and we are more than willing to take advantage of these measures in the case of Dr. Green."
"What kind of measures are those?" Lyle was curious now - perhaps he could learn something that he could make use of a little later on to vouchsafe his own eventual rise to the Chairmanship of the Centre.
"Many key Centre employees have received gastric implants containing poison during otherwise routine or emergency medical procedures that took place at the Centre itself. Releasing the poison would be a simple matter of administering a simple combination of chemicals in a precise dosage that would radically increase the acidity level of the stomach, causing the casing of the implant to dissolve. Dr. Green received one of these implants while he was recovering from the effects of his bombing attempt. We have decided that the time has come to trigger his implant under controlled circumstances. Once the poison is released, there is no antidote, and death occurs within twelve hours."
Lyle struggled to keep private the feelings of horror and worry that he, too, had received one of these implants - perhaps while in surgery in the Renewal Wing to close the wound left when he'd lost his thumb to the Yakuza. "So... That's something that's already done - what do you need ME for?"
"We don't want Dr Green's death to cause any questions - especially not among his friends at the Centre or with Jarod himself - at least, not for a short while. One of the many elements of the particular poison in the implant is that it decomposes chemically within two hours after death. This assures that any unsuspecting coroner will mark down the cause of death as heart attack." The older man grinned coldly. "What WOULD cause commentary, however, would be the symptoms as the poison began to work. THAT'S where you come in. Dr. Green's departure from the Centre and his regular companions must not cause undo comment - and that is something we have already put into motion. YOUR task, when the time comes, will be to isolate him completely as the implant dissolves through when the poison has done its work, at which time you will call the authorities and let them take care of things from there."
Lyle had to admit that there was a simple elegance to this plan, and he certainly didn't have any trouble with the idea of getting rid of the pesky and secretive psychiatrist and mentor. He had always considered that Sydney had far too much influence over Miss Parker as it was. Without that Belgian voice of caution and suspicion whispering in her ear, maybe they'd finally be able to put together some kind of relationship as siblings...
Still, there was the implementation of the plan to consider - and the biggest obstacle to the success was Sydney himself. "How do you expect me to lure Sydney away from the Centre? The man isn't dumb, and he suspects everything I say or do..." Lyle spread his hands open at the table in front of him.
With an abbreviated gesture, the elder had the taciturn bodyguard behind Lyle move forward to hand him a folder. Lyle stared at the dour faces ahead of him, and then opened the folder to find himself looking at a brochure publicizing a psychiatric symposium to be held in about a month's time in a town only minutes away from this very safe house. "We have taken care of that part of things," the elder told Lyle matter-of-factly. "In years past, every time Mr. Raines proposed an interesting study that required the use of Jarod without the protection or interference of his mentor, we would assist him by sponsoring a seminar or convention that Dr. Green would be interested in attending. We then made sure that he was convinced of the benefit of attending by smoothing away any obstacles to his willing compliance. Since Jarod's escape, however, we've had no reason to put together such a ruse again - until now."
Lyle opened the brochure and began chuckling in appreciation. This was SURE to do the trick! The topic of the symposium was psychiatric and psychological studies dealing with identical twins - with Dr. Sydney Green scheduled to present a paper on his findings based on a study to be published soon in a premier psychiatric journal. Lyle raised his eyes to the men at the end of the table.
"The study is legit? He really is going to publish...?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Lyle. Both the study and the paper are quite legitimate. As the silent partner of the publishing company that owns that particular journal, we were alerted ahead of time of the intent to publish Dr. Green's research paper - and we made it known that we wished that it be accepted. And for all intents and purposes otherwise, the symposium itself is quite legitimate as well. All of those chosen to receive invitations as either speakers or attendees will be pre-eminent psychiatrists and psychologists in their fields of research - and all of them either have outstanding debts to the Triumvirate or work for us in one way or another." The elder nodded. "As a matter of fact, Dr. Green is fairly familiar with several of them from his attendance at previous events we arranged in the past. There will be no reason to raise his suspicions at all."
"This should work, then," Lyle commented with a grin of confidence. "And once he gets to the conference center..."
"No. It is important that he attend the Friday night formal dinner, for that is when the chemical trigger will be administered - in the pilaf. You will find a way to draw him away from the conference sometime shortly after that and then isolate him until the poison has done its work. We will leave the details of THAT to you." The nameless trio at the end of the table rose in unison. "But be warned, Mr. Lyle. This is a Triumvirate sanction - Mr. Raines is and must remain out of the loop to give the Centre and its administration complete deniability. What is more, there is a definite time frame in which you'll need to take action - once Dr. Green has eaten his dinner, he will begin displaying symptoms of extreme heartburn within three to four hours. From that point, you will have between twelve to fourteen hours before the poison will have been released and caused his death. Our biochemical advisors recommend that you isolate him prior to the heartburn symptoms becoming acute so as to cause as little commentary as possible. Whatever you do, you will be expected to handle any complications that might arise on your own WITHOUT any outside help. Once the Friday night dinner is concluded, our direct involvement in the fate of Dr. Green is concluded as well - you will succeed or fail on your own merits, and nothing less than total success will be an acceptable outcome."
"You can count on me..." Lyle began his confident spiel, only to have the eldest man hold up a silencing hand.
"Save the bravado. Just be assured that failure will not be tolerated at all - and no excuses, however reasonable otherwise, will be acceptable. We need this sanction to happen quietly and without any official notice whatsoever. If you cannot handle this small matter for us in a timely and understated manner, your usefulness to the Triumvirate will come under a similar re-evaluation as Dr. Green's." A chill ran up Lyle's spine. "Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, sir." Lyle understood something else perfectly clearly: he needed to have a complete physical - including x-rays - from a non-Centre-related physician in the very near future. He was damned if HE was going to have someone decide to have HIS morning coffee chemically spiked and then supposedly die of a heart attack after eight to ten hours of agony.
"You are welcome to the use of the facilities here for the rest of the day and evening." The trio inclined their heads in unison. "Mr. Lyle..." They turned as one and moved in stately and determined steps from the room.
"Your room is this way, sir," the bodyguard said in musical African accents, breaking the silence that had fallen with the Triumvirate departure.
Lyle blinked and followed the man obediently, his mind only partially involved in paying attention to the layout of the beautiful house or even noticing that the bodyguard had retrieved his luggage. But by the time the bodyguard had shown him up the stairs and to the door of a spacious bedroom, however, Lyle was beginning to feel a sort of inner elation. He nodded curtly to the African as he pushed past into the room and closed the door firmly behind himself, then tossed his suitcase on the bed with a silent whoop.
This was it - the opportunity of a lifetime! Sydney may be a pain in the ass and not long for this world, but he was also one of the best ways to get to Jarod. Miss Parker had never fully appreciated the resource that she'd had at her beck and call all this time, and his own previous attempt to get to Sydney through Sydney's son, Nicholas - and in that way snare Jarod - had failed miserably. But now that the Triumvirate had spoken and removed all sense of reprisal should the Belgian scientist come to a bad end in the process, Lyle could use him as bait for a trap even as he expired. Talk about killing two birds with one stone! What better way to cement his own position of power not only within the Centre but within the Triumvirate but by executing termination orders for Sydney and using the threat to Sydney as bait in the trap to bring Jarod back to the Centre once and for all?
Now all he had to do was figure out how to build the trap in a way that didn't doom the entire effort, and himself right along with it...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The fog was so thick that it was like walking into a pillow fight. Wisps of the white stuff swirled around each and every step taken, giving lie to the sensation of solid ground beneath the feet. The fog was everywhere, below the feet, above the head, to every side as far as the eye could see, and yet perception of movement was continual, steady. Every once in a while, a barren tree branch would begin to form somewhere behind the white mist, reaching out a gnarled and grasping claw as if to snag on a shirt. A few more steps, and the ghostly hand had faded once more behind the billowing veil of white.
Slowly the fog began to thin, until finally more and more ghostly branches and twigs could be seen. There was an entire forest on all sides, blasted and sere, not a bud or blade of grass to give sign of any life. The fog was now like a ripped curtain, shreds of it hanging desperately to gnarled roots and fluttering in the upper branches.
The "Hooo!" of an owl brought Jarod up out of a sound sleep, panting as if he'd been running for an hour. In the darkness of his warehouse, the feeling of dread and danger was almost palpable. Jarod shuddered in the night air; his mind still caught enough in the environment of his dream that he could almost feel the damp whisper of fog draping his shoulders. He wiped at his face with a hand, surprised to pull it away covered in perspiration. As had become his habit of late, he rose and paced the perimeter of his warehouse den, checking security alarms and making sure that locks and bars were all sturdily in place.
The Pretender frowned as he sat back down heavily on the edge of his bed. This was the third such dream that had shattered what would otherwise have been a peaceful night's sleep - three dreams all being broken by the sound of an owl in his ear, startling him. He shook his head and lay back against his pillow, staring up into the darkness at the high ceiling that he knew was up there somewhere.
And just as it had happened the last two times, he got no more sleep that night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Centre: SL-15
June 3
"Yes! Here it is!" Sydney pounced on the envelope in his in-box like a cat nailing a mouse and whipped his letter opener out of his desk drawer to slit the envelope open. He pulled the letter out and read it immediately, then settled back in his desk chair fanning himself with the letter, his face that of the satiated cat who had not only nailed a mouse, but a canary too.
"Hey, Syd," commented a softer voice from just outside the office door, and then the balding head of the computer technician that was the third member of the team hunting Jarod poked around the doorjamb. "You don't often whoop loudly enough to be heard from the front of the Sim Lab..."
"I don't often get a research paper published in one of THE pre-eminent psychiatric journals either," Sydney announced with a grin of pride lighting his face. He waved the letter in his friend's direction. "And yet, it seems, my latest paper has been accepted for publication in the next quarterly edition."
Broots' grin widened. "You're kidding? Really? That's pretty cool, Syd!"
The psychiatrist's greying eyebrows made a quick journey up his forehead and then back down again. "Mon ami, 'cool' doesn't BEGIN to cover it!" He folded the letter very carefully and slipped it neatly back into its envelope, his grin of delight still broad. Then he quickly disciplined his attitude back to its normal scientific objectivity and turned his gaze back up into his friend and colleague's face. "Is there something you needed, Broots?"
"Oh, yeah. Miss Parker wanted me to see if you'd finished that report on the timeframes yet."
"I finished that just this afternoon," Sydney commented dryly, sorting through his outbox for the folder with the requested report - another piece of busywork that was the Centre misusing his training and expertise yet again. "You know, one of these days, Broots, I swear I'll get asked to do some genuine analytical research on the emerging patterns in Jarod's behavior, and I'm going to have a heart attack from the shock." His face while handing over the folder was frustrated. "If they wanted an analysis of the time frames that Jarod uses to decide which Pretend to do as opposed to the clues he leaves behind for us, they could call in an efficiency expert!"
"Uh-uh, Freud. When it comes to Jarod, we all know YOU'RE the expert." Miss Parker's semi-sarcastic tone preceded her through the office door. She glared down at Broots. "Is that the report I asked you to bring to me over an HOUR ago?"
"Y...yes, ma'am," Broots stammered, immediately thrusting the folder out and nearly spilling its contents when his rough gesture rammed the folder into Miss Parker's upper arm. "Oh, s...sorry..."
"And weren't YOU supposed to have a report on the times and purposes of Jarod's hacking into the Centre mainframe on my desk at about the same time?" She put a hand at her hip and put all her weight on that one leg, her traditional "let's see how well we can rattle Broots' cage today" stance.
"I...It's almost ready..." Broots whimpered, casting a shy and frightened glance at Sydney, who merely raised patient and mildly disapproving chestnut eyes to look at his nominal boss. Seeing that he wouldn't at least be getting any verbal backup from the Belgian today, Broots scampered through the door and then out of the Sim Lab as if chased by wolves.
"Really, Parker, Broots was just..." Sydney began chiding her gently.
"Stow it, Sydney." She wasn't taking any constructive criticism today. "Raines is breathing down my neck for these reports; and, as you know, the cliché rightfully goes, 'shit rolls downhill.'"
"And still only manages to make a mess in the end," he added in a dry tone. "Raines demanding reports is nothing new around here - his 'breathing down your neck,' as you put it, is an everyday occurrence. Admit it, Parker, you simply enjoy bullying the man to watch his reaction."
Grey eyes met his sharply and found that he simply continued to gaze calmly and directly at her. Whether she was willing to listen to constructive criticism or not today, he wasn't backing down from offering it one way or the other. "We all have our little vices," she tossed off nonchalantly, smarting under the barb more because she didn't like the ugly little truth he'd spoken.
"As long as you recognize it as a vice and not admirable or acceptable behavior," he retorted evenly, turning away from her and punching the power button on his computer terminal. "Is there anything else you want of me?" he asked finally, swiveling his chair around so he could look at her again - his action speaking clearly of afterthought.
Miss Parker had to admire the way her attitude and behavior generally just bounced off of him as if he were made of Teflon. Sydney was one of the few people whom she could NOT intimidate or move unless he was convinced she was justified in her demand. He was also the only person at the Centre she knew now - other than Raines and her demon-twin Lyle - who felt no hesitation whatsoever to be as dismissive of her when he was displeased with her as she could be of him under similar circumstances. It rankled when it happened - but it was also the basis of a strange intimacy and respect between them that was the closest thing she had felt to kinship in years now.
"A little more timeliness in submitting your reports would be nice," she shrugged at him, trying to act as blasé as he seemed to be.
His response was simply to turn back to his computer terminal and begin to type in the newest data from his current study, letting her presence in his office no longer register in his mind at all. This latest study measuring the difference between the bond developed by identical twins with that of fraternal twins promised to be more groundbreaking research that might earn him a second by-line in the psychiatric journal later on. He might no longer be earning kudos with his research papers dealing with the consequences of genius in carefully monitored situations, but the letter in his pocket told him that he wasn't falling behind when it came to still doing valuable research of some interest to the scientific community.
Miss Parker watched with a quiet and normally disguised look of fondness on her face as he narrowed his focus of concentration to the stream of words flowing through his fingers to the keyboard and onto his monitor screen. After a few moments, she shook herself out of her reverie and left him typing away contentedly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Centre: Chairman's Office
June 17
"Absolutely not!"
Inwardly, Sydney seethed. This was the chance of a lifetime to bask in a little bit of peer esteem. Now, it seemed, the cantankerous nature of his questionably sane superior seemed destined to put a serious kink in his plans. The psychiatrist carefully disciplined both his facial expression and his tone of voice into studious neutrality. "May I inquire why you cannot spare me for the extended weekend? Just what is it that I do around here that is so indispensable and vital that I cannot take a four-day weekend to attend a symposium as keynote speaker?"
"You forget," Raines wheezed, then pulled noisily on his oxygen tank to continue, "that your first and foremost job..." another wheeze, "is to aid in recapturing Jarod..."
"A task, I might point out, that has not needed much of my attention for weeks," Sydney retorted pointedly. "Jarod has virtually stopped leaving us breadcrumbs to follow, and seems to have mastered the art of avoiding most of Mr. Broots' attempts to track him. *I* have had nothing to contribute to that for weeks."
"Still..." Raines gasped noisily.
"IF I may," Lyle insinuated smoothly, giving both Raines and Sydney the opportunity to turn and glare at his audacity, "Sydney has a point, 'Dad.' He's been spending more time with the research we've assigned him in the interim than with psychoanalyzing Jarod's pretends and clues. What is it going to hurt to let him bring a little reflected glory to the Centre's Psychogenics Department by letting him give his speech?"
Raines glared at Sydney as if his ability to write a paper deemed worth for publication was a deliberate attempt to double-cross Centre agendas. "The Centre doesn't need reflected glory..."
"But it can use it," Lyle insisted persuasively.
"What's more, my having to decline due to job constraints won't go over well," Sydney added sharply. "I have been forced to miss any number of these events in recent years. What if one of the discussions that I miss would give me a key to knowing how Jarod thinks BEFORE he thinks?"
Raines shifted his disgruntled glare from Sydney to Lyle and then back again, feeling distinctly manipulated. "I still don't like the timing," he wheezed and then drew in a noisy breath, "and against my better judgment, I guess I have to approve. BUT..." He shook a skeletal finger in Sydney's direction. "If we get one word - one peep - about a location for Jarod, you are to join your group immediately. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Sydney refrained from allowing the slightest hint or tone of triumph to seep into his voice or demeanor. "And I understand that you expect me to be on a Centre jet heading back to Delaware the moment the symposium is concluded."
The Chairman drew in another noisy breath, only to let it out in an equally noisy sigh of frustration. "And just when is it that we're going to have to do without your expertise for a weekend?"
"I would be leaving for California on the 26th of this month," Sydney answered smoothly.
"I expect nothing less than your full attention to your work..." Raines gasped in his oxygen deeply, "...until that day."
"Of course," the psychiatrist agreed easily.
"And you will inform your fellow team members of your plans."
"Understood." Sydney sighed inwardly. A meeting with Raines always ended this way: with infinite trivial instructions that normally would be understood implicitly as part of his regular duties and responsibilities. Raines simply couldn't help micromanaging every thing and everybody - probably a compensating mechanism for his physical disability.
"Very well," the bald man waved his bony hand dismissively at both Sydney and Lyle. "Go on. I have work to do."
"Yes, sir." Sydney gave a slight bow and turned on his heel to walk calmly through the etched glass doors, waiting long enough and holding the door to let Lyle out after him. "Why?" he demanded the moment they were alone in the corridor.
"Why what?" Lyle blinked and looked at Sydney with a deceptively innocent gaze.
"Why did you convince him to let me go?" There was something up, Sydney concluded, if Lyle threw his weight behind his getting that weekend off. Lyle never did ANYTHING that didn't serve an agenda in one way or another...
The younger Parker simply shook his head and shrugged. "I just couldn't see 'Dad' standing in your way over nothing," he lied smoothly. "You were right to point out that we're not exactly swimming in information about Jarod lately, and that your giving that speech would be a feather in the Centre's cap."
Sydney narrowed his eyes and gazed hard at the younger man, as if he could by force of will plumb Lyle's devious mind. Frustrated when the only thing he could discern from the younger man was patently false innocence and camaraderie, he sniffed and turned away to the elevator.
Lyle watched the Belgian psychiatrist step into the elevator car, push the button and then stare at him with mild suspicion until the silver door slid closed in front of him, at which time his face broke into a satisfied and predatory grin. Things were moving along right on cue - and, as ordered, Raines was none the wiser. Sydney was suspicious, but his pride at being tapped for the speech would prevent him from acting on that suspicion until it was far too late.
The younger Parker turned on his heel and headed down the corridor and past his newest Chinese secretary, giving the girl a wicked wink. He then closed his office door tightly and sat down at his desk to stare down at the newspaper. It was the local paper to the resort area of coastal California where the symposium had been arranged - and local to the safe house he'd visited only weeks ago. And on an inside page of the front section, there was a picture of one of the local artists standing in front of a Children's Art Gallery that she was sponsoring. Her face was perfect - the quintessential Chinese beauty.
Lori Cheung - yes! She would be perfect as additional bait for BOTH Sydney and Jarod - and a perfect prey for a Hunt. With his trip to San Francisco so rudely and suddenly disrupted, leaving not enough time to target anyone for proper stalking, he was feeling distinctly deprived - and hungry.
Lyle lifted the telephone receiver. "Mei-La," he greeted the accented voice that picked up immediately - Chinese secretaries were always SO much more efficient - "put me through to Chavez in the Los Angeles office. Now, please."
"Yes, Mr. Lyle. Right away."
It was time to begin to build the web that would catch a Pretender and beat that damned shrink at his own game in the process.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
Sydney's home
June 20
"This is Sydney."
"It's me."
Sydney relaxed back into his easy chair. "Jarod! Good to hear your voice."
"Tell me something..."
A brief frown crossed the silver-haired psychiatrist's face. "You sound troubled this evening. What is it?"
"How do you... when something you work so hard at doesn't work..." Jarod was having trouble organizing his thoughts - his mind filled with the cries of horror and grief that had accompanied the denouement of his latest Pretend. They were cries that he'd tried so very hard to prevent... "When something you do goes terribly wrong, how do you live with the pain of knowing..."
"What went wrong - was it directly your fault?" Sydney asked patiently, firmly steering his mind away from his own complicity in the immense suffering Jarod had survived at the Centre so that he could hear what his Pretender was telling him.
"Not really, although I contributed in the end." The Pretender's eyes found again the newspaper photograph of the mother and her son who had died so tragically - and futilely. Pressure he had put on the people to whom her deadbeat husband had owed money had resulted in them putting even more pressure on her as widow, until taking the life of her son and then her own to escape their threats had been her only solution. Two innocent people had died even as the loan sharks who had been killing them slowly were being loaded into police cars across town.
Sydney closed his eyes. Yes, he understood all too well the pain of being indirectly responsible. "Was there nothing you could do to prevent it?" he pressed gently, again trying to keep his mind on the situation at hand.
"I didn't know until it was too late." Jarod's voice was bleak, heartbroken.
"Jarod, you cannot reasonably take responsibility for what others do," the psychiatrist soothed into the phone. "You are responsible for your actions, and for the consequences of your actions..."
"Even if those consequences are that innocent people die?"
"Did you kill them yourself?" Sydney decided to take the direct approach.
"No..."
"Did you tell someone else TO kill them?"
"No, but..."
"Was their death in your plans at all?"
"Of course not!" Jarod was indignant.
"Was their death considered a risk in the situation at all?"
"No," Jarod's voice now had a guilty overtone. "I didn't see it coming at all."
"You mean you're not psychic, and you can't see into the future?"
Jarod sighed in frustration. "I'm a Pretender, Sydney. You trained me to see all of the possibilities in a situation..."
"You're also human, Jarod. Humans make mistakes."
"Mistakes get people killed."
Now it was Sydney's turn to sigh. "Yes, sometimes they do. But when you're not directly responsible, you simply cannot allow grief and guilt to eat you from within. You assess where it was that you erred, and make that death an object lesson that saves lives as a consequence. If your complicity is indirect, then it is up to YOU to give that indirect responsibility meaning."
Jarod was silent, and Sydney sat patiently. This, too, was part of the process the two of them had developed over the years Jarod had been free. Sydney would offer the key piece of advice, and Jarod would think it through for a while before commenting. Finally: "I'm not sleeping well either lately..."
Sydney frowned again. "Do you know why?"
"I'm having the strangest of dreams. As a rule, I can't remember the details except that I'm moving through a fog. I'm alone, and I think I'm lost. Then this owl hoots in my ear, and I wake up panting as if I'd just run a mile and sweating..." He paused to collect himself. "I get the strangest feeling of danger, and I have to get up and make sure I'm secure - and I can't get back to sleep. What does it mean, Sydney?"
"Did your dreams begin after this latest situation went bad?"
"Uh-uhn. Before that."
Sydney rubbed his finger under his nose thoughtfully. "Dream imagery and meaning has been a field of some speculation for a long time, Jarod. The need to get up and make sure of your surroundings could be simple paranoia left over from living at the Centre for all those years."
"I know that," Jarod interrupted. "But this thing about the owl waking me up. That's the part I don't understand."
"Tell you what - I'll do a little digging through my old textbooks and see what I can come up with," Sydney suggested. "The answer could be there, or it could be perhaps in a book of folklore. Give me a few days, and then call me back. I'll tell you what I know."
"Thanks, Sydney." Jarod sounded a little more settled than he had at the beginning of the call.
"Oh, and Jarod? Will you be leaving us any indication at all..."
"Is Miss Parker getting hungry for clues?" Now Jarod sounded amused.
"Having at least a little something would keep Mr. Raines off of her neck - which would have a consequence of keeping Miss Parker off of mine," Sydney's voice smiled back.
"I'll see what I can do," Jarod said absently, "but to be honest, I'm getting tired of the game."
"Well, don't leave anything if you don't want to," Sydney conceded, "and for God's sake, don't start leaving clues next weekend. I'm scheduled to give a speech in California at a psychiatric symposium, and I'd hate to have to cancel at the last minute."
"You talked Raines into giving you time off?" Jarod sounded impressed. "You haven't gone to one of those things..."
"I know, since you escaped. That's why I don't want to miss this one. I managed to get one of my papers published and now have been invited to give a speech based on it as a keynote address. This is... my chance, Jarod..." Sydney could only hope that Jarod had enough of a scientist's heart to understand what was, to him, at stake.
"Don't worry, Sydney. I won't mess up your vacation."
The psychiatrist breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
"I'll call back about the owl." Jarod punched the button on his cell phone and disconnected the call.
Something Sydney had said had raised a small warning flag in the back of his mind. Sydney HADN'T been invited to or gone to any psychiatric symposium or conference since long before his escape. Those he had gone to back when had very conveniently been timed so that rather than getting a short respite himself, Raines or Lyle had made use of Sydney's absence to test out all kinds of horrific and painful theories on him. The memory of some of them could still cause nightmares that made him wake up screaming.
Which begged the question: why would Raines or Lyle want Sydney out of the way NOW?
Jarod began booting his laptop. Maybe digging into this would get his mind off of that mother and child...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker pulled her sleek, black Boxster into its customary spot behind her house and turned off the engine. She took a long, deep breath and relaxed against the headrest. It had been a very long day, and between Lyle's poking into all kinds of matters that didn't concern him and a two-hour-long meeting with Raines, it was already dark outside before she'd left the Centre garage structure.
She couldn't help it if Jarod wasn't leaving the slightest sign of what he was up to anymore - and just exactly why Raines expected her to find a man smart enough to just vanish whenever he felt like it was beyond her. Broots' complicated computer system wasn't finding any recent hacks into the Centre mainframe, and Sydney was far too involved with his twins research when she didn't have anything for him to analyze. I need a vacation, she thought to herself as she climbed wearily from behind the wheel and then reached behind the seat for her briefcase.
The "Hoo!" of the owl sounded close behind her, making her start and straighten quickly. A blur of white and grey feathers was all she could see - evidently it had swooped down at her and now was flying off in the general direction of town. Still, the shock of the owl's call sounding so close in her ear had her heart pounding hard in her chest.
"Shit!" she bit out and slammed the car door shut. What a lousy end to a perfectly lousy day!
God, she needed a drink!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Long Beach, California
Warehouse District
June 24
Jarod settled back into his chair and stared at the laptop screen with a smile on his face. So Sydney really WAS going to be published - all that work on twins research was finally going to pay off for the old psychiatrist. Jarod felt a rush of pride at the thought that Sydney would finally start to get some of the recognition outside the Centre walls that he'd deserved for a long time. And to be published in such a pre-eminent journal - no wonder Sydney hadn't wanted him to drop breadcrumbs and blow the vacation and exposure the publication of his paper had brought to him.
Still, he hadn't been able to nail down the group that was sponsoring the symposium his mentor had mentioned. While not exactly frequent, there were enough conventions and symposiums being carried out across the country on any given weekend that it would take time to figure out just which one he'd been invited to. Jarod smirked. Sydney moving outside Centre circles and attending a public symposium was just too good an opportunity to let slide. But he'd need more information - information that he could no doubt get from Sydney himself, if he asked the right questions in the right way.
He picked up the telephone...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Centre: SL-15
June 24
Miss Parker walked through the front door of the Sim Lab, not at all happy with the message she'd been sent to deliver. She hadn't seen Sydney genuinely angry for a very long time - asking him to essentially redo several days' worth of statistical busywork when he had research subjects to investigate was guaranteed to remedy that deficiency. It was mid-afternoon, long after most research subjects had been sent home so the researcher could begin to tabulate his data. With any luck, nobody else would witness the explosion. As she neared the door to his office, she heard his phone ring.
Sydney barely even looked up from his review of his notes and a draft of his finished paper as he picked up the receiver. "This is Sydney," he answered mechanically.
The familiar voice resonated in the handset. "Did you find out anything about owls and dreams, Sydney?"
"Jarod!" Sydney put his pen down and stretched back in his comfortable office chair, the telephone receiver pressed against his head. The call was well-timed; he could use the break.
"Incidentally, I checked up on your article in the journal - that was a good, solid piece of research. Congratulations on the publication AND your invitation to the symposium!"
Sydney grinned. "Thanks. It feels good to know that all these past few years' worth of experimentation hasn't been for naught... It isn't often one gets one's paper printed in Modern Psychiatric..."
Miss Parker's eyebrows raised, and she paused just out of sight and considered. Sometimes subterfuge and eavesdropping had their uses. So, the old goat finally got a paper published. She made sure she was out of sight and focused her attention tightly on what Sydney was saying to his trained monkey on the other end of the phone.
Jarod could hear how proud his mentor was of his accomplishment. "That was a minor coup," his voice through the receiver communicated his delight, "but tell me more about the speech you were telling me about.
Sydney's wide smile was positively preening. "I don't know how they heard about it, or got an advanced copy of the article, but I got an invitation from the West Coast Psychiatric Society about a week ago to give a keynote address at their symposium in Santa Luisita the last weekend of this month. Needless to say I was flabbergasted and honored, and I accepted immediately."
Miss Parker's jaw dropped and her brows collided swiftly. Sydney was taking time off to go give a speech based on the paper he'd published - and he hadn't said anything about either event to her? He'd brag to Jarod, but not to her? That stung...
"You deserve to be recognized," was Jarod's reply. Jarod was taking notes on a post-it. "So when do you leave?"
"The day after tomorrow," the psychiatrist reminded his protégé pointedly. "The symposium gets started with a dinner Friday night, and then goes through Sunday lunch. My speech is scheduled for late Saturday afternoon."
Now Miss Parker seethed. Not only was Sydney going to be taking time off, but also his departure was very short notice. Briefly she considered just what it would take to teach Freud a good lesson about what happens when he didn't tell his boss what he was up to. She'd have to dream up a new and creative way to make sure that he never EVER left her out of the loop again. They were a TEAM, after all - he needed to remember that.
"And I did do the research on owls and dream imagery you asked me to." Sydney was saying.
Jarod's voice on the other end of the line was immediately curious. "What did you find out?"
"Overall, the owl has a very contradictory meaning, both in folklore as well as in dreams. On the one hand, the owl symbolizes wisdom, and yet on the other, death. From what I've been able to gather, however, hearing an owl hoot in your dreams warns the dreamer of disappointment - or of death creeping in closely behind joy and health." Sydney paused to let Jarod process the information. "That's about all I could discover."
That did it. Talking about omens and harbingers of death was just a little too far out for even her. Miss Parker began to cackle derisively as she came around the corner of the office door as if just arriving and only hearing the end of his last statement. "As if any of that hooey held any water. Hell, I had an owl dive-bomb me just the other day, and you don't see me running to a psychic - or a psychiatrist - to have him read my fortune..." She waved her finger at the phone. "Who is that?"
Sydney glared at her in startled surprise. "Excuse me? This is a private conversation..."
She stepped closer. "Who are you talking to, Sydney?"
They stared at each other for a moment before he finally dropped his gaze. "Jarod."
"Put him on the speaker." When he looked up again defiantly and just continued staring at him, she pointed again. "Now, Syd."
The psychiatrist stabbed at the button in frustration and then hung up the receiver. "It seems we have company," he announced unhappily.
"This is the Centre," she announced very carefully, jabbing a finger into his shoulder painfully to make her point. "When you talk on the phone here, you do so on company time - which means the company has the right to listen in. There IS no expectation of privacy here, and you know it."
"Miss Parker." Jarod's voice took on that smooth arrogance with which he normally talked to her. "What are you doing down in the Sim Lab, slumming?"
"Figure it out, genius - I work here, and Doctor Dolittle here works for me." She didn't need to look down to know that Sydney was fuming. Good! So was she. "As for slumming, we won't mention you two talking about superstitious clap-trap, will we? What's the matter, Jarod - did the plug come out and leak all the dirty water out of your Magic Eight Ball again?"
"Anything that just doesn't fit into your nice, tidy, Centre-oriented view of the world is worthless, is that it, Miss Parker?" Jarod sneered back, stung. "Well, thanks for the info, Sydney. Enjoy your symposium." The click on the other end of the line was audible.
"For God's sake, Parker, must you always..." Sydney began chiding her in earnest as he set the receiver back on the hook.
She had a warning finger out immediately and was shaking it in his face. "Don't you dare scold me, Sydney. You knew you were going to be taking off days ago - and you kept me in the dark about it... So spill - just when did you plan on taking off?"
"This weekend, as a matter of fact. I leave the day after tomorrow."
Finely arched eyebrows soared in surprise and consternation. "What is this, Vacation Weekend for the Centre Elite? First Lyle takes off for the rest of the week after dumping his load on me, and now YOU tell me YOU'RE off to..."
"And your problem with that is...?" He glared at Miss Parker and let his voice carry his frustration with the grilling she was giving him. "Just how long has it been now since I've had any time off at all?"
"Down boy," Miss Parker glared back at him. "Just when did you intend to tell me you were going to be incommunicado for half a whole week?" she snarled with her hand on her hip.
"Later today," Sydney answered her, his voice no less angry. "I fail to see what is making you so angry about this. I didn't tell you earlier so that I wouldn't have to put up with your temper any longer than necessary," he added bluntly and sourly. "I have enough to do that I could do WITHOUT the attitude for as long as possible."
That stung too. "You'd get a helluva lot less attitude if you'd just TELL me these things..."
"I'd be a helluva more than willing to tell you these things if I didn't have to dread the inevitable reaction. Just for once, Parker, couldn't you be happy for me?" Sydney complained bitterly, facing her directly for a long moment before reaching for his briefcase. "Why is it that my accomplishments only serve to make you angry?" he asked rhetorically as he opened the case and began to quickly move his papers into it.
Miss Parker opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she realized that her old friend had a valid point. "What about if we get a lead on Jarod?" she asked petulantly instead.
Sydney glowered at her, then relented. "I'll have my cell phone," he reminded her in a tired voice. "If need be, I can always cut my time short and leave right after my speech."
They stared at each other for a long moment. "Congratulations, Syd," she said finally. "I'm really happy for you."
"Thank you," he answered a little less defensively, recognizing the concession that he'd just won. He sighed at last. "I'm assuming that your being here originally had some other purpose than just hanging around my office to eavesdrop on my phone calls. If not, I should point out that phone taps are by far a more efficient..."
"Shut up," she snapped, not in the mood. "Do you remember that report on timeframes that I had you do a couple of weeks ago?"
"Yes," he answered warily.
"Well, Raines wants it redone, figuring in the amount of time since we last heard from Wonder-Boy. Not counting just now." She watched him narrow his eyes in frustration, and she glared back defensively. "Look. Don't blame me! The Wheezing Geezer has got it in his head that there's some hidden meaning in the scheduling of Jarod's pretends as contrasted to when he hands over clues to what he's up to."
Sydney's next sigh was profound. "Oh, very well. I'll work on recalibrating my statistics on the way to California so you can have my timeframes report hopefully next Monday. Will that satisfy everyone?"
She nodded, realizing that this was about as close to cooperation as she was going to get from him now. "It'll have to do, I suppose." She then turned to leave the office, brushing against Broots roughly in the process. The balding technician turned and watched her stalk from the Sim Lab before turning back to Sydney. "What's with her?"
"I didn't tell her that I was leaving to give a speech at a symposium as soon as she would want me to..." the psychiatrist answered dully.
"You're getting published, and now you're off to give a speech too?" Broots' grin of happiness was wide. "Sydney! Are you even going to speak to us mere mortals once you are a psychiatric celebrity?"
Sydney blinked and then chuckled at his friend's gentle humor. The simple compliment had gone far to repair the mood Miss Parker had so blithely destroyed. "I'll always have time for YOU, mon ami - always!"
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