Disclaimer: I can only hope that someday such enthralling and complex characters are my personal creations. Until then, the characters of the Pretender have been borrowed and made to live out various situations at my demand and whim. They are not mine.
Summary: Jarod steals valuable Centre information and puts himself into the public eye, the one place the Centre can see him and not touch him. The directive's the same, his freedom for hers. The field of play, however, is entirely different.
Author's Note: This is the second chapter I've titled after one of the songs appearing on the Thomas Crown Affair soundtrack. The original (Oscar-winning) song – "The Windmills of Your Mind"— was performed by Dusty Springfield for the 1968 soundtrack to the original Thomas Crown Affair. The 1999 soundtrack for the film's remake (which I highly suggest) contains a version by Sting.
The sweeper Dan Malcolm is a borrowed creation of Rivie (RivenRebelPoet/RRP.) Special thanks to her for allowing me to use her character for a few lines of dialogue.
Centre Affairs
By Bec-Bec
Chapter 6
The Autumn Leaves Were Turning
"Harold," Miss Parker's hushed but urgent voice spoke into her cell phone. "Listen carefully and please don't interrupt." She walked briskly through a silent sub-level five hallway, checking to make sure no one was listening as she went. "If I had to be gone, and I mean seriously gone," she paused gravely, "in about eight hours, what could I take with me?"
"Are you alright, Parker?" the English man questioned with concern. Parker had once warned him that her line of work was dangerous, but he knew very little about it.
"Harold," she answered brusquely. "How much could I take with me?" she repeated.
"Well, you'll be taking an enormous loss if you liquidate like this." For eleven years, Harold had faithfully invested Parker's assets in various venues, serving as her accountant and financial broker.
Miss Parker reached a perpendicular hallway and looked carefully in both directions before turning left, choosing to go deeper into the heart of the sublevel. "I understand that and it can't be helped," she replied earnestly. "But what could I leave with?"
"That will be quite a task, but if you call back in an hour I'll have a number for you of some kind."
"Okay."
"Are you sure-"
Miss Parker abruptly cut the English man off as she flipped her cell phone shut and strode quickly toward the elevator bank at the end of the hallway. She had things to take care of.
(())
Miss Parker pulled various desk drawers open, shuffling expeditiously through their contents and pulling certain items out. A stack of files, letters, notebooks and pads of paper was rapidly growing on her desktop.
She wasn't sure when she had lost the control variable of the chase, but she was going to make damn sure she got it back. Hell if she'd allow Lyle and the Triumvirate to keep playing their games. She was no one's pawn, not even Jarod's.
Lyle's unwanted presence was immediately evident as his polished shoes squeaked lightly on her office's hardwood floor. "Leaving?" he asked curiously, perching himself on the edge of Parker's desk so that he could leaf through the stack of papers there.
Miss Parker firmly pressed her hands down on the pile as she rose from her office chair, forcing Lyle to remove his probing fingers. "What makes you think you're that lucky? Venom coiled behind her words.
Lyle shrugged with disinterest, sliding off of Miss Parker's desk. "Broots searched the visitor records for the psychiatric hospital. There were no Tyrol Knutzhorns."
"Doesn't surprise me," Miss Parker replied blandly. "Jarod covers his tracks."
"There was a Knudsen though," Lyle continued. "About three times last month." He paused. "Do you think that's just a coincidence?"
Miss Parker snorted derisively. "There are no coincidences in one of Jarod's games. Have Broots look into it."
"He already is."
"Then your business here is done," she replied coolly, walking to her office door and holding it open for him.
Lyle strolled over to her casually, then paused to glance back at the pile of paperwork on her desk. "If you have information regarding Jarod, you have an obligation to share it with me."
"I don't have an obligation to show you anything. My files are my business."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." He spun on his heel and walked out.
"Rat."
Miss Parker stalked back to her desk and pulled out her briefcase. After slipping the pile inside and snapping the case shut, she pulled out her cell phone. "Prepare the jet," she ordered. The phone was closed again before anyone could reply.
()
Miss Parker huffed impatiently. The Centre jet had made record speed to the New York airstrip. It was only after she caught a cab to Greenwich Village that her movements had been slowed.
She leaned forward. "Look, here's an extra hundred," she said with annoyance, sliding the bill to the cab driver. "Pick up the pace."
The tires squealed as they rounded a corner and the cab driver pushed the speedometer needle up another fifteen notches.
()
"Paul, is he here?" Miss Parker pushed past Paul the moment the door of Jarod's house opened.
"He's in a meeting at the moment," Paul answered with a stunned expression, closing the door and following Miss Parker into the entry room.
"It's very important."
"If you wait in the living room…" Paul began, attempting to stem Miss Parker's hurry.
Her eyes locked on his as she turned to him.
"I'll get him for you," Paul finished.
She read his expression and her eyes immediately searched the room, knowing that Paul was covering for Jarod. Her gaze fell on several suitcases that were lined up near the doorway.
Miss Parker abruptly turned away and took the steps up to Jarod's bedroom two at a time. The details of the room that had interested her previously were forgotten, as though they had existed in another lifetime.
She dropped her briefcase with disinterest in where it fell.
"Ma'am, please," Paul's voice called after her. He made no attempt to follow her.
Miss Parker could hear Jarod muttering as she approached his room. She pulled her gun out of its holster without a second thought. When she swung the door open, Anna was revealed.
The blonde woman was dressed in tight black leather, sitting comfortably on Jarod's bed, one knee raised and the other leg curled beneath it. She glared suspiciously at Miss Parker. If she was surprised by the appearance of a gun, she didn't show it.
Jarod was nowhere in sight but his voice was vaguely perceptible. "I know that we have a plug adapter. I saw the plug adapter. I just can't find the plug adapter." Jarod's voice became louder. "Would you go downstairs, Anna, and ask Paul…" his sentence trailed off as he entered the room and saw Miss Parker. A few garments of clothing dangled from his arms.
Silence filled the room as Anna rose from the bed and smoothed her dress, looking sternly at Miss Parker. The blonde woman made her way to another doorway and exited into the hallway, never removing her suspicion-filled gaze from Miss Parker.
As soon as Anna had passed behind her, Miss Parker sauntered into the room, gun aimed evenly at Jarod's chest.
Several suitcases lay open on Jarod's bed, partially filled with clothing and other items.
Miss Parker eyed them before speaking. "Well, it appears we're returning to the status quo," she remarked blandly. "You run, I chase, just like always."
"No," Jarod held his hand up to indicate that she had the wrong impression.
"You never thought I was a fool before," she stated flatly. "You're ready to run. And if I hadn't showed up, I'm sure you'd already be out the door."
"No," he repeated.
"Were you settling accounts? Telling your mistress you had to leave?" Miss Parker asked coldly.
"Let me explain."
"Save it, Jarod. I'm taking you back to the Centre."
Jarod moved faster than her reflexes allowed her to react, and, within milliseconds, her gun was flicked out of her hand and her back was to his chest, her arms pinned to her sides by his strong grasp.
"Take your hands off of me," she ground out bitterly.
Jarod removed his hands tentatively and she made no move to reach for the gun. "My offer stands, Parker."
A sorrowful chuckle was her response. She turned to face him. "How can I possibly trust you?"
"I'm not going to ask that. I'm going to trust you. Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked passionately. "My trust?"
Miss Parker closed her eyes, dipping her head for a moment.
"Tomorrow afternoon, I'll return the Centre's information."
Sardonic laughter escaped Miss Parker as her eyes met Jarod's again. "How? By putting it back in the Centre's mainframe?"
"Yes."
Miss Parker shook her head in bitter amusement. "You know what, Jarod? I'm all checkmated out."
"If the information is back," Jarod continued, "we're free of the chase. We're only for each other."
"Back in the mainframe at the Centre?" she repeated.
"Yes. And then you'll meet me at the Wall Street Heliport at four o'clock, and we'll leave together. Or," Jarod paused, "or you can have sweepers prepared to stop me in any way possible." He looked at her meaningfully. "I'm trusting you."
Miss Parker lilted toward him slightly and his face showed the faintest signs of relief. He kissed her strongly, once, twice, a third time.
"I can't.
Jarod's hands held Parker's face to his, even as she began to struggle to get away.
"I can't do that!" she wrestled her mouth away from his.
Jarod held on to her tightly.
"Damn you, Jarod!" she fought against his hold. "Son of a bitch." She finally untangled herself from him, swatting at his arms as he tried to get her back. "Stay away." She made her way out of the room, moving rapidly down the stairs until she reached her briefcase.
She slid down onto the step beside it slowly. A few tears stung her eyes, and she brushed them off bitterly.
Jarod made no attempts to follow her.
(())
The air in Greenwich Village was heavy with moisture--evidence that it would soon begin to rain. Vaporous, grey rain-clouds had collected on the horizon, reaching overhead. However, the weather was of little interest or import to Miss Parker.
After leaving Jarod's house, she had chosen to wander the city streets, attempting to clear her thoughts. She needed time and space to think.
Several hours passed as she walked about aimlessly. She didn't notice when it began to rain. It was only when she passed a large shop window that she became aware of her soaked hair and clothing.
She stared at her reflection for a moment and finally pulled out her cell phone. It was time to get things back on track.
()
"I need to talk to you."
He opened the door wider and let her in.
(())
"This is Sydney."
"Do you see the leaves turning?" Jarod asked pensively.
Sydney leaned forward onto his desk. "What do you mean, Jarod?"
"Do you see them changing colors? Turning golden, red, orange, and mahogany?"
Sydney's brow furrowed. "Yes. They always turn in the autumn."
"I've seen them change before, but the colors seem different this year," Jarod mused. "I can't understand why."
"Perhaps you're looking at them closely for the first time, noticing something you took for granted." Sydney paused. "Something you won't be seeing for quite some time."
Jarod chuckled sorrowfully.
"Where are you going?"
There was silence for a moment. "I can't tell you."
"Are you travelling alone?"
"I don't know."
Sydney nodded, knowingly, though Jarod couldn't see him. "Will you call again?"
"Count on it."
Jarod disconnected the call, slipping his cell phone into his pocket. He studied the tree in front of him carefully, suddenly aware—its autumn leaves were the color of her hair.
(())
Static passed through the walkie-talkie in Lyle's hand. The noise alerted him to the fact that his sweepers had turned their earpieces on and transferred to his frequency.
Lyle pressed the talk button down. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir," Willie responded.
"You're in the lobby, right?"
"Yes, sir. Me and about ten other sweepers."
"Did you put people on the roof?"
"Yes, sir."
Lyle put the walkie-talkie down.
Broots tapped away at his computer, making sure that all of the surveillance cameras and their respective monitors were working properly. The combined presence of Mr. Raines, Mr. Parker, and Mr. Lyle had him jittery. He tried to ignore their air of power and dominance by focusing on his work. If they found out that he had helped Miss Parker keep information from them, he knew who'd pay the consequences first—him.
Lyle wandered over to Miss Parker, who was watching the surveillance monitors closely. "You did the right thing, sis." He grinned cruelly. His voice was full of undertones.
Miss Parker shoved him away. "Back off, Lyle."
"Now we just have to wait for him to show up," Raines wheezed, glancing at the clock. The hands were rounding on three p.m.
(())
Several large towncars screeched down a street in the East village. They stopped in front of a large, monochromatic building.
"Mark, stay with the car. Dave, you head up the fire escape," Dan Malcolm ordered the sweeper team. "The rest of you come with me."
"Got it," Mark replied.
(())
"Mr. Lyle, sir." An unknown sweeper handed his cell phone to Lyle.
Lyle took the phone. "Yeah… Goddamn it!" Lyle yelled in frustration. "Did she leave anything behind?"
Miss Parker aimed a confused expression at Lyle, but he was too busy listening to whomever was on the other end of the conversation.
"Look, just stake out the whole place, maybe she'll come back again…. No. No. No. Is Dan there?…. Put Dan on the phone…. Get Dan!" Lyle ordered.
Lyle finally turned in Miss Parker's direction.
"What's going on?" she asked blandly.
"The mainframe coder," Lyle stated plainly. "You didn't think I'd just drop that did you?" he continued smugly. "Dan ran it down this morning. It's a daughter, not his son." Lyle slid a file over to Parker. "She's been here all along."
Miss Parker opened up the file folder. A picture of Anna was clipped to a stack of papers.
"Tyrol Anna Knutzhorn," Lyle provided. "Jarod's known her since she was seventeen. When her father went off to the loony bin, she got shipped off to her aunt. Her aunt had financial troubles, which is where Jarod comes in. He helped the aunt out and put Anna through college. Now she works in one of the companies he recently acquired." Lyle turned his attention back to the phone as someone began talking. "Dan, here's what I want you to do." Lyle started issuing more orders.
Miss Parker closed the file, a muddled expression on her face. Images of Jarod kissing Anna on the forehead trailed through her mind.
"I-It's him," Broots said, just as Jarod appeared on the surveillance footage for the front entrance to the Centre.
Miss Parker watched the screen closely.
"We've got him," Raines said, wheeling his oxygen tank over to the monitor so that he could see.
"I'll call you back," Lyle flipped the cell phone shut while Dan was mid-sentence.
The unknown sweeper from before made a gesture indicating that he'd like his phone back, but Lyle didn't appear to notice.
"That's him," Lyle spoke forcefully into the walkie-talkie. "Trenchcoat, sunglasses, and briefcase."
"Yes, sir," Willie replied. "We've got him."
"Bring up the lobby on the large monitor," Mr. Parker ordered Broots.
Broots typed rapidly, co-directing the camera feed, and the image of Jarod appeared on the large monitor.
"Move in quietly," Lyle ordered Willie and the others. "We don't need to make a scene or we'll have 400 goddamn peons to re-educate."
"Jarod," Miss Parker mouthed softly, watching his figure on a smaller monitor in front of her.
"What the hell is he doing?" Raines rasped.
"I-It's like he wants to make sure that we see him," Broots commented.
()
Jarod stood still, a few feet from the Centre's entrance, making sure that the sweepers stationed around the room had a full view of him. Slowly, he pulled his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. Then, he put his arms out slightly and spun around to make sure that the surveillance cameras were following his movements as well.
"Let's play ball," Jarod imitated a sports announcer, with a wicked grin spread across his face. He pulled out a black balaclava and slipped it over his head.
()
"There he goes. Black balaclava," Lyle's voice stated across the walkie-talkie. "Move in and get him."
"Go," Willie ordered the sweepers around him. "Move it. Quietly."
Willie pushed his way past a few workers carry folder, and a few more pushing carts full of paperwork. One of them said "excuse me," when Willie collided with her cart, but he didn't seem to care, continuing toward Jarod.
()
All eyes in the tech room were glued to the large monitor, watching Jarod move across the screen, apparently mainlining for an access stairway behind the elevator bank.
Suddenly, his figure dropped the briefcase next to another one that appeared to already be positioned on the floor. Almost immediately, a figure identical to Jarod's came around a corner and picked up the other briefcase."
"Shit," Lyle spat. "He switched the information." He picked up the walkie-talkie. "Get half of your people on the guy with the briefcase," he yelled at Willie.
"What, sir?" Willie replied, confused as the other masked man picked up the briefcase. Just as he was about to follow the new man, another batch of workers pushing trolleys full of paperwork came his way. "I can't…" Willie trailed off as another man in a balaclava walked by with a briefcase. "There's another one, sir."
Lyle cursed heavily.
"Where'd he go?" Broots asked, pointing out that they no longer knew the origins of the real Jarod.
"What the hell?" Willie's disgruntled voice came over the walkie-talkie.
"There are people with balaclavas all over the place," an unknown sweeper's voice came through.
Lyle turned viciously to Parker. "Did you warn him?"
"No," she snorted.
Lyle's stare was unwavering.
"No!" she repeated vehemently.
Mr. Parker appeared ready to intervene, but thought better of it.
Lyle finally turned away. "He knew you'd betray him. Goddamn it," he hissed.
"They're going for the access staircases," another sweeper stated over the walkie-talkie.
"That does it," Broots stated plainly. "Now we've got thirty two floors to cover."
"Son of a bitch," Lyle growled. "He's probably had people in the Centre for years." He hit the talk button on his walkie-talkie. "Find him Willie," he demanded.
"Is the data archive sealed off?" Raines asked.
"Completely." A sweeper answered.
"Completely?" Mr. Parker asked.
"Yes, sir. I guarantee that if Jarod tries to put the information back, it won't be in the main server room."
An alarm suddenly sounded.
"They're in the air ducts," Broots stated in awe.
Raines turned to the sweeper. "You should never guarantee anything regarding Jarod," he rasped.
The sweeper nodded, duly warned, "Yes sir."
"They're like rats in a habitrail," another sweeper commented, as hundreds of men in black balaclavas passed surveillance cameras, and were tracked through the air ducts.
"What the hell?" Willie's voice crossed the frequency again. He had turned s corner only to be confronted by more workers with carts. He was not amused.
Lyle pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Where the hell are you, Willie?"
"No…. what?…. I can't hear…. what?" commotion of all sorts came across the frequency as Willie attempted to respond.
"This is ridiculous," Mr. Parker exclaimed with anger. "He's got us running around in circles. Take control of the situation, Lyle."
"I am," Lyle replied coldly. "Stay where you are, Willie, I'm coming down."
Lyle surged out of the room followed by two unnamed sweepers, Miss Parker and Sam.
()
"What do we do? What do we do?" A sweeper asked in anxiety.
Another sweeper standing next to him cracked him in the jaw. "Pull yourself together. We'll do what we always do, pretend we're Michaelangelo and Donatello in the sewers."
Lyle pushed passed the two sweepers, on his way to Willie. He found the sweeper struggling under a pile of papers and several overturned metal carts. "Get him out of there," he ordered. All five sweepers went to help Willie out of the disastrous heap.
"What do we do, sir?" Yet another sweeper asked via walkie-talkie.
"Just start grabbing people," Lyle shouted.
A racket suddenly sounded nearby.
"Air duct."
Sam and another sweeper left Willie and ran quickly to the air vent on the wall. They pulled off the cover and grabbed the first person that came by. The man raised his hands in defeat.
"Take off his mask," Lyle bit out angrily.
Sam pulled off the mask easily, revealing Angelo with wide eyes.
Miss Parker fought a smile.
Lyle cursed violently, images of Major Charles eluding him, posed as Jarod, resurfaced. He grabbed Angelo by his trenchcoat collar. "What the hell are you doing, mush head?"
"Help friend," Angelo answered in confusion.
Lyle let go of Angelo in disgust. "Make sure he doesn't crawl back into the air ducts," he demanded of a sweeper.
"Yes, sir."
()
Jarod slid through an air duct and out into the afternoon sunlight, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He knew every single breach point in the Centre's security system and perimeters, and he had made use of each. This was by far the largest orchestration he had ever conducted for the Centre employees—his crowning torment. He chuckled and ran for the woods, heading to his hidden car.
()
"Oh, wow," Broots mumbled.
"What, Mr. Broots?" Raines asked, his face hardened in anger.
Broots gulped. "The uh-the files that we thought Jarod took… they, um, must have been on a timed decryption, because they just reappeared on the mainframe, and no one besides me has accessed it."
Mr. Raines's eyes twitched and widened, his anger growing ten-fold. "The Triumvirate will not be pleased." He turned to a sweeper. "Radio for Lyle and Miss Parker to come here. Tell the others to shoot any remaining masked men—their welcome just wore out."
Several moments later, Lyle and Parker returned to the tech room with Sam and Willie in tow.
Broots related his discovery, Lyle cursed some more, Miss Parker attempted to hide her amusement, and Willie grunted in discomfort.
"It's been here the whole damn time?" Willie muttered in pain.
"Since the exact time that he supposedly stole it," Broots added. "He never really took it… he just hid it in the Centre's own system.
Broots' computer suddenly gave a beep. "Uh oh."
"What now?" Raines asked harshly.
"Other information is missing."
"What information, Mr. Broots" Raines moved closer to the poor techie.
"Um. I don't actually have access codes for that part of the mainframe, sir."
Miss Parker slowly slipped out of the room, hoping no one would notice her retreating presence. She wasn't so fortunate.
"What's in the other information that Jarod took." Lyle's voice stopped her in the hallway.
He ambled closer.
"No idea," she replied briefly.
Lyle nodded, without believing her. "Where are you going?"
"None of your business," she replied coldly. "Shouldn't you be in the tech room sucking up to Raines?"
Lyle shrugged. "I don't need Raines."
"Now that the information is back, I'm sure that the Triumvirate will be pleased as punch with your work," she sneered.
"No doubt." Lyle clucked his tongue. "I'm sure they'll also be surprised to find that one of the Centre's operatives ran off with their adversary."
Miss Parker narrowed her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Lyle chuckled with dangerous amusement. "I'll convince them it's for the best, of course. You'll be out of their way. And then, we'll play another round tomorrow, just like always."
"You're a sick bastard, Lyle," Miss Parker replied in disgust.
Soft laughter echoed down the hallway as Lyle went back to the tech room. Miss Parker hurried out of the building, thankful that no one was following her.
(())
"Excuse me!" A heliport attendant called out, attempting to slow Miss Parker's movements.
She kept going, aimed for the glass doors that led to the airstrip.
"You can't go out there without an escort!" The attendant warned again. "Ma'am. Ma'am!"
Her travel there had been a blur, but she was determined to reach her destination. She pushed through the doors.
A figure in a black trenchcoat, holding a briefcase, was waiting at the edge of the airstrip, watching the water.
"Jarod," Miss Parker yelled.
The man turned.
Miss Parker's face fell slightly.
"You're Miss Parker?" the man asked.
"Yes."
"He wanted you to have this." The man handed Miss Parker the briefcase. Tipping his head, the man walked back to the heliport lobby.
Miss Parker stood listlessly, focused on the vastness of the water. It stretched on forever. Infinite.
(())
It was the vodka that finally hit her. Sitting in a padded airline seat with a cheap plastic cup in her hand and the sting of alcohol in her throat, like so many other plane trips--this was how the game ended.
The answers she had searched for so desperately were laid open in her lap, untouched, waiting.
Jarod's final gift to her had been the truth; something they had both spent years searching for; something he claimed he couldn't give her. It had been his final show of trust--unvoiced terms of the trade. He had given them to her knowing that she wouldn't search him out later--his continued freedom for her past.
And now she had her own freedom as well.
A soft voice, so faint she almost believed she'd imagined it, urged her. "What are you waiting for?"
A pause.
"Nothing."
FIN
Author's Note: It's finished bounces off of walls and crashes into things It's DONE! Cooked turkey-roast beef-canned canary-FINITO! I hope you've all enjoyed it as much as I've loved and hated it. Thank you to EVERYONE for their wonderful reviews. You're all amazing. kisses and hugs
