Title: Deleri

Author: BethCarielle

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Details.

Chapter Five

            "And Mikhail Novac?"

            "Confirmed dead sir.  Autopsy findings were unremarkable," reported Eberts.  The Official set his papers down, bringing his hands up to rub his temples.  He had just spent the last three hours going over the recorded events of the disaster outside Alpine four days ago.

            The Agency lost eight people total, including three SWAT members in addition to Agents Monroe, Pierson, Willis, Crena, and Jameson.  Agents Hobbes and Fawkes had returned relatively unharmed, along with Nurse MacKay and Doctor Keeply.  The remaining virus found at the scene, not destroyed by the explosion, was under containment and analysis.

            "Autopsy findings on Agent Monroe?"

            "Still being analyzed sir."

            "And the explosion?"

            "Forensics found fragments of the explosive device in the sub-floor crawl space.  The way the building imploded, it looks as though Novac planted it before he entrapped the agents, with plans to detonate it after he had removed the doctor."

            "Summon The Keeper."

            "Yes sir," replied Eberts, automatically tapping in the numbers for the laboratory.

            "What?!" snapped a weary voice on the other end.

            "The Official would like you in his office for further debriefing."

            "Bloody hell," answered Claire.

Her annoyance was obvious as she slammed the receiver into the phone cradle.  Claire faced her computer and hit save, waiting impatiently for the little hour glass to signal her research was safely encoded into the electronic device.  Once assured her findings were safe, she turned to locate a file folder with her notes and reports on last week's events and smartly raked her hand along the filing cabinet. 

            "Damn it!" she swore as pain shot through her hand.  This lab was entirely too small, but it was the best The Agency could contrive at the moment.  Picking up the folder, she threaded her way between furniture and equipment and left her inadequate facility.

            What could The Official possibly want now?  Hadn't this been dragged through the coals enough times?  Yes, nine agents died, including a core team member, and it was her fault.  What did he want her to do in retribution?  Approaching The Official's new office, she knocked sharply.

            "Enter!" commanded a gruff voice from the other side.

            Turning the knob, she let herself inside, taking in the even starker than usual décor of the office.  A desk with accompanying chair, two chairs in addition to that and dusty, off-white Venetian blinds covering a small window, patterning the floor with strips of light.

            "Dr. Keeply, please take a seat."  Claire nodded and perched herself on the edge of one of the wooden chairs, folder held delicately in front of her.  "When I first received word that the QS-9300 project was going to be based in my jurisdiction, I was thrilled to have Kevin Fawkes as the head of that project.  It, as you know, came to a less than fortuitous conclusion.  When Kevin Fawkes was reported dead, your name was the first on the list of possible Keepers for the QS-9300 project.  Your previous association with Kevin Fawkes and previous study made you perfectly qualified.  I didn't know the details of your history, but I did know you had been 'forcibly recruited'.  I didn't know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised.  Until now.  In light of current events, portions of your past have been released to me," said The Official.

            "But you said you knew it was Stratagen when I first returned from Chrysalis," interrupted Claire.

            "That information was uncovered by other means," answered The Official brusquely.  "I have no say over your assignment or contract, your orders come from above my superiors, but I dare say this: you nearly cost The Agency the QS-9300 project, and without the gland and the receptacle in safe working condition, you have no job with us.  Be careful where you tread Doctor."

            "Are you threatening me with Dahrien's life sir?" asked Claire coolly.

            "I'm letting you know you serve a singular purpose with us.  Control and monitoring of the QS-9300 project.  You are dismissed," finished The Official, leaving no room for argument. 

Claire stood silently and retreated from the room.  'Forcibly recruited' indeed.  She had almost been bloody kidnapped fourteen years ago.  

            Shoes clicking against the sickly green tile of the hallway floor, Claire made her way back to the lab, a small voice in the back of her head speaking of its hope that they would be relocated out of this building soon. 

Entering her lab Claire pulled up the files she had been working on before she had been called away.  She had been analyzing the virus that had killed four agents and would have killed Alex.  The virus appeared to be a hybrid between an adenovirus and an arenavirus.  From what Claire could determine an adenovirus had been genetically altered with RNA from an arenavirus that caused a common hemorrhagic fever, resulting in pneumorrhagia.  This had been specially designed and cultured.  Chances were there was no specific cure against it, although personnel that designed it probably had various vaccines in hopes that if they were to contract it, they would survive the exposure.  Clicking through windows on her screen, Claire found the photos of the gel electrophoresis she had run.  She was determined to find a way to combat this.

"Fawkes," Bobby greeted his partner solemnly as he approached the oak tree shaded plot of earth. 

"Hobbes," nodded Darien in acknowledgement.  Other Agency personnel were standing quietly, all dressed in somber black with only hints of color here and there, Claire's blond hair contrasting sharply with her black dress suit, and the vibrant red and white roses adorning the casket.

Darien watched Claire, absorbing her stony demeanor.  He knew she felt truly guilty for Alex's death and the deaths of the other agents.  She had been burying herself in her work to find a way to cure or prevent the virus that had been responsible, performing her other duties with a mechanical propensity, barely speaking more than was necessary.  Even her quest to reunite with Dana had been muted, her bitter explanation being that she would probably just get her killed.  Novac claimed that Stratagen hadn't known Dana's whereabouts and Claire clung to that hope.  Darien brought his attention back to the proceedings when he saw The Official move to stand behind the small podium in place. 

"Alexandra Monroe was quite possibly the best agent I've ever had the pleasure of working with.  Her talents and skills served this country above and beyond the call of duty, saving innumerable lives, both domestic and foreign," began The Official.  Claire's gaze remained fixed on the small patch of grass that she had become focused on, letting the words that served as a painful reminder of Alex's needless death flow past her.  Words alone would never be enough to assuage the responsibility she felt.

Jason Redlin absently tapped his pen against the glossy top plain of his desk, lost in thoughts that seemed to lead nowhere.  How could Novac have failed?  The man had been an expert in his field.  There hadn't been one federal undercover operative he hadn't been able to find and eliminate.  He could twist information out of a subject faster than a juicer went through a dozen oranges.  How was he going to replace him? 

Pushing away his annoyance over losing Mikhail Novac, Redlin turned to more immediate problems, such as The Agency's newfound knowledge about Stratagen and his plans.  Dr. Parker now knew that she was sought, and her employers and co-workers would be careful, guarded, and warned.  There was little chance he could physically get at Ellen now.  The attacks on Dr. Parker and Robert Hobbes and the abortive attack on Darien Fawkes had been attention getters, reminders that he could and would gain control of her through any means necessary. 

Thumbing through the file on his desk, he mentally considered the locations of The Agency's former San Diego offices, the Delta Eight facility, and the residential addresses of The Agency's agents.  The information didn't do him a lot of good, there was still no way he could successfully strike. 

A small piece of paper trapped between two full sized sheets caught his eye.  Picking it up, he recognized his assistant's hurried scrawl.  Must have been something he discovered at the last moment before Redlin had asked for a report on the information found about Dr. Parker.  Carefully, he absorbed the information on the scrap of paper.  Now this could be useful.

****

Claire startled when her brow bumped against the eyepieces of her microscope.  She hadn't fallen asleep in mid-examination since college.  Shaking her head slightly, she glanced at her wristwatch, 3:24am.  Ignoring the advice of friends to go home after Alex's memorial, Claire had continued running trials of anti-virals against the virus.  Nothing was working successfully.  Groaning as she stretched, Claire turned off the power to the microscope and removed the slide.  Glaring at the film of liquid trapped under the slip cover, she dropped it into a biohazard wastebasket and stood up.

"You're not going to be doing anyone any good by staying up for all hours of the night," she chastised herself bitterly.  Shutting down her temporary lab, Claire attracted the attention of the agent assigned to protect her.  Everyone was under a light protective custody in hopes of deterring any further attacks on Agency personnel.

"Everything alright, Dr. Keeply?" inquired Agent Carreras.

"Fine, Miguel.  I'm heading home," replied Claire when the agent entered the lab.  Carreras nodded, radioed ahead for a car, and escorted Claire from the Rothe Building.

Dr. Claudia Serrano yawned as she typed in the last thoughts of her conclusion to her last autopsy from the victims of the explosion outside Alpine last week and hit save on her computer.  Normal people did not write autopsy reports at 3:30am, but these results were not what were expected in light of the reports she had on the events.  Autopsies of Agents Rita Jameson, Kenneth Willis, Ryan Crena, and Cole Pierson all showed the same findings: cyanotic tissue, evidence of hemoptysis, increased bronchial mucous accompanied by gross pneumorrhagia, presence of a virus in the degraded pulmonary tissue, and post mortem blunt force injuries from the explosion.  Alexandra Monroe posed a different story. 

The report indicated that Ms. Monroe had been exposed to the same virus as the other agents via injection, but was killed in the explosion before the effects of the virus commenced.  Dr. Serrano had found various individually fatal blunt force injuries in addition to three gun shot wounds, all of which would not have been fatal, but no trace of the virus or any other toxin in the blood samples.  The injection Ms. Monroe had sustained before her death appeared to have been nothing more than saline.  She always had liked Novac's work.

****

The Official looked up from the printed sheets in front of him, gaze transferring to the doctor standing on the other side of his desk.  "Are you certain about this?" he asked, indicating the papers.

"Positive sir," replied Dr. Serrano, "I double checked with Dr. Christopher Jones of virology, there is no virus present in any of Ms. Monroe's systems, sir."  The Official sighed and dismissed the doctor with a nod of his head.  This was most disconcerting.

"Eberts, have a copy of this report sent to The Keeper," instructed The Official.

"Right away sir," replied Eberts and he hurried from the office.

Darien sedately made his way down to the new Keep, silently cursing the reddening tattoo on his wrist and his dependency on Counteragent.  He was about to slide his key card through the reader when the sound of shattering glass and metal crashing to the floor assaulted his ears through the sliding door.  Quickly, he swiped his key and stepped into the lab.

Claire was standing in the far corner, near her supplies, some of which lay scattered on the floor and the shards of a large beaker spread out in front of her.  She was pale and shaking. 

"Claire?" questioned Darien softly.  Her head snapped up, gaze boring into Darien, face awash with anger and guilt.  "Claire, what's wrong?" tried Darien again, stepping closer to his Keeper.

"I killed Alex," murmured Claire.

"Claire…you didn't Claire.  Novac killed Alex, you know that," Darien reminded her gently.

"NO!  I killed her Dahrien!  Me!" screamed Claire, dashing another beaker to the floor in a spray of glass.

"How so?" asked Darien, changing tactics slightly.  Claire glared at him, defiance radiating off of her.

"How did I kill her?  How did I destroy another innocent life?" asked Claire in a deadly calm voice, "This is how," she answered, shoving a sheaf of papers at Darien.

Darien took the papers and scanned over them, reading the medical jargon and assessments of what appeared to be an autopsy.  "It gets really good on the second page," spat Claire caustically.  Darien raised an eyebrow and turned to the second page, which was a report of the blood work.  In bold letters the words 'no virus present' jumped out at him. 

No virus present.  Darien had been in the beginnings of QSM when The Agency's SWAT had arrived, but he had gotten the whole story from Hobbes.  Alex had been injected, Claire, Bobby, and Prue had seen Novac do it.  "There has to be some mistake Claire," offered Darien.

"No mistake.  It's been checked and rechecked.  Alex died for nothing."

"She died doing her job," countered Darien.

"She died saving me!  She would have survived; the gun shot wounds were not fatal.  If she would have just come with me she would still be alive," said Claire, slumping down against the wall amidst the glass shards. 

"Claire, you didn't know, Alex didn't know," said Darien, trying to appease the situation and finding himself unable to come up with the right words.

"She didn't have to die, Dahrien.  She wasn't sick," mumbled Claire through the tears that thickened her voice, "She would have lived."

Darien kicked the broken glass away from his Keeper and slid down the wall beside her, pulling her against his shoulder.  Claire broke down into a wracking sob, clinging to him as if she was afraid to let go.  Darien hugged her, rocking slightly when she seemed to go limp against him. 

Startled, Darien pulled away, holding her at arm's length.  Studying her face he saw the dark stains under her eyes and the parched thinness of her lips.  She was taking this hard, and working herself to exhaustion over it.  This breakdown must have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.  Carefully, Darien maneuvered to stand and picked her up, settling her on the stretcher in the corner of the new Keep.  He covered her and pulled up a chair.  He would be here when she woke.

****

"Hey Hobbes," Darien greeted his partner as he entered his office.

"Hey Fawkes.  How's The Keep?" inquired Bobby.

"Doing ok.  She actually went home," Darien informed Bobby.  Her collapse after learning of Alex's non-infection had worried both men.  "Whatcha up to?"

"Research," was Bobby's succinct reply.

"Research?  Research on what?"

"Uh," Bobby paused as he typed in a quick succession of commands, "stuff."  Darien watched the focused look on Bobby's face shift slightly, betraying the slightest amount of panic, followed by a rapid clickity-clack of the keyboard.  Rather than try and convince Bobby to tell him what he was doing, Darien simply moved around the desk and stood to his right, eyes on the screen.  He watched as screens flashed by, catching a word here and there, one word in particular.  Chrysalis.

"You're hacking into Chrysalis?" asked Darien incredulously.  Bobby grunted in reply and quickly clacked out another set of commands. 

"And I think someone knows I'm here," muttered Bobby as he continued to move through pages and pages of alphanumerically named files.

"Looking for something in particular?" questioned Darien.

"Uh huh."

"And that would be?"

"Something Novac said," said Bobby, hopping from the undecipherable files to a bunch of names. 

"Which was?" asked Darien, growing tired of Bobby's little non-answer game.

"Ellen Parker.  That's what he called Claire."

"Ah.  Why?"

"Trying to find Dana.  Kid should be with her mother," explained Bobby absently, typing furiously, "Crap!  They've locked onto me," announced Bobby as he began backing out of the system, hoping they couldn't follow.  He suddenly stopped, watching the screen intently.

"What it is?" asked Darien, not gathering anything from the information on the screen.

            "Whoever that is, is not Chrysalis security.  They're accessing the same files I was," answered Bobby, watching with interest.  Gently, Bobby tapped in a couple of commands and brought up a second window.  The ID file on the other hacker revealed nothing.  "Wonder if Eberts could trace them?" muttered Bobby as he tried a couple of other commands to no avail.  Taking the cue, Darien ducked out of the office and hunted down his boss' assistant. 

            "Eberts?"
            "Yes, Agent Fawkes?" replied Eberts without looking up from his console.

            "Hobbes needs to ID a signature in a server and can't get the information," explained Darien.

            "And in which server is he trying to get an ID?"

            "Chrysalis," replied Darien softly, trying to mask the word partially with a cough.

            "He's what?" sputtered Eberts, jerking away from his computer.

            "He was trying to locate Dana and thought the security had found him out, but it was actually another hacker, and they're in the same files he was.  Someone else is trying to find Dana," explained Darien in a rush.

            "Good lord," muttered Eberts as he hurried from his room and down the hall to Bobby's office.  "Robert?"

            "Eberts," answered Bobby, still clacking away intently.  "Here," offered Bobby leaving the ID window open.  Eberts nodded and took his place at the computer and began typing in a series of commands.  A tense moment passed while Eberts tried to ID the other hacker in the Chrysalis mainframe.

            "Whoever this is…has entered from an independent server…based outside of San Francisco," announced Eberts between commands. 

            "Who else would be trying to find Dana?" questioned Darien.

            "Stratagen," replied Eberts, dropping his hands from the keyboard.  "I've been doing some of my own research into The Keeper's former employer, this is their server."

            "Crap."

            "Sir?  There's someone else in the Chrysalis mainframe," called Redlin's assistant from the bank of computers. 

            "Did you get an ID?"

            "No sir, they backed out when they discovered our movement," replied the assistant.

            "Did you locate the whereabouts of Dr. Parker's daughter?"

            "Not yet sir, the Chrysalis Program mainframe is very well guarded."

            "Get the location," demanded Redlin hovering above his assistant.  Moments passed, only broken by the sound of keystrokes as the man worked to locate the subject of his boss' wishes.

****

            "Doctor!  There's a team on the way to the Chrysalis Program compound as we speak!  You will not interfere.  The assigned agents will be on guard 24 hours a day.  The children, your daughter, will be safe," The Official stated firmly. 

            "But sir, you have to let me get to her," pleaded Claire.

            "She's no safer with you and you know it."

            "But sir," Claire tried again, maternal instinct too strong to ignore, especially when fueled by a new paranoia of Stratagen's activities.

            "You are dismissed Doctor," said The Official, cutting off her further pleas just as the phone rang.

            "This is him!" barked The Official into the receiver.  The Official listened intently as his agent on the other end relayed his report.  "Complete your assignment as directed," he replied and hung up the phone, moving stiffly.

            "Doctor, we leave for the Chrysalis compound immediately," he instructed Claire.

            "What about…"

            "Now!" ordered The Official.

"Make sure you bring some Counteragent for Agent Fawkes," he added almost as an afterthought. 

"Yes, sir," answered Claire, leaving the spartan office. 

"Sir?" asked Eberts worriedly only to be met with a stony glare.

Claire arrived with Darien and Bobby at the gates of the Chrysalis compound, greeted by armed Agency agents.  Solemnly waved through after passing identification, Claire's breath caught in her throat, tears stinging her eyes.  Bobby let out a low whistle of amazement, and Darien remained conspicuously silent. 

The vehicle stopped outside what was the main office building of the compound, disgorging its occupants.  Claire stood on unsteady legs, hands cupped over her mouth.  The Official lumbered up to the trio, lips pressed firmly together.

"It was like this when they arrived," he explained, indicating the Agency agents.  "Traces of incendiary fuels and strategically set fires have been found.  They haven't called in the forensic pathologists yet.  No immediate sighting of any remains.  I'm sorry, Doctor."

Claire turned to The Official with a steely glare.  "Sorry?  You're bloody sorry?!  This," started Claire, panning the destruction of the compound and curling wisps of black smoke with her hand, "was the last place my daughter resided, and you're sorry?  You god damned son-of-a-bitch," screamed Claire, lunging towards her supervisor. 

"Claire!" shouted Bobby, grabbing her before she could complete her attack.  She turned to him, and Bobby could see the wild hysteria in her eyes.  Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms around her. 

Claire gave up.  Her body going limp in Bobby's embrace, mind going blank in shock.  It was over.  Agency, no Agency, it didn't matter anymore.  Dana was gone, Stratagen had won. 

Darien slowly walked the perimeter of the burned ruins of the compound.  Watching the firefighters dowsing small hot spots and the M.E.'s arrive.  He knew from the look in Claire's eyes that she had quit.  This was it.  The final blow that had crushed his Keeper.

Darien found himself at the far end of the compound, Bobby and Claire a small shape in the distance.  He turned his focus back to the ruins, noting the charred shapes of children's school desks and the remains of posters and artwork scattered in the light breeze.  One large piece of paper caught his eye.  Gently, he stooped and turned it over.  A rainbow shining from fluffy clouds and a smiling sun greeted him, marred by a scrawled message across the center of the crayon drawing.

"She won't be another Alexandra Monroe," it proclaimed, with the name Dana Ashbury, printed neatly in the corner by a teacher's hand, circled in the same black marker.