Chapter 18: Abnormal Tactics

Penelope Miller sat in the middle of Corvin's office, a determined expression on her face. Race knew that, like him, Phil had expected to have to persuade some fearful little old lady to help them out. Instead, she was on a crusade all her own.

"All right, what do you want to know about that foul organization?" she asked calmly. "I can tell you to start off with that I don't know where any of the facilities are."

"Anything you can tell us," Phil said. "Why don't you start with your own story?"

Penelope leaned back in her chair, a pensive look on her face. "I've never talked about this," she said. "I don't suppose you have any tissue handy?"

Diana walked over and fetched a box from a side table. "Can I get you something to drink, ma'am?"

"I'm fine, dear," she said, taking the box and smiling at Diana. Looking down at her hands, she sighed. "Twenty-five years ago, my husband Peter and I were in a terrible bind. I was a computer programmer, but we had two young daughters and I had elected to stay at home. Peter was working at a psychiatric hospital that was attached to a university, doing research on drugs that would help people with things like schizophrenia and bipolar disorder." Her mouth twisted. "As you probably know, there were cuts in the budgets of all mental health facilities at about that time. Peter was very junior, no seniority at all, and he was let go. He got a night job with a dry cleaner, and I had to work during the days as a data entry operator. Pamela was eight and Patricia was five."

"Where's Pamela now?" Race asked. Patricia hadn't mentioned a sister.

"I'll get to that in good time," Penelope said, giving him an unreadable look. "Why don't you sit down, young man?"

Race pulled up a chair, turned it backwards, sat across it and tried to relax, though it was difficult. He knew that there were others searching the region Patricia had outlined for them, others who were better suited than he, but it still felt wrong to be sitting here, listening to a story, when he could be out looking.

When he was settled, Penelope took up the tale again. "We were low on money, and the bank was foreclosing on our house, and we didn't have anywhere to go. Neither of us had any family." She shrugged. "One night, people came into our house and knocked us all out with some sedative or another, and we woke up in an intake suite. A man called Aaron Smith came to see us and explained that we were both extraordinary people being wasted in trivial jobs." She snorted. "We agreed, who wouldn't? But that didn't explain what had happened." She shook her head. "They took our girls away for medical examinations and gave us each job descriptions to look over."

"What were they?" Corvin asked.

Shrugging, Penelope said, "Pretty much what you'd expect, I'd imagine. I was to be a programmer, junior as hell, but still actually writing programs and putting them into effect. Peter was to be a biopsychological researcher. He had his M.D., and master's degrees in psychology and chemistry. It certainly seemed a step up from mixing the chemicals used to dry clean clothes.

"Peter was dubious, however, and so was I. We weren't sure about a business that recruited through abduction. However, they mentioned that Pamela might have to be brought in to persuade us and we got the picture fairly quickly.

"Over the next couple of months, we started work at the facility they sent us to once we were past intake. Pamela and Patricia started school, made friends, and we settled into a routine. We worked days, and got to spend time with the girls, and all our needs were more than taken care of."

"I sense a 'but,'" Diana said.

"Oh, yes. Aside from all the little things, like not being about to go anywhere outside the corporation's direct influence, there was a great big whopping 'but.'" Penelope sighed. "Peter was given a new research project, one he couldn't square with his conscience." She got an intent expression on her face. "You've got to understand, the corporation exists for profit, but there's also a sort of culture to it. Everything you do is for the good of the corporation, and the corporation takes care of you, and you don't ask questions. You certainly don't say that something they've asked you to do is wrong, and that you won't do it."

"Which is what Peter did," Phil said.

She nodded, and plucked a tissue from the box. "I don't know what the project was. Peter never told me, and I'm just as glad he didn't. I wouldn't want to hear about it on the news and know . . ." She squared her shoulders. "The first time Peter refused, they came and got Pamela and twisted her arm a little." Tears had started flowing, but they were quiet tears, and she ignored them. "It persuaded him at first, but whatever the project was, Peter just couldn't do it. He'd go along for a while, then he'd come to an obstacle. They'd hurt Pamela and he'd go back to work. It was terrible." She took in a deep breath and sighed. "Pamela didn't really understand, though she had some inkling that her father wasn't doing what he was told. We told Patricia that she was sick, and she didn't ask any questions." Wiping her eyes, she kept going. "Finally, they actually broke her arm, and Peter realized that he couldn't keep refusing. He spent the next several weeks in a dreadful state of depression, but what made it worse was that Pam started getting sicker and sicker. Finally, the doctors realized that there was a blood clot loose in her system, but before they could do anything about it, she died."

"My God," Corvin breathed.

"They were all very apologetic, dreadfully sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen, after all. And Peter never even contemplated refusing to do anything ever again." She shook her head. "I know that the blood clot may not have been their fault, that sometimes these things happen. But I prefer to blame them. Certainly the odds are in favor of it being their responsibility. We never told Patricia precisely what happened. It was safer for her that she not know. But, much as I've always wanted grandchildren, I have discouraged her from marrying too young, and from starting a family too soon. She's thirty now, and unmarried."

"How long did it take to escalate to the broken arm?" Race asked.

"From the first time they hurt her till the day they broke her arm, seventy-eight days."

So firm a figure, Race thought. And she didn't even have to think about it. "Did you ever hear of a case where it took less time to get to that level of 'persuasion'?" he asked.

"It wasn't something that was discussed, Mr. Bannon," she said. "But I never saw a child's injuries escalate from the early levels to something as serious as a broken arm any faster than that."

Race shook his head. "Jonny's been there less than a week, and he already has broken ribs."

"What? What's his father doing?" She paused, eyes wide with shock, then shook her head, an appalled expression on her face. "Listen to me, now I'm doing it. It invades every thought after a while. But what's going on? That's insane."

"As far as we can tell, and we have video footage, Dr. Quest is cooperating as well as he can," Phil said.

"Then why – what can they be thinking of?"

"Well, according to Dr. Pascale, the man in charge is doing everything wrong, so that matches your reaction," Race said. "But –"

"Lucy Pascale?" Penelope asked. Race nodded. "You've spoken with her?"

"No, ma'am." Race grimaced. "She's dead. We found the video footage on a disc on her body."

"Oh, I see." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "How did she die?"

"We believe she was murdered. By the man in charge of the operation, one Theodore Crandall."

"Patricia never sounded thrilled about working with him, though she was never specific about why."

"Maybe it's because he's a sadistic jackass," Race suggested.

Penelope's brows knit. "Then he's not the sort of man they usually put in charge of this kind of operation."'

"Really?" Race asked dubiously. "How do you get another sort of man to go along with it?"

She shook her head. "You don't understand the culture.. The handlers genuinely believe that what they're doing is right." She sighed. "For a long time I blamed Aaron personally for Pam's death, and I couldn't figure out how a man with young children of his own could do such a thing." Her eyes seemed to be gazing on something very distant. "Then, one day a few years later, I ran into him with his eldest son. The boy was eleven, and he had a large bruise on his forearm, and I asked him how he'd gotten it, you know the way you do." They all nodded. "Joey just shrugged and turned away. I stood up and looked at Aaron, who wouldn't meet my eye. To this day I don't know what he did or didn't do to cause that punishment, but that was when I realized that everyone, even those born into the company as Aaron was, were in the same trap. The only difference was that Aaron didn't know it was a trap, and I did."

"Wow," Diana said into the silence that followed this.

"Inside the corporation, the person who is blamed when that sort of punishment is delivered is the parent who refused to cooperate. Aaron didn't meet my gaze that day because he felt guilty that he had done something that caused his supervisor to require punishment."

She snorted wryly. "One of the people I worked with once said that the corporation's system was very humane." Race raised his eyebrows, appalled not merely by the statement itself, but by the singular lack of tact. "Oh, she didn't know about Pamela," Penelope said. "She had quite a lot to say before some of the other programmers managed to hush her."

"How did she justify such an incredible claim?" Diana asked.

"Ah, yes, well, according to her, there are many adults who, if threatened themselves, would not give in, and might allow themselves to be beaten to death. Threaten their child, however, and most parents will cave almost immediately. When she realized the faux pas she'd made, she apologized. Everyone was very sorry for me, for having such a foolishly stubborn husband."

Race leaned forward. "I am sorry to be asking questions that must bring up terribly painful memories for you, but do you mind answering a few more?"

"Young man, don't worry about me. I'm old and tough, and I've lived with this a long time. Go on and ask your questions."

Race grimaced. "Would you find it normal for a child to be struck across the face as the first step in punishing the father?"

She tilted her head. "Did it leave a mark?"

Race gulped, finding himself suddenly unable to speak. Fortunately Phil didn't have that problem. "It split his lip and blacked his eye."

Her eyes widened. "No, never!" She shook her head. "I can see a slap, perhaps, but nothing that caused a long term injury. I'd think that a guard who did something that severe that early would be reprimanded, possibly even suspended."

"It wasn't the guard," Race ground out. "It was Crandall himself."

"He really has lost it, then," Penelope said in a startled voice. "The handler never touches the children, that's a solemn rule, as far as I know. Aaron never laid a hand on either Pamela or Patricia, not even a friendly hand."

"Would you expect one of these 'handlers' to discipline a child that was misbehaving?" Corvin asked.

"Never. The corporation leaves that up to the parents, with always the understanding that parents who don't take care of their children properly will have them taken away." Race shook his head and looked down at the floor. It was no comfort to know that Jonny and Benton were with a man who was considered abnormal even within an organization that had made child abuse an institution. "I take it that happened?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Race said.

"I wish I had more information to give you about locations," she said. "I've kept silent ever since they released me to live in the world again, knowing that they still had Patricia. I'm only speaking now because my Patty asked me to."

"Why did she?" Diana asked. "Why is she doing this?"

For a moment, Race didn't think she was going to answer, but then her face crumpled and she began to cry. They all sat there for a moment, stunned by the sudden intensity of the reaction. Then Diana got up and put an arm around her shoulder. Race looked away, meeting Phil's eyes by accident. He could tell that Corvin felt the same way he did, like he was intruding on something deeply personal.

A moment later, she had regained control, and said, "I'm sorry. I don't know. Patty said she couldn't stay on the phone very long, but that she had asked someone to come take me somewhere that the corporation wouldn't find me, and I was to tell them anything they wanted to know." She sharpened her attention on Race and said, "Crush those bastards." Her voice was harsh with tears. "Not the low level people, either, but the Board. Those men and women are hard and cold, and they're the ones who make the decisions that count."

Race looked into her determined face and hadn't the heart to tell her that, just now, all he gave a damn about was getting Jonny and Benton back.


It was several hours before a quiet knocking sounded at the door to the private section of the suite. Jonny was worn out, and Benton didn't particularly want to put him through anything more tonight. He stood up, gesturing for Jonny to stay in the bedroom, and went to the door.

Morgan stood there, an inquisitive look on his face. "Where's Jonny?" he asked.

"He's in my room," Benton said, stepping through the door and closing it behind him. "I'd just as soon let him rest, if that's all right with you, Mr. Morgan."

"He's been through a great deal, Dr. Quest. I think that's probably a good idea." Benton was mildly surprised by the easy agreement, and was caught flat-footed with a mouthful of arguments that he didn't need. "Please sit down. We need to talk."

Benton said, "I'd like to go tell Jonny I'm going to be gone for a while, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Morgan said. Benton turned immediately, not wanting to miss the opportunity. Jonny was sufficiently fragile right now that he didn't want to alarm him.

"Dad?" Jonny said, and he came into the doorway holding his side and looking worried.

"I'm going out to talk to Mr. Morgan right now. He says you can stay in here and rest."

"I want to be where you are, Dad," Jonny said.

Benton hugged him gently. "I need to talk to Mr. Morgan, but I want you to rest, Jonny. You're hurt and you need to lie down, not try to sit up and talk to someone who makes you uncomfortable."

Jonny's brows knit. "Is he going to take you away?"

"I don't think so," Benton said. "I think he just wants to talk. I'll come right back in when he's done and tell you all about it."

"Okay," Jonny said. Benton got him back to the bed and lying down. "There's a James Bond movie coming on in a little while."

"I'm disappointed I'll miss it," Benton said, spreading a blanket over his son. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"I'm good," Jonny said, trying to seem calm, but Benton could tell that he was very nervous and upset. He bent and kissed him on the forehead.

"See you in awhile." Then he walked back out to where Morgan waited and Chris stood beside the outer doorway, holding his gun by his side. Benton shut the door behind him and managed a smile. "Can I offer you something to drink, Mr. Morgan?"

"No, no, thank you, Dr. Quest. Why don't we sit down and have our conversation?"

Benton walked over and sat down in one of the armchairs. "What is it you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Well, first I would like to apologize for Crandall's excessive behavior." Benton stared at Morgan, unblinking, uncertain how to take this. "I am appalled by the things he has done to your son. He should never have been permitted to take charge of this operation."

"Really?" Benton asked. "How intriguing. I'm sure that your apology will help Jonny regain his confidence." He bit his lip, realizing how he sounded. He strove for a more conciliatory note in his voice. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't complain, Mr. Morgan."

"I don't know why not," Morgan said. "You have cooperated fully, yet Crandall has been quite monstrously abusive toward your son, and created an atmosphere in which one of his subordinates felt comfortable pushing the boy hard enough to crack his ribs against a stair railing. That man has been suspended and will be severely punished for his wrongdoing."

Benton was astounded. "Do you expect me to believe this?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we've spent the last four days being terrorized. Do you really think an apology will solve the problem?"

"No, Dr. Quest, but it must be offered. Now, as to your work, I am quite impressed by what you have accomplished thus far on the night vision project. If you continue at this pace, you should be able to complete it in no time. It's clear that you've been working most diligently."

Benton pursed his lips and looked away. He couldn't help being angry. At this moment, he'd rather be with Jonny, who needed him, than talking to another jackass from the corporation.

"And as for Jonny's aptitude tests –" Morgan started, but Benton turned sharply.

"Those tests weren't valid!" he said angrily. "He was scared stiff and under a great deal of pressure."

"On the contrary, Dr. Quest. We are aware that most of the children brought into the corporation are alarmed by the sudden change in their circumstances, and the tests given to such children are designed to take that into account." Benton glared at him. They had standardized tests that had been normed on children who were under stress? Fabulous. "But as it happens, I believe you have made an inaccurate assumption."

"Have I?" Benton asked. "And what's that?"

"That Jonny scored poorly on the test." Morgan smiled and Benton found himself wondering why he seemed so pleased. "We knew from his records that he was a bright boy, and from observation that he was gifted. We did not, however, expect such high scores."

"I don't know what to say," Benton said, reflecting that this was a sort of left handed compliment. "What is your point?"

"Some thought must be given to his education. His potential is astounding." Benton stared at him, a cold chill curling in his gut. "A child such as he comes along once in a generation."

"I'm still uncertain as to what you're talking about, Mr. Morgan," Benton said uneasily. "I had understood that when these projects were complete, Jonny and I were to be released. Was that a lie?"

Morgan tilted his head. "I don't know, I haven't been told either way." He shrugged. "Either way, surely this is useful information to have."

"I suppose. May I see these results?"

"Of course, though a majority of it is raw data that requires interpreting, and not all of it is completely evaluated yet."

"No doubt there is some sort of preliminary written summary," Benton said.

"Naturally. I'll get it to you tomorrow. And there will need to be further tests, to confirm these scores and to further evaluate his potential." Benton didn't like the sound of this. From the way Morgan was talking, it sound almost as though Jonny had scored too well. "In the meantime, I think it would be wise to make sure that Jonny has something to do to keep his time occupied."

Benton nodded. Having too much time on his hands to think about his misery wasn't good for him. "He could come to the lab with me. He's always helped me in my work."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea, but I'm not sure he's up to helping with your work." Benton sighed, agreeing. "Instead, I will provide him with some reading materials. I've already arranged to have a corner of your lab turned into a more comfortable place for Jonny to sit."

Benton gritted his teeth. "I appreciate the consideration." He knew that gratitude was the appropriate response, but it was difficult,

Morgan stood, so Benton did as well. "I am sorry that Crandall has given you so poor an impression of us, Dr. Quest. I hope to ameliorate that." Benton shrugged. He didn't have anything to say. "Good night."

Benton followed him to the door like a good host. The door shut, and he lingered, listening for the click of the lock. When he heard the bolt shoot home, he sighed and turned toward the kitchen. Perhaps he and Jonny could have sort of a substitute movie night. He gathered up a few staples and went back to the master bedroom. Jonny didn't look up when he came in, but he said, "It's okay, Dad. Pierce Brosnan hasn't even met the girl yet."

"Oh, good," Benton said, amused by Jonny's priorities. "I brought HoHos, chips and root beer."

Jonny looked up and gave him a brief grin. "Cool. You did miss the explanation of the car and the gadgets, though, and it was kind of different."

Benton set the tray down on the bedside table and sat down next to Jonny on the bed. He was propped up on cushions, and looked quite comfortable. "That is a shame. I always enjoy that part."

"You just like being able to tell us which parts would work and which wouldn't," Jonny said. "And driving Race nuts."

"Well, I can't help it if I think movies should be accurate," Benton said. Jonny shuffled sideways and leaned up against him. Making sure that he wasn't hurting him, Benton draped his arm around Jonny's shoulders. "Want a soda?"

"Sure." Benton handed the drink over and they watched the movie in silence for a few minutes. Then Jonny said, "I still think I should have one of those cars, with all the gadgets that would work on it."

"No," Benton exclaimed. "You don't need a car, certainly not at your age."

"When I'm fifteen, then, and can get my learner's permit," Jonny suggested in a wheedling tone. "I know you could do the modifications."

"You don't need a car with cannons and a remote controller."

"There have been times when it might have been handy," Jonny said, giving him a look out of the corner of his eyes. "Okay, what about an ejector seat and skis! For the wheels," he added to clarify.

"No, Jonny."

"What about a parachute?"

Briefly, the thought of equipping Jonny's car with a parachute was tempting. With all the messes they got into on foot, vehicular messes were an appalling thought.

"Jonny, we'll discuss this when you're older. We have three whole years before you're old enough for your permit."

"Aw, Dad! What's the good of having a mad scientist for a father if you don't get any of the perks?" Jonny moaned.

"Mad scientist?" Benton repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"My own personal Q and you won't even give me any nifty toys."

"Jonny, you have lots of nifty toys. How many boys your age have jet packs?"

"I'm only allowed to use those with you or Race, and then only when we're on an assignment. That's work." They watched as Pierce Brosnan, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, scaled the side of a skyscraper. "I think the girl's in the penthouse," Jonny said.

"Do you like the part where he gets the girl?" Benton asked, genuinely curious. He knew that Hadji had passed the stage of groaning when adults kissed, but he wasn't sure about Jonny.

"I don't know. It depends. I like the ones who kick butt better than the ones who just cringe and scream." Jonny's eyes widened suddenly, and his face crumpled.

Benton realized abruptly what Jonny was thinking. "You threw him into a table, Jonny. That wasn't cringing."

"Yeah, but then I cowered. That's worse than cringing."

"It was probably the only thing that saved your life!" Benton said.

"So?" Jonny was hunching down miserably again.

"You are not a coward, Jonny."

"I am. Race would be ashamed of me!"

"Race might be a little annoyed that you threw the man when you probably shouldn't have," Benton said. "But he would not be ashamed of you for anything that's happened here."

Jonny took in a deep breath to sigh, but he made a pathetic sound and stiffened, straightening up. "I hate this place!" he said. "I hate the people and their stupid system! And I hate not being able to breathe right because of my stupid ribs!" He looked down at the covers. "If Race does get here, I won't be able to run."

"Don't worry, you'll have help."

Jonny sighed and leaned against him again. They watched the movie quietly for awhile as Mr. Bond made his way into the penthouse. "Cool, Dad! She's one of the ones that kicks butt. Look at her go!" Benton was amused by just how much Jonny enjoyed watching the woman beat the tar out of the series of bad guys, including the one that had crept up behind James Bond while he was distracted. Idly, he contemplated the possibility of a real life counterpart to the woman in the movie.

Jessie certainly had the moves, Benton thought, glancing down at his son's rapt face. And the brains. The way those two fought and competed had already made Benton wonder about them, even if they were twelve and thirteen. This was the age where boys started noticing girls as something more than just other kids.

They watched the movie with real enjoyment, though Benton couldn't help commenting that the lasers the villains were using wouldn't work the way they were shown to in the movie.

"I know that, Dad," Jonny said scornfully. "Anyone with half a brain knows that. But it's just a movie."

"Shouldn't it be an accurate movie?" Benton said.

"Race would say that you're beating a dead horse," Jonny said, apparently unconscious of the impact that metaphor would have on his father. Benton strove to control his reaction. "Besides, the real way wouldn't have been half so exciting. And it's not like it's an educational film." Jonny laughed. "If you made the James Bond movies, they'd be half lecture and nobody would go see them."

Benton had difficulty denying the accuracy of the observation. "Yes," he said, waggling his eyebrows. Putting on a fruity, announcer's voice, he said, "We'll just pause the movie now to introduce the scientific concept you are about to see. The word for today is 'laser.'" Jonny was giving him a look that said Adults are weird, and Benton was inspired to go one better. "I could actually do that with the movies we buy, you know. Just run them into IRIS's system and insert commentary sections about all the various scientific inaccuracies in the film. You know, like on DVDs where you have the director's commentary, I could add the scientific commentary."

"Dad, you're embarrassing me."

Benton raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room. "We're alone, Jonny."

"Yeah, but you're still embarrassing me."

Clapping a hand to his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of realization, Benton said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that you're at that age."

"What age?" Jonny demanded, looking vaguely outraged.

"The age where parents embarrass you by their simple existence."

Jonny rolled his eyes and went back to watching the movie. It ended, as so many James Bond films do, with a passionate kiss between two people you will never see on screen together again, at least not in those roles. During the break between this movie and the next, Benton got up to get them some dinner. They had eaten the chips and the HoHos, but they needed some real sustenance.

Their dinner had arrived in the dumbwaiter. Fortunately, it was still hot, and Benton wondered how long it had been sitting there. He took the hamburgers in to Jonny and they watched the next movie, which was the Poseidon Adventure.

When that movie ended, the screen went dark. Benton raised an eyebrow. "If you still weren't sure that Big Brother was watching, you'd know now."

"Huh?" Jonny asked, yawning. "Whose big brother?"

"Never mind, Jonny." He tousled the blond hair and said, "Let's get you into your pajamas."

"Can I sleep in here again?"

"Of course." Jonny got up and went out. Benton stood up and stretched. He didn't want Jonny sleeping outside his immediate vicinity. He walked out into the hallway. Paranoia was rapidly taking over. He didn't even want Jonny walking down the hall in this suite without his company. Benton shrugged. He'd know he'd gone overboard when he started following his son into the bathroom.

Most of the time in this sort of situation he had the comfort of knowing that Hadji and Jonny were together, looking out for each other. He hardly dared to hope that Morgan would actually do what he'd said, and allow Jonny to join him in the lab.

Jonny seemed to be taking quite awhile. Benton walked down to his room and opened the door. "Dad!" Jonny exclaimed, but the outrage was only half-hearted. He was sitting on the bed, holding his side. He was clearly having trouble getting his nightclothes on.

Benton went over and helped him get into them. They walked quietly back to the master bedroom, and he put his son to bed. Then he got undressed himself, got into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. Kissing Jonny on the forehead, he said, "Sweet dreams."

Jonny grinned up at him. "Maybe Race will be here in the morning."

"Yes. Maybe he will."


Race woke up early in the morning and slid quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Hadji. He showered and dressed, and went back out into the bedroom. Hadji was still sleeping peacefully, and Race watched him for a few minutes, wishing that they already had Benton and Jonny back. He wasn't sure how Hadji was going to react, though, or Jessie for that matter. With what Jonny was going through, he might not be the same boy when he got back as he was when he left.

There was a ringing sound, and Race reached for his cell phone automatically, even though the ring was wrong. Then he saw Hadji's phone lying on the table beside the bed, and picked it up.

"Hello?" he said.

"May I speak with Hadji Singh, please?" said a man's tenor voice.

"I'm sorry," Race said. "He's asleep. Maybe I can take a message?"

Hadji sat up, blinking and then stared at Race talking on his phone.

"Is this Roger Bannon?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Mr. Bannon, I'm sure you would like to see the Quest family reunited. That is our wish as well. It's better for families to be together." Race's eyes widened and he made a beeline for the door. He doubted very much this fellow would stay on the phone long enough for a trace to go through, but he had to try.

"Yes, I quite agree," Race said. "Hadji's very upset that his father and brother have been taken."

"Dr. Quest and Jonny are settling in quite nicely here, Mr. Bannon, and they have spoken of how much they miss Hadji. It's wrong to keep them apart."

"So you're going to let Jonny and Benton go? That's great."

"No, Mr. Bannon. I'm encouraging you to accept the fact that you have lost Dr. Quest and his younger son, and take the steps necessary to reunite them with the elder son. After all, a boy should be with his father."

"True enough, and they all three should be in their home."

"Dr. Quest and Jonny are at home, Mr. Bannon." Race's eyes narrowed. Like hell they were. "They have a nice suite of rooms here."

"You know," Race said. "Talking to you this way is kind of awkward. You have the advantage on me. What's your name?" Race rounded the corner and opened the door of the phone tracing room. He gestured wildly at the phone and was rewarded by several of the whiz kids immediately setting to work at whatever it was they did.

"You may call me Arthur," the man said.

"Well, Arthur, I know Benton and I know Jonny, and I think you're full of shit."

"Such language, Mr. Bannon. Really, I'm quite surprised that Dr. Quest allows you to take care of his son."

"Well, now, I don't talk that way in front of him. I only use that kind of language when I'm talking to people who abduct families and hit children. Or other villains and evil minions."

"I would like to speak with Hadji Singh, if you please."

"Hadji isn't available right now, I'm afraid."

"You can't keep him mewed up in I-1 forever, Mr. Bannon. Surely you can see that it would be better for all concerned if he were to surrender voluntarily. Think of how many people might get hurt if we had to do it the hard way."

"I thought you people were supposed to specialize in painless extractions," Race said. "Guess you must be slipping a bit."

"Good bye, Mr. Bannon."

The phone cut off abruptly, and Race looked up at the wizards. "Sorry, Agent Bannon. We got a lot farther than the first time, but we couldn't track it back to its origin point."

"Damn!" Race said feelingly. "Something has got to give!"

"Something just did." Race whirled at the sound of Phil's voice from the doorway. The I-1 director looked grimly satisfied. "We do the extraction tonight."