Chapter Eleven – Things Unravel

Spotting her striding through a corridor, Broots hurried to catch up, file in hand. Then, sensing her mood, he changed his tactics and called her name timidly. "Er ... Miss Parker?"

She stopped and looked at him. In an exasperated tone, she asked, "What is it now, Broots?"

Falteringly, he told her, "Um, well, there hasn't been anything on Jarod. It's like he's disappeared."

Wishing he'd get to the point, she sneered, "Yes, geniuses can do that. Get on with it."

"Yeah, well, this genius has a weak spot." Broots hurried to keep up with Miss Parker, who was heading for Sydney's office. "He likes helping people. Righting the wrongs of the world, if you will."

She turned to face him. "I already knew that, you dolt. Tell me something I don't."

He introduced a new subject. "Well, I assume you heard about the plane crash. It's on the front page of every single newspaper there is. They're saying it was almost exactly like September 11th."

Miss Parker thought of Jarod in his corner, upset because he hadn't been able to do anything. Aloud, she asked, "What does this have to do with Jarod?"

"It's really an amazing thing," Broots opinionated. He handed the file to her, and she started looking through it right away. "Mr. Lyle paid some guys to do a couple of services. They hacked into The Centre mainframe and made it look as if Mr. Raines transferred a lot of funds into his account." They entered Sydney's office. "In reality, Lyle had the funds diverted into a private account of his own and used the rest of pay the same guys who hacked into our mainframe to become chums with a couple of pilots. They slipped something into their preflight meals – some undetectable Centre concoction. It made the pilots fall asleep on the way to Chicago, without them even aware that they were going out, so the autopilot wasn't turned on. Mr. Lyle covered it up pretty well."

Displaying disgust and anger, she snarled, "That son-of-a-bitch. He killed four hundred people just so he could climb the Centre corporate ladder."

"Yes," Sydney agreed. "Mr. Lyle's ingenious plan not only cast Triumvirate doubt on Mr. Raines' credibility, it puts him in direct contest with you, Miss Parker. And since he assumes that you don't know about this plan and, more importantly, that this plan will work, you have a very big opportunity to stop him."

Miss Parker scowled at him and continued flipping through the file folder. In an aggravated tone, she asked, "Why is it everyone knows before I do?"

"Well," Broots started in an attempt to explain himself. "You arrived later than usual today, so I decided to tell Sydney – "

Jumping in, Sydney asked, "Why did you come late today, Miss Parker?"

"My alarm clock didn't wake me up today. And I didn't sleep well." She gave him a cold smile. "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Freud?" she asked, putting emphasis on the last word.

He folded his hands and smiled in a neutral way. "No, nothing pressing."

There was a pregnant pause. Broots grew uneasy and gestured the door. "I'll just be going now."

Miss Parker waved her hand in a dismissive manner while she studied the folder she held in her left hand, and Broots took that as permission. Sydney got up and stood next to her, reading the document she was scrutinizing. "Do you think this is the opportunity the letter predicted?"

"Could be," she said thoughtfully. Miss Parker flipped a page and gave a small gasp. "Sydney," she whispered, urgency in her voice. "The name of one of Lyle's goons is Andrew Stuard."

The doctor's eyes widened slightly. "The man who sent you that note ..." The voice rose. "Lyle's known that Jarod's been in your house for a week and he hasn't done anything about it? But why?"

Miss Parker looked at another page; and Lyle's face returned the gaze. It seemed to be the same one from the newspaper article about two college girls Lyle had been accused of murdering many years ago. The only difference was that this was in color. "Why indeed?" she murmured thoughtfully.

That evening, Miss Parker decided to ask Jarod if her recognized Lyle's goons. If he knew Stuard, it was reasonable to hope that he'd seen the other.

She entered his room, where he was completing the puzzle. There was, perhaps, only a tenth of the puzzle left, and he was earnest to finish it. She drew near and sat by his side. She opened her folder to the profiles of Andrew Stuard and another man, whose face she knew was familiar but couldn't pinpoint. She waited until he finished placing another piece before dropping the file on the puzzle. Without preamble, she asked, "Do you recognize him?" She pointed to the man on the lower half of the page.

"Seth Meeker," Jarod read and recalled the last time he'd seen the man...

Jarod waltzes into the car lot, where new and used cars of all brands and colors are waiting to be bought or leased. He eyes several sportscars – some Toyotas, a couple of Hondas, a Ford, a Chevy – and a salesman approaches him. The genius takes the man's profile at glance: He is greasy; his hair, slicked back; mercenary by nature and eel by trade. He is neither a portly nor a well-kept man, and his nails are manicured. The trait most memorable for Jarod is the smile he flashes – it makes him feel sick inside. The tag on his shirt says, "Seth Meeker."

When Seth speaks, he garnishes his lies. "See anything you like?" he drawls.

"Oh, I was just looking," Jarod says. "These are nice, but I was going to get something cheap, like that '89 Ford over there." He points to a car in a distance, marked $500.

Seth injects disbelief into his voice. "That titchy thing over there?"

Eager to be out of the man's presence but not wanting to seem impolite, Jarod asks, "Why? What's wrong with it?"

He smiles the nauseous smile. "Why?" he repeats. "You're bigger than that! It doesn't hold a candle to you! You can't hide that handsome figure into an itty-bitty Ford!"

Jarod sighs. Seth is using the oldest trick in the book: flattery. "So what's the car for me?"

He grins even wider. "You're a Corvette man. A V8, 300 Horsepower, power windows and locks man."

Unable to stand the dealer, Jarod walks over to the dark blue '95 Chevrolet he'd been looking at before. "Like this one?"

Seth follows him and gives him a pat on the back. Jarod refuses to recoil from his touch. "Exactly, my man. The kind of car you could pick up chicks in!"

If this were someone else, Jarod would have asked him what the phrase meant. As it is, he does not want anything more to do with the man. He sighs. "How much it is?"

Knowing Jarod is about to give in, he feeds him another old line. "It was $13,999, but for you, my friend, I'll let you get away with ten grand."

Briefly, the Pretender wonders how Seth had managed to sell any cars. "I'll take it."

Seth pats the hood of the Corvette and says affectionately, "Baby, you're going home." He offers a well-trimmed hand. Loath as he is to take it, Jarod shakes it.

Suddenly, Meeker's role in his capture was clear.

"We've met," Jarod said shortly but did not explain the circumstances.

Vexed, she asked, "Well, could you tell me how? He's working for Lyle."

Jarod remained silent for a while, drawing connections. Finally, he replied, "I figured as much. Stuard and Meeker captured me and caused that plane to crash under Lyle's orders. I'm here and the plane's out there because Lyle can't look like he had any part in this – the plane is bait – but at the same time, he wants to make sure I'm returned to The Centre. If things go as planned, it'll look like you were collaborating with me for a week before you turned me over, and if he tweaks the situation, you could wind up looking bad. Then he'll transfer me to under his care and deliver me to the Triumvirate. Again."

Miss Parker was stunned. "When did you figure this out?"

"Sometime this morning."

She chuffed. "Why does everyone have to know before I do?"

Jarod shrugged his shoulders.

She sighed. "I need some time to myself."

"If you want."

Miss Parker left just as her brain made the connection between Seth Meeker's face ... and the Dusty Town Motel. Angry that Lyle had been using her since the beginning, she began to form a plan.

Inside, Jarod was cognizant of the fact that Lyle had set the ball rolling ... and he needed to escape. Soon.