Disclaimer: Same as the 60 other chapters. Enjoy!
Chapter 61.
~~~~~~~~
I worry
I weigh three times my body
I worry
I throw my fear around
But this morning
There's a calm I can't explain
The rock candy's melted, only diamonds now remain
~ From "Clarity," by John Mayer
~~~~~~~~~
"Oh, Ian!" Sara murmured, dismayed on his behalf but unable to muster up one iota of concern for Kenneth Irons. Although Ian was trying his best to hide it, it was obvious that he was extremely upset by the discovery of his father's condition. His large, expressive eyes were dark with anxiety and his expression was frighteningly bleak. Reaching over, she rubbed the tense muscles of his left arm comfortingly.
The emotional hold Irons had over Ian clearly ran deep, despite the years of psychological and physical abuse the younger man had suffered at his hands. Perceiving the depth of her Protector's distress abruptly made Sara realize just how difficult it was going to be for him to divorce himself from the man he thought of as his father. He'd been trained from a very early age to put Irons' well-being before his own. Overcoming this nearly lifelong conditioning was not going to be easy. And when the Witchblade's inexorable directive -- protect the Wielder at all costs -- was added to this already complicated mix, it came as no surprise that Ian Nottingham was one terribly conflicted guy.
'Is it too much to hope that Kenny really is dying?' Sara mused to herself, feeling an unwelcome stab of guilt for thinking how much simpler their lives would be if Irons were out of the picture. She squinted at the screen, but the image was too small for her to make out much more than a figure in a hospital bed.
"Can you enlarge the picture?" she asked Ian quietly, and he entered a keystroke, increasing the magnification significantly.
Sara's eyes widened, and she barely refrained from asking him if he was positive that the frail-looking man lying so still in that bed was actually his father. As it was, she was unable to stifle a gasp at the shocking change in Kenneth Irons' appearance.
Just a few days ago, Gabriel Bowman had pegged the billionaire's age at closer to 100 than the mid-30s he appeared to be. Now he looked every bit of his true years. His shock of white-blond hair had thinned to mere wisps, revealing a liver-spotted scalp that was so tightly stretched over his skull, the bones shown through his pallid skin. Numerous IV tubes were inserted into the thin arms and large-knuckled, heavily veined hands that lay motionless on top of the blanket covering his shrunken form, and he appeared to be breathing with the aid of a ventilator. Kenneth Irons was virtually unrecognizable as the slightly debauched but undeniably handsome and athletically fit man he'd been the last time Sara had seen him. But just visible on the back of his claw-like right hand was a raised scar of twin, interlocking circles that proved his identity beyond the shadow of a doubt.
"He looks pretty bad," Sara reluctantly acknowledged. "But I still think we should speak to Dr. Immo and see what he has to say before we commit to anything."
"I have never seen him look this ill before," Ian said, voice harsh with barely contained emotion. "He is dying, Sara."
"I know it looks like that, Ian, but remember what Marie and Joe said," she beseeched him. "He could be trying to trick us into believing he's worse off than he really is. Let's wait and see what Immo says."
He made an impatient gesture. "We do not even know if Dr. Immo has regained consciousness. He could be heavily sedated or possibly even comatose. What do we do then?"
Sara chewed on this for a few moments. "Bring up Immo's room again, and magnify the picture," she requested, sensing his growing agitation and praying that she'd spot something that would allay his fears for the time being.
He did as she asked, and Sara examined the image closely. "There," she finally said, pointing at the screen.
"What? I do not see anything," Ian snapped. It was all he could do not to rush to his father's bedside, and he felt something perilously close to resentment toward Sara for continuing to insist that they proceed with caution.
"If I'm not mistaken, that's a pile of magazines and a pair of reading glasses on his tray table," Sara patiently explained. "Not many comatose patients have those things lying around."
"Yes, I see them now," Ian murmured, chagrinned that he'd missed something so blatantly obvious. "He must be asleep."
"Yeah. What do you say we go pay him a little visit?" She stood up.
"Agreed. But first we must take a few precautions." He opened a drawer in the workstation, and took out what looked like a Palm Pilot. Inserting it into a data port in the desktop, he proceeded to download some information into it. When the transfer was done, he handed the device to Sara.
"I have transferred the grids showing the locations of the security teams to that handheld," Ian explained. "I will need you to keep an eye on them for me, especially once we enter the mansion. The tunnels have not been equipped with the disabling strobe lights and high-frequency sound waves, but, unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the infirmary," he told her.
"Okay, but what do we do if we're interrupted by another doctor or a nurse?" she asked, watching as he blanked the workstation's video screens.
"Hopefully, the infirmary's staff will not have been alerted to my unauthorized absence these past few days. They are accustomed to occasionally seeing me in the infirmary and with Dr. Immo in his lab, so they will not think it strange that I am visiting him or my father. Nor should your presence with me cause any undue alarm. In fact, since they have undoubtedly been made aware that your blood holds the key to Mr. Irons' continued survival, they may even think our visit is planned," he explained, logging off the security system.
"Let's hope so," Sara murmured.
Ian rose and headed toward a vault-like steel door at the other end of the room. He entered a code into yet another keypad, but instead of a lock opening, the keypad sprang upward, revealing a thumbprint ID pad and a combination lock. Ian removed his heavy silver ring and then his glove, pressed his right thumb to the pad, and then swiftly dialed the lock's combination. Faintly, tumblers could be heard turning, and then the lights on the raised keypad turned from red to green. Of its own accord, the heavy door swung outward, revealing a gleaming metal elevator that was large enough to hold a dozen men.
"After you, my Lady," Ian said, and Sara boarded the elevator with some trepidation. Although she wasn't the least bit claustrophobic, she was not crazy about the idea of descending hundreds of feet beneath the surface and ending up in a tunnel that probably offered very little in the way of cover in the event of a sneak attack.
"How the heck did Irons manage to build all of this without the neighbors finding out?" she asked curiously as he flicked off the basement lights, reset the keypad, and joined her in the elevator.
Ian pressed a button on the control panel. "Gradually," he responded as the outer door soundlessly swung shut, followed by the elevator's inner doors, "very, very gradually. The excavation and subsequent construction took nearly a decade to complete. The estate is 2.3 miles from here as the crow flies, but there are a maze of tunnels that extend in several directions for miles. Most of them dead end, but a few lead to escape hatches like this one." Almost imperceptibly, the car began its descent.
"Amazing," Sara said, impressed. "I'll bet you could wander around down there for days and not find your way to the estate."
"Yes, you could, except there are motion-detection sensors that would instantly alert security to any intrusion. There are also closed-circuit cameras; however, they are not monitored unless the sensors are triggered. Nonetheless, I have disabled them in addition to the sensors."
Three minutes later, the elevator glided to a stop, and the doors opened to reveal a brightly lit, concrete lined tunnel that was surprisingly roomy. Sara estimated that it was at least ten feet wide and nearly as high -- more than wide enough for the golf cart-like vehicles parked nearby to ride two abreast. There were five of them, and each was capable of carrying four adults, which meant there were as many as 20 men out searching for them in those Hummers.
Ian climbed behind the wheel of the nearest transport, and Sara got in beside him. "These run on electricity," he informed her, flipping a switch on the dashboard. The engine purred to life.
"Yeah, I guess solar power is not an option down here, and gasoline or diesel fumes wouldn't be such a good idea," Sara commented. She'd been right about the lack of cover. The tunnel stretched emptily ahead of them for about 50 yards before branching off in four directions.
Ian did a u-turn, and they began barreling along at a good clip. Sara took notice of the motion detectors studding the walls, as well as the cameras mounted on the ceiling. When they came to the first junction, Ian chose the second tunnel from the left without hesitation. They soon came to another junction with four more tunnels to choose from, and this time he chose the second from the right. Sara made a mental note of this, but quickly lost track of the twists and turns they took, especially since her attention was divided between watching where they were going and keeping an eye on the locations of the security teams in the field. Ten minutes later, Ian slowed the transport to a stop in front of a set of elevators doors. Sara noticed several other transports parked nearby.
"May I have that back for a moment?" he asked, indicating the handheld.
Sara handed it to him, and watched as he pressed a couple of buttons on it, bringing up pictures of the mansion's interior.
"Excellent," he murmured after examining the images for several moments. "The corridor this elevator opens onto on the infirmary level is deserted. I was afraid that security might still be on high alert after the Russians' attack, meaning a guard would be posted outside my father's room. However, that does not appear to be the case."
'The better to lure us into a trap,' Sara thought uneasily.
But her dubious expression must have given her away because Ian nodded and said "Unless, of course, it is a trap."
Sara held up her right wrist. "I'm ready if it is," she said grimly, noticing that the Witchblade's carnelian stone was quiescent. "But I'm not getting any warning signals, so I guess we're good to go."
Ian said nothing in response to this; he simply switched to the screen showing the grids, gave the device back to Sara, and got out of the transport. Walking over to the other vehicles, he took out a knife and swiftly went about puncturing tires.
"Just in case," he murmured, straightening. He moved over to the ubiquitous keypad set in the wall next to the elevator and rapidly entered a code into it. Once again, the pad rose upward, revealing a call button.
Before pressing it, Ian took his sunglasses and a pair of earplugs from his coat pocket. He put on the glasses and inserted the plugs, and then pressed the button.
*Stand to the side, Sara,* he cautioned her, following his own advice. She moved to the opposite side of the doors, and then blinked as she saw that he held tasers in both gloved hands; she'd never even seen him pull them out. Willing the Witchblade into gauntlet form, she waited tensely.
But when the elevator arrived, it was empty. Ian put away the tasers and extracted a roll of tape from his pocket. He turned to Sara and handed it to her. *Would you do the honors, my Lady?*
*Sure.* She removed his sunglasses, and their gazes met for the last time in who knew how long. Then Ian lowered his lids, and Sara tore off two short lengths of tape, shoving the roll in her jeans pocket before gently taping his eyelids shut. She put his sunglasses back in place, noting with satisfaction that the tape was now invisible. *All done.*
*Thanks. Do you remember that trick I did with the cards the other night?* he asked her.
*You mean when you flashed an image of your hand to me?* Sara queried. *I saw it clear as day, but just for an instant. Um, now is probably not the best time to be asking you this, but how the heck did you do that?*
*I simply visualized the cards and sent you a snapshot of the image,* he explained. *To be honest with you, I wasn't sure it would work, but, much to my delight, it did. Sara, I'm going to need you to do the same thing for me so that I can navigate the hallways of the infirmary without mishap. Do you think you can handle that?*
*Let's find out,* Sara said. She visualized the interior of the elevator, and then concentrated on sending the image to Ian.
*Very good, Sara,* he praised moments later, striding into the elevator without hesitation. *In time, I believe this will become easier to do, until it's practically second nature for us both.*
Sara joined him in the elevator. *Cool! It'll sure come in handy,* she mused, mightily intrigued by the possibilities this ability presented. *And not just when playing cards!*
A smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. *You're incorrigible!* He gestured in the direction of the control panel. *Let's get this show on the road: Please push the button marked "Level C."*
She did, and the elevator smoothly began to rise.
*We must take a left turn when we come out of the elevator. Dr. Immo's room should be the third door on the left. We will pass a nurse's station on the right. Just follow my lead and ignore anyone who might be stationed there,* Ian instructed her. *If Immo is still asleep, wake him. If he reaches for the nurse's call button, stop him immediately. Remember, I will barely be able to hear his voice, so you must relay whatever he says to me. Let me do the talking. I will try to moderate my tone, but please let me know if I am speaking louder than normal. I don't want to tip him or my father off that I've taken precautions against the fail-safe device.
*Both the hallways and the rooms are equipped with strobe lights and sound emitters,* he warned her, *and they can be activated remotely by security. I've disabled the listening devices and programmed the estate's security monitors to play a feedback loop showing empty hallways and video of my father and Dr. Immo as we saw them earlier, but that will only buy us perhaps 20 or 30 minutes at most. We can expect a security team to arrive shortly thereafter. The only warning we're likely to get is the activation of the fail-safe device. Remember to keep an eye on the handheld, because if it shows that the security teams in the field are on the move, that'll be a sure sign that they're on to our presence here.*
*What'll we do then?* Sara asked.
*It all depends on what Dr. Immo tells us,* Ian said. *I've plotted the course back through the tunnels on the handheld, Sara. I also downloaded the security codes. If necessary, you'll be able to find your way back to the safe house alone.*
*So, what you're saying is you might be staying here,* Sara said, unable to keep disappointment from coloring her "voice." *With Irons.*
*You knew that was a possibility coming in, Sara,* he said brusquely.
*Yeah, I did, but--*
*We're here,* he interrupted her protest as the elevator slowed perceptibly. *Remember: follow my lead.*
The gleaming metal doors opened and they exited, turning left. Sara swiftly sent Ian an image of the empty hallway, and he strode confidently down the center with her right on his heels. As he'd indicated they would, they passed a nurse's station. The male nurse sitting behind the desk glanced up as they went by, but did not appear alarmed by the sight of them.
*Nurse guy didn't even blink when he saw us,* Sara informed Ian.
*Good.*
*Okay, we've reached the third door on the left,* she told him moments later.
Ian halted, allowing her to take the lead. *You go in first, Sara,* he bade her, placing a gloved hand on her ass. *Uh, sorry,* he muttered, moving it her hip, where the contact would not be obvious to the man lying in the bed. *Remember: don't let him push the call button.*
*Got it.* She pushed open the door and stepped inside, followed closely by Ian.
The kindly-looking gray-haired man in the hospital bed glanced up over the rims of his reading glasses as the door to his room opened, and his blue eyes widened in shocked recognition.
"Ian! My dear boy, what on earth are you doing here?" he exclaimed. The remains of his breakfast sat on the tray table in front of him, and he held a magazine in his hands, one of which was heavily bandaged. Aside from that, and a few minor burns and abrasions on his face, he appeared to have gotten off fairly lightly for someone who'd almost been blown to smithereens.
*He wants to know what we're doing here,* Sara relayed to Ian, piggybacking an image of the room and the doctor onto the telepathic communiqué.
"Hello, Dr. Immo. I am glad to see you survived the Russians' attack," Ian said in a close approximation of his normal speaking voice. "I believe I have you to thank for my own survival."
The older man glanced furtively up at the ceiling. "What are you talking about?" he asked with apparently genuine puzzlement.
*I think he knows about the cameras and listening devices, 'cause he's making like he doesn't know what you're talking about,* Sara informed Ian.
"Never fear, Doctor: I have temporarily disabled the video and audio feed. But we do not have a lot of time. Tell me truthfully: How is my father?" Ian asked, cutting to the chase.
"Ancient," Immo said tersely. "The last treatment failed to rejuvenate him, and the stress of these past few days has hastened his deterioration."
Sara relayed this news to Ian verbatim.
"How long does he have, Dr. Immo? And I will know if you are lying," he warned him.
"If you're asking if he's in immediate danger of dying, I'd have to say no. His vitals are stable. All that's really wrong with him is extreme old age. He's actually in remarkably good condition for a man of his advanced years," the doctor said. "However, the time remaining to him can be measured in months, perhaps weeks. He must have the current Wielder's blood in order to survive for much longer than that."
Immo's gaze shifted to Sara as she passed on his response to Ian. "Detective Pezzini, we've never been formally introduced. I'm Stephen Immo, Kenneth Irons' personal physician," he said, extending his right hand toward her.
*He actually had the nerve to introduce himself to me,* Sara told Ian, righteous indignation coloring her tone. *Excuse me while I bitch- slap him.* And stepping closer to the doctor's bedside, she did just that, dealing him a vicious, open-handed blow to the face.
"That was for the torture you put Ian through," she growled, ripping the call button wire from the wall for good measure. "You're lucky I don't beat the crap outta you like I really, really want to."
Glasses askew and eyes watering, Immo gingerly rubbed his cheek. "I guess I deserved that," he said wearily.
"Oh, no, you deserve much, much worse," Sara snapped, green eyes blazing.
*Sara,* Ian sent worriedly, *I hope you're not assaulting Dr. Immo. A beating could kill him in his condition, and, much as I hate to admit it, we still need his help.*
*No, I only hit the creep once,* Sara reassured him. *That's definitely gonna leave a mark, though,* she said, admiring the imprint of her hand on the man's cheek with savage satisfaction.
"Is my father conscious, Doctor?" Ian asked Immo. "And, if so, can he speak? It appeared to me that he is hooked up to a ventilator."
"The ventilator is just for show; he is merely on oxygen," Dr. Immo informed him. "I'm afraid he suspected that you might return here, Ian, and he ordered Dr. Stone to make it look as if he is sicker than he actually is in an attempt to play on your sympathies. He may be physically frail owing to his extremely advanced age, but he's not even remotely impaired mentally," he said ruefully. "However, he tires very easily and therefore dozes off frequently, but he can and does speak once roused."
Sara relayed the doctor's response, prefacing it with an irate *I knew it, that faker!*
"He always was a master manipulator," Ian murmured. "As I said, we do not have much time, Doctor. Based on your actions in providing me with the antidote to the poison, I am going to take a chance on trusting you with my future plans. But I warn you, if you betray me, I will allow the Wielder to take her revenge on you for your complicity in allowing me to be used as a guinea pig for those experiments. She does not care that you were only following orders; she only knows that you caused me, her Protector, to suffer, and for that, she badly wants to make you suffer, too. You do not want that to happen, do you, Doctor?"
*He's looking at me like I'm his worst nightmare,* Sara reported to Ian gleefully. *Maybe that's because I've willed the Witchblade into the gnarly glove form. You know, the one with lots of nice, sharp pointy things all over It? Plus, I'm licking my lips, uh, like I can hardly wait to use It on him, not, I repeat, NOT in a sexy way whatsoever,* she added hastily, hopefully before a distracting visual could form in his mind.
*Thanks for making that distinction,* Ian sent dryly. To Immo, he said, "Now, listen to me carefully, Doctor. This is how things are going to play out. After we pay a brief visit to my father, I am going to leave the estate with Detective Pezzini and return to her home with her."
Sara's spirits soared at hearing this, but her elation was short- lived.
"However, before we leave here, she will leave behind a minute amount of her blood," he continued. "You will administer it to my father, but only after we have successfully made our escape. Can you give us some idea of how long the treatment will last, Doctor?"
"Judging from the effect Elizabeth's blood had on him when I first started giving it to him, the restorative effects could last anywhere from several weeks to a month. Perhaps longer. Even a tiny amount of the blood of a current Wielder is extremely powerful," Dr. Immo said, still absently rubbing his reddened cheek.
Sara passed his response along to Ian, adding *I'm not sure I like the sound of this plan of yours, Ian. Especially the me-giving-Irons-my- blood part.*
*Please, bear with me, Sara,* he sent placatingly. *As your godfather suggested might be necessary, I'm playing this by ear. I promise to explain everything shortly.*
"Hmmm," Ian mused aloud. "I fully expect that once he has recovered, he will be unable to resist attempting to coerce me into returning here -- by force if necessary. I will return, but I do not plan on remaining here very long. You see, Dr. Immo, I intend to win my freedom from my father once and for all. My loyalty no longer lies with him. I am the Wielder's Protector, and it is to her and her alone that I owe my allegiance. Father cannot accept this, but, if all goes according to plan, he will no longer have any choice in the matter. Do we have your cooperation?" he asked.
"Yes," Dr. Immo answered without any hesitation whatsoever. "You have my full cooperation."
*He said yes,* Sara said. *But can we really trust him?*
*I believe we can,* he replied. *Now, let's go see my father before security catches on to the fact that they're watching a recording.*
"I am very glad to hear you say that, Doctor," Ian said to Immo. "I will be in touch with you. Goodbye." *Sara, move closer to me so that I can follow you out,* he requested. She did, contriving to brush against him as she moved toward the door. He turned and followed her from the room.
*My father's room should be two doors down on the right,* he told Sara. *Here is my plan: Once I see how bad off he appears to be, I'm going to plead with you to give him some of your blood, but you're going to act like you're reluctant to do so at first.*
*Um, it won't be much of an act,* Sara told him. *Remember what Joe and Marie said about not caving in and giving him what he needs, Ian? It sure sounds to me like you're planning on doing exactly that.*
He stopped short and turned to face her despite the fact that he couldn't see her expression. *Do you trust me, Sara?*
*With my life,* she replied instantly.
*Then trust me on this. After putting up a token resistance, you reluctantly agree to give him some of your blood, but only a single drop. There should be a lancet and some gauze pads in the supply cabinet; prick your finger and absorb the droplet of blood with a pad. I want you to start to give him the pad, but then suddenly change your mind. We'll argue briefly about this, but you must refuse to part with your blood and insist that we leave the estate immediately. I'll finally agree to escort you safely off the premises. However, you'll carelessly leave the lancet behind when we make good our escape. Dr. Immo should be able to get enough blood cells from it to prepare a single treatment. Thus, my father will still be beholden to you for more.*
Sara nodded, setting aside her doubts for the moment. *I think I can handle that.*
Ian took a deep breath. *Let's do this.*
As before, Sara led the way, guiding Ian into the room without seeming to.
Her first thought upon seeing Kenneth Irons was that he looked far worse in person. This impression was reinforced by the numerous IV solutions dripping into veins that were clearly visible through translucent skin the color and texture of aged parchment. The ominous sound of the life support equipment added to the aura of fragility surrounding the billionaire, and she had to forcibly remind herself that, according to Dr. Immo, the ventilator was just for show. Reluctantly, Sara sent Ian an image of the room and its ancient occupant. Close as she was to him, she sensed his involuntary shudder at the convincingly pitiful sight Irons made.
"Father," Ian breathed, moving to his bedside and gently grasping one of his hands.
At the sound of his voice, the old man's eyelids flickered and then opened, revealing eyes that were clouded by cataracts. With an effort, he focused on his son, and recognition filled the rheumy gaze.
"Sara, he needs some of your blood," Ian said. "He will die without it."
"Um, that's not exactly a convincing argument for sparing his life, Ian," Sara said coldly, echoing her words telepathically a heartbeat later. "Exactly the opposite, in fact. Think of it: we'd never have to worry about him trying to take back the Witchblade again. Why shouldn't I let him die?"
"Because even though I know he does not deserve your mercy, I find I cannot condemn him to death," Ian whispered sadly.
"But you'd be free of him," Sara protested. "Isn't that what you want? What we both want?"
"Yes, but not like this," he murmured. "There is no honor in this kind of death."
"Yeah, right, and Kenny's such an honorable guy, he wouldn't hesitate to stab me in the back if it meant he could regain control of the Witchblade," Sara said with real heat. "Plus, he beats you like a dog, Ian. Where's the honor in that?"
"Please, Sara," Ian beseeched her. "Together, we will figure out some other way to defeat him. But, please, do not let him die like this. I am begging you."
Cognizant that their presence here could be discovered at any moment, Sara finally relented. "Since it obviously means so much to you," she muttered, sighing, "I'll do it. But all he gets is a single drop of my blood. That's it." Pocketing the Palm Pilot, she walked over to what looked like a supply cabinet and began rifling through it.
"This oughtta do the trick," she said, extracting a lancet and a cotton gauze pad. She pricked her fingertip and then quickly applied pressure to the miniscule wound with the pad, soaking up the drop of blood that had welled up but preventing any more from escaping. A quick glance at Irons confirmed that he was watching her closely.
"I know I'm gonna regret this," she told him. "But if you know what's good for you, you'll leave me and Ian the hell alone. If you insist on continuing to interfere with our lives, or even think about threatening any of my friends and family, you'll never get another drop from me, so help me God. Do we have a bargain?"
Irons' nearly bald head inclined a fraction in acquiescence, but Sara thought she glimpsed defiance in the pale blue eyes that stared up at her. She started to give him the bloody pad, but then hesitated.
"What the hell am I thinking?" she muttered, as though to herself. Flashing an apologetic look at Ian that he couldn't see, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't go through with it, Nottingham."
"But he will die, Sara!" Ian instantly protested.
"Then so be it," she said implacably. "Besides, if the Witchblade really wanted him to survive, why would It have let him deteriorate like this? Did you ever think of that?"
Ian shook his head. "The choice of whether or not he lives is yours, Sara. As the current Wielder, it is now your blood that has the power to rejuvenate him and extend his life."
"Well, I choose to let the abusive bastard rot in hell," she said coldly, pocketing the blood-stained gauze pad and tossing the lancet in the trash. "Now, let's get the hell out of here before security discovers we're here."
"Very well, but I will not stop appealing for his life until you change your mind or I learn of his death," Ian promised.
"Fine," Sara said. "But I'm not gonna change my mind. Now, let's get going!" Then she noticed that Irons was pulling at the ventilator covering his mouth. *What's he doing now?* she asked Ian, describing the old man's actions.
*I believe he's trying to speak.*
The billionaire finally managed to dislodge the mouthpiece, revealing that the ventilator was a ruse.
"Bi-i-i-i-t-c-h-h-h!" he breathed, glaring venomously at Sara.
"That's right, Kenny," she smirked condescendingly, "you're my bitch now! How's it feel?"
She relayed both Irons' insult and her pithy comeback to Ian.
*Sara,* Ian warned her urgently, *if he's taunting you like that, it can only mean one thing: we're about to have company.*
Sara pulled the forgotten handheld device from her coat pocket, glanced at it, and then did a double take. *Uh-oh, Ian. You're right: we've got incoming!*
*We must leave immediately,* Ian said. *Reinforcements are definitely on the way.*
Just then, a whirring sound came from above their heads, and Sara looked up to see an opening appear in the ceiling, from which a blinking strobe light and tiny speakers descended.
*The fail-safe device has been activated,* Sara informed Ian, grabbing his arm and heading toward the door.
*I know,* he replied, shuddering with pain. *The high-frequency sound waves are leaking through the earplugs. We must get to the elevator before the security team arrives, Sara.*
"This . . . isn't . . . over, Wielder," Irons wheezed from behind them. "Ian . . . will . . . return to me. With . . . your blood . . . and the Witchblade!"
"Yeah, we'll just see about that," Sara threw over her shoulder. "Bye, Kenny!"
She and Ian raced down the hallway to the elevator. Ian supplied the code to the keypad, and Sara hurriedly entered it. It seemed to take an eternity for the light to turn to green from red, and for the keypad to spring upward. Fortunately, the elevator was waiting for them when she pressed the call button, because moments after they boarded the car, another set of elevator doors opened further down the hall from them, and half a dozen armed men piled out of it.
"There they are!" one of them shouted, spotting them. "Shoot them!" He and his companions raised their weapons, but before they could pull the triggers, the elevator doors glided shut and the car began the to descend.
Ian removed his sunglasses and peeled the tape from his eyelids. *That was close.*
*Too close for comfort,* she agreed, sagging against the wall in relief. *They're gonna be right behind us, and they don't seem at all shy about using their guns.*
*I am fairly certain their weapons were loaded with tranquilizer darts rather than bullets. My father wants us both alive,* Ian murmured
*I'll bet he does,* Sara said darkly. *I'm his personal blood bank, and you're his favorite punching bag.*
*Not anymore.* He put his sunglasses back on. *The security teams will undoubtedly be equipped with a portable strobe light,* he said in response to her curious look. *I have no wish to be rendered unconscious. The splitting headache the sound waves managed to give me despite being muted by the earplugs is punishment enough, don't you think?*
*My poor baby,* Sara murmured. Moving closer to him, she reached up and rubbed his aching temples soothingly.
*Thank you, my love,* he said, grasping one of her hands and pressing a grateful kiss to her palm. *For everything.*
The elevator slowed perceptibly, and they broke apart, automatically moving to either side of the doorway in case of an ambush. But the tunnel was empty when the doors opened. Ian pried off the control panel and disconnected some wires, disabling the car.
*That should slow them down,* he said. *But I'm afraid there might be another team waiting for us at the safe house. They can cover the distance much faster aboveground than we can down here. We may have a fight on our hands once we get there. Are you up for it?*
*Bring it on,* Sara said, and the Witchblade amplified the anticipation she felt at the prospect of doing battle.
More to come. Once again, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for all of the feedback I've received. I do so love hearing from my peeps! In fact, as you all know by now, I'm something of a feedback glutton: the more, the merrier I am! Please, keep it coming!
Chapter 61.
~~~~~~~~
I worry
I weigh three times my body
I worry
I throw my fear around
But this morning
There's a calm I can't explain
The rock candy's melted, only diamonds now remain
~ From "Clarity," by John Mayer
~~~~~~~~~
"Oh, Ian!" Sara murmured, dismayed on his behalf but unable to muster up one iota of concern for Kenneth Irons. Although Ian was trying his best to hide it, it was obvious that he was extremely upset by the discovery of his father's condition. His large, expressive eyes were dark with anxiety and his expression was frighteningly bleak. Reaching over, she rubbed the tense muscles of his left arm comfortingly.
The emotional hold Irons had over Ian clearly ran deep, despite the years of psychological and physical abuse the younger man had suffered at his hands. Perceiving the depth of her Protector's distress abruptly made Sara realize just how difficult it was going to be for him to divorce himself from the man he thought of as his father. He'd been trained from a very early age to put Irons' well-being before his own. Overcoming this nearly lifelong conditioning was not going to be easy. And when the Witchblade's inexorable directive -- protect the Wielder at all costs -- was added to this already complicated mix, it came as no surprise that Ian Nottingham was one terribly conflicted guy.
'Is it too much to hope that Kenny really is dying?' Sara mused to herself, feeling an unwelcome stab of guilt for thinking how much simpler their lives would be if Irons were out of the picture. She squinted at the screen, but the image was too small for her to make out much more than a figure in a hospital bed.
"Can you enlarge the picture?" she asked Ian quietly, and he entered a keystroke, increasing the magnification significantly.
Sara's eyes widened, and she barely refrained from asking him if he was positive that the frail-looking man lying so still in that bed was actually his father. As it was, she was unable to stifle a gasp at the shocking change in Kenneth Irons' appearance.
Just a few days ago, Gabriel Bowman had pegged the billionaire's age at closer to 100 than the mid-30s he appeared to be. Now he looked every bit of his true years. His shock of white-blond hair had thinned to mere wisps, revealing a liver-spotted scalp that was so tightly stretched over his skull, the bones shown through his pallid skin. Numerous IV tubes were inserted into the thin arms and large-knuckled, heavily veined hands that lay motionless on top of the blanket covering his shrunken form, and he appeared to be breathing with the aid of a ventilator. Kenneth Irons was virtually unrecognizable as the slightly debauched but undeniably handsome and athletically fit man he'd been the last time Sara had seen him. But just visible on the back of his claw-like right hand was a raised scar of twin, interlocking circles that proved his identity beyond the shadow of a doubt.
"He looks pretty bad," Sara reluctantly acknowledged. "But I still think we should speak to Dr. Immo and see what he has to say before we commit to anything."
"I have never seen him look this ill before," Ian said, voice harsh with barely contained emotion. "He is dying, Sara."
"I know it looks like that, Ian, but remember what Marie and Joe said," she beseeched him. "He could be trying to trick us into believing he's worse off than he really is. Let's wait and see what Immo says."
He made an impatient gesture. "We do not even know if Dr. Immo has regained consciousness. He could be heavily sedated or possibly even comatose. What do we do then?"
Sara chewed on this for a few moments. "Bring up Immo's room again, and magnify the picture," she requested, sensing his growing agitation and praying that she'd spot something that would allay his fears for the time being.
He did as she asked, and Sara examined the image closely. "There," she finally said, pointing at the screen.
"What? I do not see anything," Ian snapped. It was all he could do not to rush to his father's bedside, and he felt something perilously close to resentment toward Sara for continuing to insist that they proceed with caution.
"If I'm not mistaken, that's a pile of magazines and a pair of reading glasses on his tray table," Sara patiently explained. "Not many comatose patients have those things lying around."
"Yes, I see them now," Ian murmured, chagrinned that he'd missed something so blatantly obvious. "He must be asleep."
"Yeah. What do you say we go pay him a little visit?" She stood up.
"Agreed. But first we must take a few precautions." He opened a drawer in the workstation, and took out what looked like a Palm Pilot. Inserting it into a data port in the desktop, he proceeded to download some information into it. When the transfer was done, he handed the device to Sara.
"I have transferred the grids showing the locations of the security teams to that handheld," Ian explained. "I will need you to keep an eye on them for me, especially once we enter the mansion. The tunnels have not been equipped with the disabling strobe lights and high-frequency sound waves, but, unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the infirmary," he told her.
"Okay, but what do we do if we're interrupted by another doctor or a nurse?" she asked, watching as he blanked the workstation's video screens.
"Hopefully, the infirmary's staff will not have been alerted to my unauthorized absence these past few days. They are accustomed to occasionally seeing me in the infirmary and with Dr. Immo in his lab, so they will not think it strange that I am visiting him or my father. Nor should your presence with me cause any undue alarm. In fact, since they have undoubtedly been made aware that your blood holds the key to Mr. Irons' continued survival, they may even think our visit is planned," he explained, logging off the security system.
"Let's hope so," Sara murmured.
Ian rose and headed toward a vault-like steel door at the other end of the room. He entered a code into yet another keypad, but instead of a lock opening, the keypad sprang upward, revealing a thumbprint ID pad and a combination lock. Ian removed his heavy silver ring and then his glove, pressed his right thumb to the pad, and then swiftly dialed the lock's combination. Faintly, tumblers could be heard turning, and then the lights on the raised keypad turned from red to green. Of its own accord, the heavy door swung outward, revealing a gleaming metal elevator that was large enough to hold a dozen men.
"After you, my Lady," Ian said, and Sara boarded the elevator with some trepidation. Although she wasn't the least bit claustrophobic, she was not crazy about the idea of descending hundreds of feet beneath the surface and ending up in a tunnel that probably offered very little in the way of cover in the event of a sneak attack.
"How the heck did Irons manage to build all of this without the neighbors finding out?" she asked curiously as he flicked off the basement lights, reset the keypad, and joined her in the elevator.
Ian pressed a button on the control panel. "Gradually," he responded as the outer door soundlessly swung shut, followed by the elevator's inner doors, "very, very gradually. The excavation and subsequent construction took nearly a decade to complete. The estate is 2.3 miles from here as the crow flies, but there are a maze of tunnels that extend in several directions for miles. Most of them dead end, but a few lead to escape hatches like this one." Almost imperceptibly, the car began its descent.
"Amazing," Sara said, impressed. "I'll bet you could wander around down there for days and not find your way to the estate."
"Yes, you could, except there are motion-detection sensors that would instantly alert security to any intrusion. There are also closed-circuit cameras; however, they are not monitored unless the sensors are triggered. Nonetheless, I have disabled them in addition to the sensors."
Three minutes later, the elevator glided to a stop, and the doors opened to reveal a brightly lit, concrete lined tunnel that was surprisingly roomy. Sara estimated that it was at least ten feet wide and nearly as high -- more than wide enough for the golf cart-like vehicles parked nearby to ride two abreast. There were five of them, and each was capable of carrying four adults, which meant there were as many as 20 men out searching for them in those Hummers.
Ian climbed behind the wheel of the nearest transport, and Sara got in beside him. "These run on electricity," he informed her, flipping a switch on the dashboard. The engine purred to life.
"Yeah, I guess solar power is not an option down here, and gasoline or diesel fumes wouldn't be such a good idea," Sara commented. She'd been right about the lack of cover. The tunnel stretched emptily ahead of them for about 50 yards before branching off in four directions.
Ian did a u-turn, and they began barreling along at a good clip. Sara took notice of the motion detectors studding the walls, as well as the cameras mounted on the ceiling. When they came to the first junction, Ian chose the second tunnel from the left without hesitation. They soon came to another junction with four more tunnels to choose from, and this time he chose the second from the right. Sara made a mental note of this, but quickly lost track of the twists and turns they took, especially since her attention was divided between watching where they were going and keeping an eye on the locations of the security teams in the field. Ten minutes later, Ian slowed the transport to a stop in front of a set of elevators doors. Sara noticed several other transports parked nearby.
"May I have that back for a moment?" he asked, indicating the handheld.
Sara handed it to him, and watched as he pressed a couple of buttons on it, bringing up pictures of the mansion's interior.
"Excellent," he murmured after examining the images for several moments. "The corridor this elevator opens onto on the infirmary level is deserted. I was afraid that security might still be on high alert after the Russians' attack, meaning a guard would be posted outside my father's room. However, that does not appear to be the case."
'The better to lure us into a trap,' Sara thought uneasily.
But her dubious expression must have given her away because Ian nodded and said "Unless, of course, it is a trap."
Sara held up her right wrist. "I'm ready if it is," she said grimly, noticing that the Witchblade's carnelian stone was quiescent. "But I'm not getting any warning signals, so I guess we're good to go."
Ian said nothing in response to this; he simply switched to the screen showing the grids, gave the device back to Sara, and got out of the transport. Walking over to the other vehicles, he took out a knife and swiftly went about puncturing tires.
"Just in case," he murmured, straightening. He moved over to the ubiquitous keypad set in the wall next to the elevator and rapidly entered a code into it. Once again, the pad rose upward, revealing a call button.
Before pressing it, Ian took his sunglasses and a pair of earplugs from his coat pocket. He put on the glasses and inserted the plugs, and then pressed the button.
*Stand to the side, Sara,* he cautioned her, following his own advice. She moved to the opposite side of the doors, and then blinked as she saw that he held tasers in both gloved hands; she'd never even seen him pull them out. Willing the Witchblade into gauntlet form, she waited tensely.
But when the elevator arrived, it was empty. Ian put away the tasers and extracted a roll of tape from his pocket. He turned to Sara and handed it to her. *Would you do the honors, my Lady?*
*Sure.* She removed his sunglasses, and their gazes met for the last time in who knew how long. Then Ian lowered his lids, and Sara tore off two short lengths of tape, shoving the roll in her jeans pocket before gently taping his eyelids shut. She put his sunglasses back in place, noting with satisfaction that the tape was now invisible. *All done.*
*Thanks. Do you remember that trick I did with the cards the other night?* he asked her.
*You mean when you flashed an image of your hand to me?* Sara queried. *I saw it clear as day, but just for an instant. Um, now is probably not the best time to be asking you this, but how the heck did you do that?*
*I simply visualized the cards and sent you a snapshot of the image,* he explained. *To be honest with you, I wasn't sure it would work, but, much to my delight, it did. Sara, I'm going to need you to do the same thing for me so that I can navigate the hallways of the infirmary without mishap. Do you think you can handle that?*
*Let's find out,* Sara said. She visualized the interior of the elevator, and then concentrated on sending the image to Ian.
*Very good, Sara,* he praised moments later, striding into the elevator without hesitation. *In time, I believe this will become easier to do, until it's practically second nature for us both.*
Sara joined him in the elevator. *Cool! It'll sure come in handy,* she mused, mightily intrigued by the possibilities this ability presented. *And not just when playing cards!*
A smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. *You're incorrigible!* He gestured in the direction of the control panel. *Let's get this show on the road: Please push the button marked "Level C."*
She did, and the elevator smoothly began to rise.
*We must take a left turn when we come out of the elevator. Dr. Immo's room should be the third door on the left. We will pass a nurse's station on the right. Just follow my lead and ignore anyone who might be stationed there,* Ian instructed her. *If Immo is still asleep, wake him. If he reaches for the nurse's call button, stop him immediately. Remember, I will barely be able to hear his voice, so you must relay whatever he says to me. Let me do the talking. I will try to moderate my tone, but please let me know if I am speaking louder than normal. I don't want to tip him or my father off that I've taken precautions against the fail-safe device.
*Both the hallways and the rooms are equipped with strobe lights and sound emitters,* he warned her, *and they can be activated remotely by security. I've disabled the listening devices and programmed the estate's security monitors to play a feedback loop showing empty hallways and video of my father and Dr. Immo as we saw them earlier, but that will only buy us perhaps 20 or 30 minutes at most. We can expect a security team to arrive shortly thereafter. The only warning we're likely to get is the activation of the fail-safe device. Remember to keep an eye on the handheld, because if it shows that the security teams in the field are on the move, that'll be a sure sign that they're on to our presence here.*
*What'll we do then?* Sara asked.
*It all depends on what Dr. Immo tells us,* Ian said. *I've plotted the course back through the tunnels on the handheld, Sara. I also downloaded the security codes. If necessary, you'll be able to find your way back to the safe house alone.*
*So, what you're saying is you might be staying here,* Sara said, unable to keep disappointment from coloring her "voice." *With Irons.*
*You knew that was a possibility coming in, Sara,* he said brusquely.
*Yeah, I did, but--*
*We're here,* he interrupted her protest as the elevator slowed perceptibly. *Remember: follow my lead.*
The gleaming metal doors opened and they exited, turning left. Sara swiftly sent Ian an image of the empty hallway, and he strode confidently down the center with her right on his heels. As he'd indicated they would, they passed a nurse's station. The male nurse sitting behind the desk glanced up as they went by, but did not appear alarmed by the sight of them.
*Nurse guy didn't even blink when he saw us,* Sara informed Ian.
*Good.*
*Okay, we've reached the third door on the left,* she told him moments later.
Ian halted, allowing her to take the lead. *You go in first, Sara,* he bade her, placing a gloved hand on her ass. *Uh, sorry,* he muttered, moving it her hip, where the contact would not be obvious to the man lying in the bed. *Remember: don't let him push the call button.*
*Got it.* She pushed open the door and stepped inside, followed closely by Ian.
The kindly-looking gray-haired man in the hospital bed glanced up over the rims of his reading glasses as the door to his room opened, and his blue eyes widened in shocked recognition.
"Ian! My dear boy, what on earth are you doing here?" he exclaimed. The remains of his breakfast sat on the tray table in front of him, and he held a magazine in his hands, one of which was heavily bandaged. Aside from that, and a few minor burns and abrasions on his face, he appeared to have gotten off fairly lightly for someone who'd almost been blown to smithereens.
*He wants to know what we're doing here,* Sara relayed to Ian, piggybacking an image of the room and the doctor onto the telepathic communiqué.
"Hello, Dr. Immo. I am glad to see you survived the Russians' attack," Ian said in a close approximation of his normal speaking voice. "I believe I have you to thank for my own survival."
The older man glanced furtively up at the ceiling. "What are you talking about?" he asked with apparently genuine puzzlement.
*I think he knows about the cameras and listening devices, 'cause he's making like he doesn't know what you're talking about,* Sara informed Ian.
"Never fear, Doctor: I have temporarily disabled the video and audio feed. But we do not have a lot of time. Tell me truthfully: How is my father?" Ian asked, cutting to the chase.
"Ancient," Immo said tersely. "The last treatment failed to rejuvenate him, and the stress of these past few days has hastened his deterioration."
Sara relayed this news to Ian verbatim.
"How long does he have, Dr. Immo? And I will know if you are lying," he warned him.
"If you're asking if he's in immediate danger of dying, I'd have to say no. His vitals are stable. All that's really wrong with him is extreme old age. He's actually in remarkably good condition for a man of his advanced years," the doctor said. "However, the time remaining to him can be measured in months, perhaps weeks. He must have the current Wielder's blood in order to survive for much longer than that."
Immo's gaze shifted to Sara as she passed on his response to Ian. "Detective Pezzini, we've never been formally introduced. I'm Stephen Immo, Kenneth Irons' personal physician," he said, extending his right hand toward her.
*He actually had the nerve to introduce himself to me,* Sara told Ian, righteous indignation coloring her tone. *Excuse me while I bitch- slap him.* And stepping closer to the doctor's bedside, she did just that, dealing him a vicious, open-handed blow to the face.
"That was for the torture you put Ian through," she growled, ripping the call button wire from the wall for good measure. "You're lucky I don't beat the crap outta you like I really, really want to."
Glasses askew and eyes watering, Immo gingerly rubbed his cheek. "I guess I deserved that," he said wearily.
"Oh, no, you deserve much, much worse," Sara snapped, green eyes blazing.
*Sara,* Ian sent worriedly, *I hope you're not assaulting Dr. Immo. A beating could kill him in his condition, and, much as I hate to admit it, we still need his help.*
*No, I only hit the creep once,* Sara reassured him. *That's definitely gonna leave a mark, though,* she said, admiring the imprint of her hand on the man's cheek with savage satisfaction.
"Is my father conscious, Doctor?" Ian asked Immo. "And, if so, can he speak? It appeared to me that he is hooked up to a ventilator."
"The ventilator is just for show; he is merely on oxygen," Dr. Immo informed him. "I'm afraid he suspected that you might return here, Ian, and he ordered Dr. Stone to make it look as if he is sicker than he actually is in an attempt to play on your sympathies. He may be physically frail owing to his extremely advanced age, but he's not even remotely impaired mentally," he said ruefully. "However, he tires very easily and therefore dozes off frequently, but he can and does speak once roused."
Sara relayed the doctor's response, prefacing it with an irate *I knew it, that faker!*
"He always was a master manipulator," Ian murmured. "As I said, we do not have much time, Doctor. Based on your actions in providing me with the antidote to the poison, I am going to take a chance on trusting you with my future plans. But I warn you, if you betray me, I will allow the Wielder to take her revenge on you for your complicity in allowing me to be used as a guinea pig for those experiments. She does not care that you were only following orders; she only knows that you caused me, her Protector, to suffer, and for that, she badly wants to make you suffer, too. You do not want that to happen, do you, Doctor?"
*He's looking at me like I'm his worst nightmare,* Sara reported to Ian gleefully. *Maybe that's because I've willed the Witchblade into the gnarly glove form. You know, the one with lots of nice, sharp pointy things all over It? Plus, I'm licking my lips, uh, like I can hardly wait to use It on him, not, I repeat, NOT in a sexy way whatsoever,* she added hastily, hopefully before a distracting visual could form in his mind.
*Thanks for making that distinction,* Ian sent dryly. To Immo, he said, "Now, listen to me carefully, Doctor. This is how things are going to play out. After we pay a brief visit to my father, I am going to leave the estate with Detective Pezzini and return to her home with her."
Sara's spirits soared at hearing this, but her elation was short- lived.
"However, before we leave here, she will leave behind a minute amount of her blood," he continued. "You will administer it to my father, but only after we have successfully made our escape. Can you give us some idea of how long the treatment will last, Doctor?"
"Judging from the effect Elizabeth's blood had on him when I first started giving it to him, the restorative effects could last anywhere from several weeks to a month. Perhaps longer. Even a tiny amount of the blood of a current Wielder is extremely powerful," Dr. Immo said, still absently rubbing his reddened cheek.
Sara passed his response along to Ian, adding *I'm not sure I like the sound of this plan of yours, Ian. Especially the me-giving-Irons-my- blood part.*
*Please, bear with me, Sara,* he sent placatingly. *As your godfather suggested might be necessary, I'm playing this by ear. I promise to explain everything shortly.*
"Hmmm," Ian mused aloud. "I fully expect that once he has recovered, he will be unable to resist attempting to coerce me into returning here -- by force if necessary. I will return, but I do not plan on remaining here very long. You see, Dr. Immo, I intend to win my freedom from my father once and for all. My loyalty no longer lies with him. I am the Wielder's Protector, and it is to her and her alone that I owe my allegiance. Father cannot accept this, but, if all goes according to plan, he will no longer have any choice in the matter. Do we have your cooperation?" he asked.
"Yes," Dr. Immo answered without any hesitation whatsoever. "You have my full cooperation."
*He said yes,* Sara said. *But can we really trust him?*
*I believe we can,* he replied. *Now, let's go see my father before security catches on to the fact that they're watching a recording.*
"I am very glad to hear you say that, Doctor," Ian said to Immo. "I will be in touch with you. Goodbye." *Sara, move closer to me so that I can follow you out,* he requested. She did, contriving to brush against him as she moved toward the door. He turned and followed her from the room.
*My father's room should be two doors down on the right,* he told Sara. *Here is my plan: Once I see how bad off he appears to be, I'm going to plead with you to give him some of your blood, but you're going to act like you're reluctant to do so at first.*
*Um, it won't be much of an act,* Sara told him. *Remember what Joe and Marie said about not caving in and giving him what he needs, Ian? It sure sounds to me like you're planning on doing exactly that.*
He stopped short and turned to face her despite the fact that he couldn't see her expression. *Do you trust me, Sara?*
*With my life,* she replied instantly.
*Then trust me on this. After putting up a token resistance, you reluctantly agree to give him some of your blood, but only a single drop. There should be a lancet and some gauze pads in the supply cabinet; prick your finger and absorb the droplet of blood with a pad. I want you to start to give him the pad, but then suddenly change your mind. We'll argue briefly about this, but you must refuse to part with your blood and insist that we leave the estate immediately. I'll finally agree to escort you safely off the premises. However, you'll carelessly leave the lancet behind when we make good our escape. Dr. Immo should be able to get enough blood cells from it to prepare a single treatment. Thus, my father will still be beholden to you for more.*
Sara nodded, setting aside her doubts for the moment. *I think I can handle that.*
Ian took a deep breath. *Let's do this.*
As before, Sara led the way, guiding Ian into the room without seeming to.
Her first thought upon seeing Kenneth Irons was that he looked far worse in person. This impression was reinforced by the numerous IV solutions dripping into veins that were clearly visible through translucent skin the color and texture of aged parchment. The ominous sound of the life support equipment added to the aura of fragility surrounding the billionaire, and she had to forcibly remind herself that, according to Dr. Immo, the ventilator was just for show. Reluctantly, Sara sent Ian an image of the room and its ancient occupant. Close as she was to him, she sensed his involuntary shudder at the convincingly pitiful sight Irons made.
"Father," Ian breathed, moving to his bedside and gently grasping one of his hands.
At the sound of his voice, the old man's eyelids flickered and then opened, revealing eyes that were clouded by cataracts. With an effort, he focused on his son, and recognition filled the rheumy gaze.
"Sara, he needs some of your blood," Ian said. "He will die without it."
"Um, that's not exactly a convincing argument for sparing his life, Ian," Sara said coldly, echoing her words telepathically a heartbeat later. "Exactly the opposite, in fact. Think of it: we'd never have to worry about him trying to take back the Witchblade again. Why shouldn't I let him die?"
"Because even though I know he does not deserve your mercy, I find I cannot condemn him to death," Ian whispered sadly.
"But you'd be free of him," Sara protested. "Isn't that what you want? What we both want?"
"Yes, but not like this," he murmured. "There is no honor in this kind of death."
"Yeah, right, and Kenny's such an honorable guy, he wouldn't hesitate to stab me in the back if it meant he could regain control of the Witchblade," Sara said with real heat. "Plus, he beats you like a dog, Ian. Where's the honor in that?"
"Please, Sara," Ian beseeched her. "Together, we will figure out some other way to defeat him. But, please, do not let him die like this. I am begging you."
Cognizant that their presence here could be discovered at any moment, Sara finally relented. "Since it obviously means so much to you," she muttered, sighing, "I'll do it. But all he gets is a single drop of my blood. That's it." Pocketing the Palm Pilot, she walked over to what looked like a supply cabinet and began rifling through it.
"This oughtta do the trick," she said, extracting a lancet and a cotton gauze pad. She pricked her fingertip and then quickly applied pressure to the miniscule wound with the pad, soaking up the drop of blood that had welled up but preventing any more from escaping. A quick glance at Irons confirmed that he was watching her closely.
"I know I'm gonna regret this," she told him. "But if you know what's good for you, you'll leave me and Ian the hell alone. If you insist on continuing to interfere with our lives, or even think about threatening any of my friends and family, you'll never get another drop from me, so help me God. Do we have a bargain?"
Irons' nearly bald head inclined a fraction in acquiescence, but Sara thought she glimpsed defiance in the pale blue eyes that stared up at her. She started to give him the bloody pad, but then hesitated.
"What the hell am I thinking?" she muttered, as though to herself. Flashing an apologetic look at Ian that he couldn't see, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't go through with it, Nottingham."
"But he will die, Sara!" Ian instantly protested.
"Then so be it," she said implacably. "Besides, if the Witchblade really wanted him to survive, why would It have let him deteriorate like this? Did you ever think of that?"
Ian shook his head. "The choice of whether or not he lives is yours, Sara. As the current Wielder, it is now your blood that has the power to rejuvenate him and extend his life."
"Well, I choose to let the abusive bastard rot in hell," she said coldly, pocketing the blood-stained gauze pad and tossing the lancet in the trash. "Now, let's get the hell out of here before security discovers we're here."
"Very well, but I will not stop appealing for his life until you change your mind or I learn of his death," Ian promised.
"Fine," Sara said. "But I'm not gonna change my mind. Now, let's get going!" Then she noticed that Irons was pulling at the ventilator covering his mouth. *What's he doing now?* she asked Ian, describing the old man's actions.
*I believe he's trying to speak.*
The billionaire finally managed to dislodge the mouthpiece, revealing that the ventilator was a ruse.
"Bi-i-i-i-t-c-h-h-h!" he breathed, glaring venomously at Sara.
"That's right, Kenny," she smirked condescendingly, "you're my bitch now! How's it feel?"
She relayed both Irons' insult and her pithy comeback to Ian.
*Sara,* Ian warned her urgently, *if he's taunting you like that, it can only mean one thing: we're about to have company.*
Sara pulled the forgotten handheld device from her coat pocket, glanced at it, and then did a double take. *Uh-oh, Ian. You're right: we've got incoming!*
*We must leave immediately,* Ian said. *Reinforcements are definitely on the way.*
Just then, a whirring sound came from above their heads, and Sara looked up to see an opening appear in the ceiling, from which a blinking strobe light and tiny speakers descended.
*The fail-safe device has been activated,* Sara informed Ian, grabbing his arm and heading toward the door.
*I know,* he replied, shuddering with pain. *The high-frequency sound waves are leaking through the earplugs. We must get to the elevator before the security team arrives, Sara.*
"This . . . isn't . . . over, Wielder," Irons wheezed from behind them. "Ian . . . will . . . return to me. With . . . your blood . . . and the Witchblade!"
"Yeah, we'll just see about that," Sara threw over her shoulder. "Bye, Kenny!"
She and Ian raced down the hallway to the elevator. Ian supplied the code to the keypad, and Sara hurriedly entered it. It seemed to take an eternity for the light to turn to green from red, and for the keypad to spring upward. Fortunately, the elevator was waiting for them when she pressed the call button, because moments after they boarded the car, another set of elevator doors opened further down the hall from them, and half a dozen armed men piled out of it.
"There they are!" one of them shouted, spotting them. "Shoot them!" He and his companions raised their weapons, but before they could pull the triggers, the elevator doors glided shut and the car began the to descend.
Ian removed his sunglasses and peeled the tape from his eyelids. *That was close.*
*Too close for comfort,* she agreed, sagging against the wall in relief. *They're gonna be right behind us, and they don't seem at all shy about using their guns.*
*I am fairly certain their weapons were loaded with tranquilizer darts rather than bullets. My father wants us both alive,* Ian murmured
*I'll bet he does,* Sara said darkly. *I'm his personal blood bank, and you're his favorite punching bag.*
*Not anymore.* He put his sunglasses back on. *The security teams will undoubtedly be equipped with a portable strobe light,* he said in response to her curious look. *I have no wish to be rendered unconscious. The splitting headache the sound waves managed to give me despite being muted by the earplugs is punishment enough, don't you think?*
*My poor baby,* Sara murmured. Moving closer to him, she reached up and rubbed his aching temples soothingly.
*Thank you, my love,* he said, grasping one of her hands and pressing a grateful kiss to her palm. *For everything.*
The elevator slowed perceptibly, and they broke apart, automatically moving to either side of the doorway in case of an ambush. But the tunnel was empty when the doors opened. Ian pried off the control panel and disconnected some wires, disabling the car.
*That should slow them down,* he said. *But I'm afraid there might be another team waiting for us at the safe house. They can cover the distance much faster aboveground than we can down here. We may have a fight on our hands once we get there. Are you up for it?*
*Bring it on,* Sara said, and the Witchblade amplified the anticipation she felt at the prospect of doing battle.
More to come. Once again, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for all of the feedback I've received. I do so love hearing from my peeps! In fact, as you all know by now, I'm something of a feedback glutton: the more, the merrier I am! Please, keep it coming!