Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alsace-Lorraine:

The estate was empty. Duncan kicked at some trash on one floor and sighed. This had been the closest of properties that Alistair owned. Duncan had hoped he'd bring Kate here for safety. Evidently not! This place was in bad repair, looking as if it had been centuries since anyone had been here.

And yet… he'd thought when he'd driven up that someone was here. He'd felt it only briefly… that distinctive feel of another immortal in the area. It had been when he'd first turned onto the drive. But if they were here… they were living in squalor. He noted the brown spot on the ceiling near the chimney… and the telltale sign of water damage on what once had been a magnificent parquet floor. The antique dealer in him cringed at the disrepair. A house like this should be kept up… be a monument to the past.

Continuing to make his way through the empty and trash-littered rooms… he continued to be constantly aware of the surrounding area… in case he was right… and there was another immortal here. He wasn't certain if he hoped it was Alistair with Kate or not.

As it happened… it wasn't.

As Duncan was descending the main stairs after his tour of the ruined estate, he sensed someone on the far side of the front door. He put one hand under his lightweight coat to grasp the hilt of his katana and watched the door slowly open. He saw the French cavalry saber before he saw a face.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod," Duncan said clearly and with authority. The clan leader in him hoped this was someone he could reach.

The door opened more widely and a man with a dirty long hair and a dark three-day-old beard, wearing rumpled dark clothing leered at him. "Do tell. The immortals I beheaded spoke your name as if it were a mantra that would protect them."

Duncan gritted his teeth. His jaw worked back and forth intently. "Who did you kill?"

The man shrugged as he replied, hissing slightly, "Didn't get their names. It wasn't important. Names are nothing… the quickening is everything." He moved smoothly into the downstairs ballroom, kicking trash out of his way and sweeping his saber before him in open invitation.

Anger tinged Duncan's thoughts. Maybe they had come here. And this derelict had destroyed them both. Duncan's sword had trembled slightly at the thought of what must have happened. As he touched the main floor, his lip curled slightly… all thoughts of ending the game far from his mind, thrust aside by his anger and fear that Kate and her unborn child had been destroyed. He snarled as he drew his katana, tossing his coat to one side, and attacked the other man, slicing forcefully back and forth with both hands on the hilt

"Man… those two guys were right. You are a badass," chuckled the immortal.

Duncan froze. "It was two men?"

"Yeah MacLeod… aren't we usually male… the ones who survive? Women with our gift don't last long in this game."

Duncan arched an eyebrow as he thought of Cassandra, Alex Raven, Kyra, Katherine Sutherland, and Reagan Cole. "You'd be surprised how strong and effective they can be," he remarked. Within him, the anger had cooled so that he was once more thinking clearly. "You took out two at once?" he said smoothly as he shifted his katana swiftly before him, setting his feet widely apart in a defensive stance that hid the speed with which he could go on the offensive.

The immortal chuckled. "Yeah. I got them both before the lightning took me. Man it was stupendous getting two at once."

"I'm happy for you," smirked Duncan. He raised his arms and set himself… hopefully ready for anything. If this guy had taken out two immortals at one time… he might be very good indeed. At least it wasn't Kate who'd been killed. He was surprised by how thankful he was at that thought.

His opponent waved his cavalry saber. Duncan noted the dried blood on it, and the spots of rust. "Haven't been taking good care of that, have you?" he taunted as he changed positions so that he held his katana overhand with both hands. Every time his opponent moved, he picked up some little tell of his intentions. Either he was younger than he appeared, or very, very sly. Duncan himself tried to give away as little as possible in his challenges. Perhaps this fellow was the same.

"The edge is plenty sharp, though. It's seen its share of necks," the man cackled and spit unceremoniously into a nearby trash pile. "She'll get the job done." The saber was balanced for one-hand, giving Duncan an edge in the power department. If he could get close enough… he could make short work of this immortal.

The man continued to circle… lunging and feinting first one way and then another… trying to draw Duncan out. The Highlander remained patient. He waited for what was certain to be a swift and decisive move. Finally it came… and he was ready.

Back and forth they parried one another's blows as sparks rained from their blades and the sound of their swords created a staccato beat that one could almost dance to. In a way, that's what it was, a dance… deadly to be sure… but a dance nevertheless.

What was it Phillip had once told him about the symbols… that they could be the steps of the moves within the swordfight? He didn't have time to pursue the thought now… everything he had was focused on deflecting his opponent's hail of blows and avoiding being impaled when he was open.

They fought across the room until Duncan backed up onto the steps. With the high ground his… he changed positions, ready to let gravity help pull the katana down and through his opponent's neck. At that moment… just as he committed himself… the step he was on gave way and he pitched forward… then righted himself as he came down… one foot momentarily trapped in the rotted hole… the other off to one side. Both arms waved as he sought to regain his balance. His advantage for the moment was gone.

The filthy immortal wiped at the stubble on his chin and laughed. "Looks to me like you have a problem." He backed away a few steps to avoid the katana sweeping before him. Then he pulled a small handgun from one pocket and aimed it at Duncan. "Bye now," he teased and fired.

Duncan leaped upward as the gun fired, twisting about and holding his arms in. The hole in the step still grabbed at his foot… but he managed to move anything vital out of the path of the bullet. Instead… he felt it crash into his right kneecap… shattering it. He landed on that knee and nearly collapsed with the pain. Here he was… one foot caught in a rotting hole, the other leg unable to sustain his weight. "Was that how you took two at one time?" he yelled.

The man smirked and aimed again. "Now that wouldn't be fair… would it? But… oh right. I can cheat… but you're a man of honor." He pulled the trigger again.

Duncan forced his weight off of his right leg and onto the trapped one… trying to pivot again. He felt his left knee strain as his weight shifted onto it in the turn. The bullet whizzed past him… scoring his back. He could feel the burning pain of its path and the blood welling up.

He'd always been a fast healer… it had often helped him win battles… but if his opponent landed a clear shot… not all the speed in the world would keep him from losing his head. He roared his defiance as he felt his other knee rip and tear in his attempt to avoid a third shot. He swung the katana around and felt the bullet glance off the blade. By then… he was free of the hole but was headed for the floor. He landed on one shoulder and rolled… trying to dodge the fourth bullet, which dug into the wooden floor where he'd been.

His opponent laughed. "Dang if you aren't a sight… rolling on the floor and bleeding all over it. You don't know when you're beat… do you? Those others were right… you are one sneaky bastard."

Duncan held one hand to his bleeding and still shattered kneecap as he tried to rise… feeling also the pain in the other knee. "You want to know how bad I am. Just bring it on," he snarled. He felt himself sinking into the black pit of anger that he tried to always keep a lid on. He shifted his katana about in one hand.

His opponent paled, then fired once more. The weapon clicked on an empty chamber. "Damn!" he snarled. "I forgot about using two of them shots on those other fellows." He tossed the gun away, grabbed his saber in both hands and roared as he prepared to slam the saber down onto Duncan, still off-balance and clutching his bleeding knee.

As the saber met the katana, Duncan suddenly changed from a wounded and half-beaten opponent into one who was on the attack. Using both hands, he whipped the katana around so that it caught the saber in its move and then he pulled against it… causing it to fly from his opponent's hands. He followed through with the move as he suddenly lunged to his feet and slammed his blade into the man's side. Then he grunted as he slid it free, rejoicing in the slicing feel of it as it opened up a huge gash on his opponent's side.

The man howled in pain as he fell to his knees… holding his side and attempting to keep from losing anything vital.

Duncan smirked as he laid the katana on the man's neck. "I've been shot before. I heal quickly."

The man blubbered as he waited, "Just get it over with."

"Who are you?"

"Go to hell!" the man shouted.

"You first," Duncan laughed and drew back for the final cut.

The man tried to dive and roll to one side.

Duncan pivoted and his katana came crashing down on his opponent's neck. The body landed with a thump. The head rolled away… and the storm came gushing from the body.

Duncan spread his arms, still gritting his teeth from the pain in his knees and back. But these things would heal. They always did… as long as he kept his head. He'd learned to ignore them… use them to stretch out the fight… to make his opponent believe it was over… when in fact… it was only over for him. As the power crackled into him… filling him until he felt like he would burst… he caught glimpses on Lucas Delbert's life both before and after becoming an immortal. He'd had no teacher and had learned on his own that he had to fight to survive. The gun was his way of evening up the score and getting an advantage. Surprisingly… he'd been rather successful in his fifty or so years in the game. And he'd killed some older ones.

The conflagration roared around the Highlander as he screamed into the maelstrom of power. He felt whipped by the currents of electricity as they surged into him again and again. So caught up in the quickening was he, that he did not notice the arcing bolts that streamed outward, setting fire to the piles of trash, sending flames licking up the rotting walls, engulfing the dust-covered furniture until all was a hellish furnace of light and heat. And Duncan MacLeod was at its core.

As the power lessened and he regained his sense of self… his inner being of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, he became all too aware of the fire raging about him. Flinging an arm over his face, he raced for the window and shattered it with his katana. The inrush of air caused the fire to rush at him as he leaped through the broken window, as if it were a living thing, anxious to devour him.

Duncan hit the moist earth of the weedy flowerbed beneath the window… rolled to escape the flames and to dampen his smoldering linen shirt. His skin felt burned to a crisp. His hands were swollen and red, his katana still hot from the flames. Gingerly he rose and limped further away from what was now a blazing inferno.

His knees were still mending, but he'd been burned before… and nothing was worse than coming back from that. He found he was trembling slightly, shivering in the cool evening air that seemed all the colder after the fire. Making it to his car, he suddenly turned back to the fire and groaned.

His ID, his wallet and cash, his car keys, and his PPC were in the pockets of his coat… the coat he'd shed before the fight… the coat that was now consumed in the fire.

In the distance… he could hear the distinctive sound of approaching sirens. He didn't want to have to answer questions. He didn't want to be on the public grid. There was no help for it. He glanced around as if searching for Delbert's Watcher. He saw no one; not that approaching an unknown Watcher was what he wanted to do.

Already the sirens indicated that the fire engines were turning into the lane. Duncan backed into the nearby shrubbery. He stood beneath the overhanging branches of the fir trees as he watched the authorities attempt to control the blaze. The manor house was obviously a total loss. All the firemen could do was make certain that it didn't spread further.

He could also see a police officer checking out his car and calling to his partner for equipment to break into it. Duncan thought carefully. There was nothing in the car but his overnight bag. There was nothing to identify him.

He flexed his knees, feeling them regain their normal flexibility and strength. It was time to move on. He had a safety deposit box in Geneva that he could draw some funds and a set of papers from. All he needed for access was his signature and his handprint. He still had to find Kate. And, he chuckled; he needed a bath, a new set of clothes, and a phonecard at the very least. Duncan figured he'd cut quite the figure when he made it to the bank. But they were discreet… those Geneva bankers. Their business depended on it.

He threaded his way through the trees. He didn't even have any way at present to hide his katana. He'd have to stay off the road and out of sight… and he'd have to figure out a way to conceal it before he went into Geneva. Of course, he still had to get across the border. He had to admit… that despite appearances to the contrary… he felt better than he'd felt in years.

-----

Washington, D.C.:

Ryan Coltraine tied his handkerchief over his face as he held his breath. The DC dump, like most dumps, was an olfactory nightmare. His stomach rolled slightly as he passed amongst the heaps attacked periodically by seagulls.

"Tell me again why this is such a good idea?" he called out to the figure of Cecile Marshall as she scrambled up one mountain of plastic bags, food scraps, and disposable diapers. Cecile paused, straightened and looked down at him.

"When was the last time you ever saw someone put trash bags in the trunk of their car and drive to the dump?"

Ryan nodded. The research they'd done on Daryl Miller had led them at last to a warehouse on the edge of town. They'd gorged on bitter coffee and boxed donuts as they'd sat watching the comings and goings there. Other research had confirmed that Miller worked for a small film firm that specialized in pornographic material. Earlier today, everyone had suddenly left the building in the middle of a workday. Shortly later, a man they'd not seen before carried several red trash bags out to the trunk of his car, put them in and drove off.

Cecile had been ecstatic. But Ryan had yet to understand what garbage had to do with finding his assignment, Sarah Manning, nor why she had not been seen in the past week. Cecile sighed. "How often in this day and age does a man in a suit and tie carry out bags of garbage and stow them in the trunk of his car to dump?" she said patiently as if trying to explain the alphabet to a group of six year olds.

Ryan thought carefully. Finally he shrugged. "Maybe the guy was a clean freak or the service didn't pick up?"

"Then why didn't he dump them into the Dumpster in back of the warehouse?"

Ryan's mouth worked up and down but no sound came out.

"And why red bags?"

Ryan grinned sheepishly. "They were on sale?"

Cecile shook her head. "Red bags are more expensive. Hospitals use them to indicate medical waste. They're stronger… less likely to break." She pointed at a lone red bag further up the slope. "And he didn't just come in here and dump them. Look around… he put only one bag per heap." She began climbing again.

Ryan muttered to himself. "So the guy's some Howard Hughes type that likes things just so. What's all this have to do with immortals, anyway?"

"Found it!"

He could see Cecile hunch over the red bag. Suddenly she rose, almost falling backward. She seemed to slip on the slope slightly.

"What is it?" Concerned, Ryan swallowed that sour feeling rising in his throat and scrambled up beside her. At her feet the ripped open bag spilled forth its contents… a human foot and part of an arm. Ryan looked around the site. "How many did he have?"

"I… I… Oh My GOD!" she turned away… losing the breakfast of donuts and coffee as she fell to her knees. Ryan could already see flies buzzing about their find.

"Should we report this to the police?" Ryan finally mumbled softly. He wanted to cry… but it didn't seem manly, especially in light of Cecile's discomfort.

"No," she said standing up and wiping her mouth. "We contact Parker."

"But if this isn't her," Ryan insisted, holding on to the slim hope that it wasn't, "the police should know. We have the license plate number and…"

"… if it is her… we don't want the police to know. It may be another immortal… or maybe there's an immortal working at that place. We need to find out what happened before we call the authorities." She whipped out her cellphone and punched in the number. "Hi… this is Cecile Marshall, Watcher ID 35721. We have a possible body to report."

Ryan listened to Cecile give the clipped report and location as he stared at small globs of red plastic strewn haphazardly about the dump. "Dear God Sarah… what did you get yourself into?"

-----