The characters of this story, Jarod, Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, Mr.Lyle, and Angelo are borrowed from the Pretender series. Rachel, George, and Bailey from the Profiler, both which appeared on NBC, and still do as reruns on various networks. Dr., Ann Coulter, Walter Atwood, Ed, Sloan, and Tom are borrowed from the Prey series. The other characters are mine. Yes, my favorite venue is Crossovers. However, this is mainly a Pretender story.

This novel takes place after "Island of the Haunted," which I assume took place either late Fall or early Winter 2000 or late Winter or early Spring 2001 and even though characters from Prey or Profiler are in it, the main thrust of the story is about the Pretender and Miss Parker. I have decided to repost this novel, add dates to heighten the tension, and straighten out the booboos.

MARKED

CHAPTER ONE

March 14, 2001

Rachel Burke plodded through the mud towards the group encircling the torn object on the ground. She had slipped a trench coat over her good outfit, but that was not enough. There was still snow on the ground and her shoes dampened in the ice puddles. It was three days until St. Patrick's Day and she should have been in New York watching the celebrations instead of here in Connecticut. Ah well, Sunday would be coming soon and then she could sleep—she hoped. The sun arose from behind the dark rain clouds, the rainbow appeared, and the sunlight flickered on the girl's blue dress. Her face, what was left of it, was now an ashen gray. She left her home
that Saturday, and now she, dead, would not reach work.

"If that Jarod was here, he would know what to do," said the police chief to the Profiler."

"He's been gone for over two years, although it could have been longer. Time has no meaning when you're serving a life sentence."

"At least the real murderer is behind bars," he commented. "and you're free now."

She nodded and the got down to business of finding the murderer before he switched from another city to kill another girl. .

He had written a note: "One girl one state. My mission cannot wait."

The profiler went back in her car, read her notes, and tried to get an impression, but she could not concentrate. She was thinking how Jarod would handle this. Certainly although Carnby was an experienced police officer, he was set in his ways and so she dialed the number The Pretender gave her for emergencies.

The automatic voice came on "Just a moment while I transfer you to our Hartford office."

The telephone rang and Jarod's voice came on. "This is Jarod Wilkes, I'm out at the moment, if you want to contact me, please leave your name and telephone number." He must have found out about the children, or why would he be here? Rachel thought. There could be no other reason. Her release from prison would not have piqued his interest, but that she had given birth would. Her children were born seven months after their encounter. Seven months: It seemed like a year with all those murder cases the VCTF had been working on. At least, the man who framed her had been unaware of her pregnancy when he planted the evidence to get her convicted.

Now it was over and all she needed to do was to tell the father of her child, who would do what he could if whom he was running from did not interfere. .

.
"Hello Jarod, this is Rachel Burke, we've got a case we need your help on."

She hoped he would get it in time. He had promised to tell her everything about himself. She now had to find out.

Back in the office, the profiler had looked for records of a Jarod Wilkes, but found nothing. Perhaps he was in the witness relocation program and given the new identity as an FBI agent. That, however, did not wash unless he was a University professor or someone in a skilled possession. If he were a witness, why would he keep an unusual first name? Unfortunately changing a first name was not easy. On a hunch, she entered the name, Jarod' and found several entries, a doctor, air force pilot, hunting guard, teacher, and even a magician and they all had something in common.

He had appeared as if from nowhere and when she telephoned one of the contacts, the person on the other end described the man as: "having dark brown hair, tall and looked rather sad. He was rather naïve about things of the world." She found those who knew him as a doctor, hunting guard, teacher, and many more, phoning and emailing them.

"Good looking, brown eyes and dark hair," said a woman, " and he looked like he could have a good home cooked meal."

"Perhaps he doesn't have time to eat. Look we have to solve a murder."

"He could have been a police detective working under cover," said the person on the other end, "Yes, only a detective could do that, but I haven't heard from him. He might be on another assignment. Sorry I can't help you."

"Thank you." Rachel hung up and took a mental picture from what she picked up at the murdered girl's body. She had been savagely tortured, almost to the point of madness. The killer had
used a razor blade to slice off bits of flesh. The girl had bled to death.

The profiler saw the killer in her mind's eye sucking the blood and worshipping the corpse like a demented god. There were other symbols, crude representations of the human form, mostly of
African origin.

"The killer is from Africa, probably from Kenya. He could be an illegal immigrant and a mama's boy."

"Are you sure he isn't white?" asked Bailey.

"The symbols in the room and the marks on the girl's body look to be that in this newspaper." She showed the paper to her boss.

"Haven't seen anything like that. Have you Chief?"

The chief looked at the photograph. He was a large man, blonde hair thinning on top, and from a wealthy family. He had kept in touch with other police officers all over the world. On his desk
was a picture of him with a tall African man in a Kenyan police uniform. "Lyons says that the Kenyan government is trying to wipe out this sect. It's a revision of the Sect of the White Lion." When he heard the Sect might come to America, Carnby had called on the VCTF to help solve this case. He just figured that the murder would take place in one of the larger metropolitan areas, not here in Connecticut.

There was a convention in the city and various representatives of their respective companies were attending. Among them were some from Kenya and other East African countries. It would
open-up the African market. Of course, they would have to keep local customs in mind. For instance, in Israel, instead of using bacon slices on their hamburgers, they used corned beef or a vegetable substitute. In some parts of India, they used a meat imitation product. The Africans were here to tell the Americans how to prepare the hamburgers for their taste. It seemed antelope were in great supply.

Rachel would have her hands full and Jarod was not around to help her. As well, she had those kids who in a way rescued her from that murderess. At least, there would not be a trial. How could she explain that an eleven year old boy and a nine year old girl killed a woman that was twice their weight and supposedly twice as strong?

"We still haven't figured out about that underground explosion in the New York subways a couple of years ago," said Bailey. He looked over her shoulder. "Are you sure you can handle
it?" The VCTF was branching out in several smaller offices. They already had one in New York City and were thinking of one here in Connecticut —that is, if they got the approval. As it was, they were still a mobile unit, but with the trouble of the last couple of years, they now had to cooperate more fully with the local police. .

She pointed to a list of names and dates. "Yes." According to this list sent by the Kenyan police, the murders abruptly stopped last month and then they regained in this area. Could I have that map over there?"

The police chief handed it to her.

"Thank you." She was right about the murderer being from Kenya. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine a domineering woman whose husband worked in the city and left the care of a weak son to her. She did not hate the husband. It would be hard making a living in a village with only a few half-starved cattle and like in many third-rate countries, city living would be a desire.

She thought of the temptations, the bars, and the prostitutes. He would send money home, but prefer the companies of other girls to his fat unattractive wife—fat not because of gluttony, but of early starvation in her childhood. It was a disaster made to happen, although other African women had gone through this situation. It was just that this particular family had a bad gene.

She tried the phone again. Jarod still had not answered.

Grace had taken the two older children, who said their names were Frederick and Margaret, to a private school that specialized in above average and gifted children. The boy had a talent for sneaking around. Many CIA and other operatives came from this school. The girl had the same ability, but they would try to steer her in another direction perhaps as another profiler.

Something still bothered Rachel. Why would an African act like a typical serial killer? They were usually white males. She had to go to the Station's psychiatrist who helped convicted many who pretended to be insane.

The psychiatrist had moved from Delaware twenty years ago. Then he had a different name and appearance. Plastic surgery worked wonders. He also had a different occupation. It took a long time to switch his major from surgery to the mental health field, but worth it although he sometimes got upset remembering the authorities taking the body out of the morgue and substituting it for him. They had to replace the corpse's teeth and match his. He had to have his teeth removed and now wore dentures. Well, his teeth were rotting, anyway.

He told the profiler about a cabal masquerading as The Centre, that he felt rather uneasy about it, that he had called the Feds and they were sending one or two men inside. Rachel had been responsible for choosing one man who worked in a post office in Blue Cove, an upper class neighborhood supported by The Centre. In return for his cooperation, Rachel told him about Jarod. .

The psychiatrist nodded and gave her the same answer the police chief had given, but with a twist. "I now understand when you asked me if I was African American. You didn't want to get the same old lecture, oh we went through it, but you didn't.'" Kidnapping a person, forcibly confining him, and making him work without financial reward leads to only one conclusion Oh if he tells you, the Centre owns him, don't act shocked and say, no you're not, you're a free
man, because unless he gets a paycheck from this Centre with for services rendered', he is not. He might do what he considers a superior figure tells him to do."

"I thought he was a fighter?"

"Yes, he is," said the psychiatrist, "if there's a way out, but what if there isn't? Do you know where he is right now?"

"They said he was in Los Angeles, but I'm certain he's here in Connecticut.."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I've left several messages. The VCTF has been investigating this Centre in conjunction with another case. One of our men worked as a postal employer in the Delaware post office. He saw the envelope, compared it to Miss Parker's handwriting. It didn't match."

"Then they probably followed the fake letter and were on their way back to what they considered as home. You were lucky they found you when they did, Miss Rachel."

She changed the conversation to the African suspect. The psychiatrist explained that unlike in Europe where the plague destroyed families, African families remained intact. Even when
enslaved, they remained with their families, so in, for instance, North Africa, brothers would work side by side in the mines and the girls would be with their sisters in the harem.

"The plague wiped out much of Europe. Children grew up without parents and guidance. When these children married and had children, they had no standard. Have you ever read Oliver Twist and the story of Spikes and Nancy?"

Rachel nodded.

"No one knows the effect the Black Plague had on the European population, wiping out whole families, destroying others. Relatives refusing to take in orphans whose parents died of the disease, the children wandering around, forming gangs or going it alone with no adult to care. Now we're seeing the same in Africa." He paused. "Now with the AIDS epidemic, we're seeing the worse result of prolonged separation. Wait a hundred years or more and we'll have headlines saying Prostitutes killed on highway. Black serial killer is suspect'."

"Thank you, doctor."

Back in the temporary office, she asked George to look through his computer for an African village decimated by plague, especially in Kenya.

"How many shall I start with?"

"Look for any men expected back for harvest festivals, or religious event and did not return. City employees give their staff holiday breaks about that time. Something other than Christmas, Passover, and New Years? "

"October the fifth and December the twelve."

"Now I want the name of any employers who hired staff from the country and if there were any death," said the Profiler.

George printed out a list. There were so many. Robert Obungo, dead at twenty six, James Utabe, died of cancer, possibly AIDS related, Harold Nutumbe, buried at company's expense, a closed
coffin and this did not count those who died of accidents.

Rachel asked for information on their families. She knew the grandparents of the suspect must have died of AIDS. If there were surviving relatives, they would not take the father in. He would
have grown up a vagabond, until meeting and marrying his future wife who would have been one herself. They would have no parenting skills.

"I hear there's talk of a building being evacuated because of smoke," said Malone.

"I'm working on this case."

"Well October the fifth and December the twelve are far enough away. We'll keep a track on the airports and boat schedules in case any Kenyan comes aboard at that time."

She had to get to the school and tell the children that she would not be there for their concert. It was on the way that she had a thought.

According to the tests, both children showed unusual traits in that they could sense feelings, knew when someone came, and were strong for their age. They were also small for their size. It
seemed the girl had a split uterus —very rare, if impossible. The doctor who did the test, disappeared, and his office ransacked. The police did find a hidden panel with his notes. The vandals must have missed this.

Of course, the doctor and others who did the tests were now dead. Rachel knew it The New Species or Homo Dominants that came from Mexico. They were of European descent, whose ancestors were either Nazis escaping justice or refugees escaping the Nazis. She did not think it was the children were of the New Species. .

She often wondered about these people. The only contact she had was a "Wish you were here" from a certain Tom and Sloan. They were in Mexico. The pictures were fuzzy though.

But if Frederick and Margaret are dominants, Rachel thought, wouldn't their father be and wouldn't the triplets be as well? They seemed too alert for normal toddlers

The DNA tests had revealed that Frederick and Margaret's father was a certain Jarod and a Miss Parker. It also showed that both Mr. and Mrs. Parker had another son and no other children.
People went to desperate measures in getting children, artificial insemination for one.

She noted something unusual. Miss Parker's first name was not on the records and neither was Jarod's last name.

She missed him. After all, he did not know that he had five children. Rachel got in her car. The children were acting up again. She drove to the school.