Chapter 110

Watcher Compound

As he nervously approached the guards standing at the door of his old office, Wilderman could not contain his excitement. The two men, Chang and Scott… if he recalled their names correctly… glared at him as if he were an insect buzzing about unnecessarily.

Wilderman rubbed his hands together, not in triumph, but in a pleading manner. "Inform the director that we are ready to test."

Chang's eyes widened slightly. Scott's mouth betrayed the smallest glimmer of greed. Wilderman shuddered. Were these to be the rulers of the New World that Rawlins saw?

"Wait here," snapped Scott. The massive redheaded muscleman motioned Wilderman to wait and then knocked lightly on the door. At the peckish voice, he cleared his throat. "Wilderman is here… he's ready for the next phase."

A few moments later, a slightly disheveled Rawlins pulled the door open… his eyes bright with anticipation. "So soon?"

Wilderman sighed… even as he attempted to see what lay within the office before Rawlins pulled it firmly shut behind him.

"I have detected a small variance in the mental readings. I believe I can reproduce it and attempt to introduce it into a mortal subject. Then… we can see what happens."

Rawlins threw his head back… his facial expression reflected triumph! Turning to Mr. Scott… he lay one hand on the man's shoulders and clasped it companionably. "Are you ready?"

Scott nodded curtly. "I have been ready for longer than I care to admit."

Rawlins nodded. "Good!" He met Mr. Chang's eyes. "If it takes… you will be next. And then I will join you. After that… once we are certain that all goes, as it should… the others will join us. By tomorrow all of us shall be immortal. We will re-invent the game… not as a gladiatorial combat… but as true men… ready to step up and bring order out of the chaos of this world. We will bring an eternity of peace and prosperity to mankind!"

Chang Li's dark eyes glittered with anticipation… he licked his lips as his hand thoughtfully fingered the hilt of his Chinese sword. "For years I have trained to be the best swordsman I can be… I have dedicated myself to this endeavor. Now… if centuries stretch before us… then I will have time to perfect my skills in your service.

Cameron Scott bowed slightly. "I am honored to be the first."

Wilderman turned away. Only the vision of the Nobel Prize clutched in his hungry hands kept him focused on what he was doing. Slowly he retreated down the stairs… aware that he was followed.

-----

Paris

Amy Meyers scooped her daughter into her arms and showered her with kisses. She reached one hand forward to pull Burt into the embrace and found herself sobbing.

She'd left Joe's room when she'd gotten the word that they were here. Burt had insisted on the Liverpool hospital transferring Dawson to Paris, once the boy had regained consciousness. Although reluctant to do so… the doctors had finally agreed. Holding Abigail in her arms, Amy leaned over the gurney with the small pale form of Dawson on it.

"Hi big guy!" she said as she softly brushed his hair from his eyes.

"Where's Grandpa?" Dawson said weakly.

"He's upstairs," Amy replied. "He can't come down here right now. But… he says for you to be a good boy and get well soon."

"We need to get him settled," a nurse interrupted.

Amy nodded and stepped back. She felt Burt's arms slip about her and Abigail. She couldn't believe how good he felt… how relieved she felt. Then she recalled that there had been a price to pay. She sniffed at thoughts of her mother and bit her tongue. She didn't want to say anything in front of the children… but she had a thousand questions about how Laura had died … the funeral arrangements… and about Mischkov's death.

"I need to talk to Joe," Burt whispered in her ear. He kissed it lightly and left. Amy hugged her daughter more tightly. She wasn't going anywhere right now.

"Mommy… we flew in a helicopter!" Abigail was saying, her child's voice filled now with the wonder of her trip and the need to tell Mommy all about it.

Amy settled in a chair and set Abigail facing her on her lap. She focused her attention on her daughter, "Really? Tell me all about it, baby!"

Upstairs in Joe's room, Burt calmly told his father-in-law what he'd done… how he'd finished off Mischkov. What he'd done to be certain the madman was dead.

Joe's breathing rasped in the silence that followed.

"I had to be certain, Joe!" Burt said. He'd sat in the chair by the bed and leaned forward clasping his hands. "I don't think he was immortal… but I couldn't take the chance."

"No," Joe finally said, "you couldn't."

"Did you ever have to? I mean…" Burt looked up at him, "have to cut off one of their heads?"

"No…" Joe finally replied, "Although I came very close once. I chose to let him live… hoping that there would be a redemption for him."

"MacLeod?"

Joe chuckled. "Yeah… I had that sword at his neck. I had every intention of stopping the darkness then and there. But I couldn't do it. I wanted to believe that who he had always been would somehow triumph over who he'd become."

"But Mischkov was sick and twisted."

Joe nodded. "And you couldn't take the chance." He reached out a hand. "You did what was necessary, son. Now… I need you to do something else… something I can't do at the moment."

Burt nodded. "Whatever you want. We have to end this… and end it now."

-----

Rome

Warren Green felt the barrel of a small gun in the small of his back as he stood admiring the Fountain of Trevi.

"Come along now Mr. Green… people have been worried about you," the voice said.

Warren swallowed nervously and nodded his agreement. He quietly let the hands and the gun steer him toward a black limousine. He climbed in when the door was opened.

Lucretia Onofrio sat cross-legged in the rear facing seat. She poured him a drink and handed it to him. "Bourbon… am I right Signore Green."

Warren nodded and gulped the bourbon.

"Where is Reagan Cole?"

Warren shrugged.

"You let her out of your sight?"

Warren held out the glass. "Yes ma'am… it seemed the thing to do at the time."

Onofrio sighed as she casually poured another drink for him and one for herself. After handing him his, she sipped hers thoughtfully. "Was she with the group that hit Taranto?"

Warren paused… and then nodded.

"Who else?"

"An American… Keith Boyer. They were to meet up with someone in Taranto… I didn't catch his name."

Onofrio smiled thinly. "You realize… of course… that you have broken the rules."

Green nodded. "I did!" He paused and smiled. "And I'd do it again. Things are not right within our ranks… and haven't been for a long time."

Onofrio leaned back and sipped her drink. "Would that we all had acted on our fears in such a timely manner. Tell me… Warren… have you ever hear of Joseph Dawson?"

Warren shook his head. "Who's that?"

"An old friend… and a man I think you should speak with." She tapped on the glass behind her and the limousine slowly accelerated into traffic.

"Am I to be killed?" Warren asked, wishing the darkly tinted windows were not quite so dark.

"Should you be?" Onofrio asked. Warren thought he could hear a bit of a tease in her voice.

"No."

Onofrio laughed merrily. "Then perhaps I won't order your death… today."

For the first time since everything had begun in Moscow… Warren Green relaxed.

-----

Athens

Denara gasped and opened her eyes. Her bonds were gone… as was the gag. The woman Anita sat sullenly in a nearby chair. Beside her stood a stoop-shouldered man, who bowed and smiled at Denara.

"If you please, Denara, I am Stephan Portocullis."

Denara sat up… rubbing her wrists. She eyed the two individuals darkly. She said nothing.

"My orders are to take you to Niebos personally," the man said kindly.

Denara scooted off the bed and stepped toward the open door. She paused and looked back. "Are you coming then? I should have been there already." Her child's lisp hung in the air.

"I have a helicopter standing by," Portocullis said and smiled kindly as he gestured for her to lead the way.

Denara tilted her head. "Why the helicopter?"

"It is faster than the ferry."

Denara nodded. "My sword?"

Portocullis nodded. "Once we arrive on the island… I will return it to you. Until then… in the interest of my survival… and yours… I suggest I hang on to it."

"And if I refuse to go unless I have it?"

The man shrugged. "Then we remain here. You did say you were in a hurry."

Denara considered his words. "Why?"

He smiled and gestured once more for her to continue on. "Let us just say that older… calmer heads now prevail. We are not your enemy. We are merely… historians."

Denara snorted sarcastically… but she left as directed. The helicopter was in the agora of the estate. She was helped aboard, followed by the old man. Surprisingly… other than the pilot… they were alone.

Portocullis smiled. "As I said… we merely wish to observe."

Denara settled back in the seat as the helicopter rose and circled… before heading southeast.

An hour later the chopper slowed… circled and landed near the vineyards. Denara climbed out… already feeling the approaching presence of the other small ones… and behind them Phillip. She turned to the old man. "My sword now."

He handed it to her with a smile.

The other four encircled their lost sister… all jabbering at once in a plethora of languages.

"Nestor?" Denara managed to ask.

"Taken care of… for the moment," Phillip said as he and two immortals Denara didn't know approached. Behind them… Denara saw three more unknown immortals.

The swordmaster then directed his attention to the old man.

"This thing will take us where we wish to go?"

"We have the coordinates. It is at your disposal." Portocullis bowed.

Phillip grunted. He lay one hand on Micah's shoulder. "Take charge here, lad. Keep the others safe and help direct the clean up. I or someone else will return shortly."

"Shouldn't we go with you?"

Phillip shook his head. Not this time." He climbed aboard with the two immortals Denara failed to recognize. The small ones backed away as the rotors began to whip through the air. The helicopter rose, circled, and headed off. The other three, a young woman and two men… one obviously a newbie watched as it left, and then headed off toward the village docks talking with one another. In the distance… Denara thought she could make out the approaching ferry.

"Wait until you hear what we did!" Madrigal said.

Denara's attention, however was on the departing helicopter. She only then noted that Portocullis had remained.

"Are you my Watcher?" she asked him.

The man bowed. "If you allow it."

Denara took a deep breath. "Just keep your distance," she finally lisped and clasped one small hand about Madrigal's. "Where's Valeraine? What happened to Nick?" She had a thousand questions. "Do you know about Ursa? Where is Phillip going? Who were those others?" The questions came fast and furious.

Madrigal squeezed her hand. "We know what happened… Now come along and we'll tell you everything." The five children, followed by the one stoop-shouldered old man… his hands clasped behind his back… ascended the hill toward Phillip's villa, each eager to tell a part of the story.