CHAPTER FORTY

Nov 27, 2001

Raines closed the window to his office, and waited. The lawyer would be here soon and he had some work for him to do. The Centre had invested, that is, he had invested in several stocks. Lambourni, a corporate lawyer would know whether these companies were honest.

The bald man did not want anything that would cause scandal, that is, outwardly.

The curtain flew towards the window. Raines checked it again, finding it shut, and then checked the door. It was ajar. He closed it, and adjusted his oxygen tank. He would have been dead years ago, but the Triumvirate doctor had restored his damaged lungs using science not available to the rest of humanity.

When Lambourni did not arrive at the appointed time, Raines decided to take a couple of pills, and looked through the Centre accounting book that Michael had brought him. He would have a talk with the boy. He was too interested in girls. Of course, the boy was a Pretender, and they matured early. Raines corrected himself. The Pretenders were no more, at least not the Pretenders like Jarod. An organization destroyed the supply of Neogenesis that kept them in submission on orders of the government. Raines wished he had told the Federal government of the Dominants, but suspected they decided a drug too dangerous to alter the brains of a certain group that could be corrected through Boot Camps, Military Training, and understanding. Even Ritalin used for Attention Deficit Disorder was now suspect.

Five minutes later, Antonio knocked on the door. "Did you want to see me, Raines?"

He showed him a folder. "I wonder if you could check these companies, to see if they are owned, by, you know, the kind of people you used to work with."

"Well," said Lambourni, "the Mafia, oh I forgot, there is no Mafia; the Italian gentlemen are not as prominent as they were. Now the Russians are taking over. This one had an office in the World Trade Centre You better take your money out. That one is owned by the Russian Mafia." He went through the list.

Raines fumed. Half of these were a bad risk, because their headquarters was in the former Twin Towers. They now worked out of branch offices, but they could not give the dividends that he wished.

A few years ago, the Centre made the mistake of recruiting some sweepers from the Soviet Union, but these former KGB agents were too dangerous for that organization. However, the ones from the good old USA were just as dangerous, but they could at least understand English without having to translate internally their Russian, Ukrainian, or whatever into English, which meant they had already killed the victim before they understood the phrase, "Stop! We want him alive!"

None of the Sweepers had exemplary backgrounds. Even Sam, Miss Parker's protector had an unsavory past, and not the honorable discharge from the army. During a wrestling match between the Army and Navy, Sam broke his opponent's neck. At first, they thought it was an accident, until further investigation showed a history of bullying and terror, one incident, which resulted in a car wreck that left four students dead, a little girl in a wheelchair. His parents had been unconscious of the misdeeds of "their little angel" and an overly lenient judge had put him probation. Still the same, his parents had to switch schools. The parents of the little girl and the other four students whose convertible Sam's car rammed into, because one of the girls refused to date him, were not forgiving. And he once partook in a hazing that left one college student dead. So in order to make amends and get him out of reach of the dean, they persuaded Sam to join the army. However, his stint was short lived and when the Centre learned of him through a spy in the military, Sam received an invitation and "an offer he could not refuse." . Now Sam had no more worries. The Centre used bullies and besides Miss Parker was not a little six-year old crippled girl. His parents' unexplained death soon after he joined his new employers, well no one shed any tears for them.

Lambourni interrupted his thoughts. "If those terrorists had not driven into the Tower, you would have made a thirty percent excess, but now you will be lucky to make one percent an annum." He pulled something from his pocket. "Strange how they were able to do it."

"Yes Mr. Lambourni. I fail to see how you are so interested. After all, the Centre made a profit and we did help all those people." He thought he heard a contemptuous snort coming from the lawyer.

After explaining about his airport outside of New Jersey, courtesy of a "certain man of dubious reputation," Antonio said that the FBI sent out fliers on suspected terrorists and then he shoved a flier in Raines's face. "This man was one of the highjackers."

Raines looked at it, and snorted. "Sounds familiar and I did read the fine print, but consider this, Mr. Lambourni. The Centre does business with the Moslem world. We cannot afford to offend them. I allowed one of our pilots to give him lessons. I believe the monetary reward was quite substantial." He failed to see Lambourni's smile turn cold.

"You seem to presume a lot of things that you know better than the CIA, FBI, DEA, and whatever institution our government has to make laws, Mr. Raines."

"Oh I thought I was listening to someone else. You sound just like Jarod."

Lambourni locked the door behind him. "I'm afraid you mistake justice with personality. Most Americans feel as I do. Oh did you really believe the small print?"

"About him being a suspected terrorist? Suspect is one thing, proof is another You know that Mr. Lambourni. You dealt with the underworld all your life."

"Yes and so did you. I knew a certain someone who always drank before he went on a killing spree. If he didn't have his wine, he'd think about what he was going to do and say maybe I won't go after so and so and smash his head in,' so I did the wisest thing, I locked up my liquor cabinet when he was around. You, Mr. Raines, gave that murderer the key to your liquor cabinet." Lambourni's voice lowered.

Raines snarled. "Your situation is precarious, Mr. Lambourni. I know who you really are, your true parentage and that…"

"You killed my mate and my mother!"

Suddenly Raines swung around, as a boy with light red hair and dark brown eyes, suddenly appeared on the desk behind him holding an axe. At the same time, Ethan and another boy stood besides the window, but only for a moment. That was the last thing the doctor remembered before the axe swung.

Ethan opened a large cardboard box stuffed with plastic and dry ice as Geraldo picked up Raines's head and put it in it. Meanwhile, Lambourni took the device from his pocket. One flash and Raines's body was no more.

"You realize," he said to his son, "the humans might think we're cannibals"

"Or have bodies buried all over the country. This is much easier and less messy," said Geraldo.

"So what do I do with the head?" asked Ethan.

"Go with Irish, put it in cold storage until we need it," said Lambourni, "Before the Supreme Chosen arrives, I'll put forth the rumor that Raines went to a Spa to get treatment. They'll believe me."

With that, all four left the room, Lambourni and Geraldo to his house, Ethan and Irish to store Raines's head until the Supreme Chosen would arrive..