-----
The camera made its polite hum as the zoom was adjusted yet again, the small sign to the right of the main entrance suddenly sharp, clear and easily read. Fertility Focus Corporation was what was carved into the shiny gold plaque, announcing to the world that they made babies. What it failed to mention was that the babies they made were genetically modified embryos that bore no relationship to the 'parents.' That they did this worldwide was minor thing compared to the horror of what they then did to the children after they'd been born and returned to the loving bosom of Chrysalis. Mindless drones for an organization that believed they were to rule the world after some great cataclysm befell it.
There were times Darien wished this were one of the things he didn't need to know. Bobby was right; ignorance was bliss.
Bobby harrumphed; he'd gotten irritated at the various sounds the camera made an hour ago. Darien turned to look at Bobby, eye still glued to the viewfinder, but lowered the camera quickly when presented with an extreme close-up of Bobby's right temple, complete with tiny hairs coming out of his skin.
"We just gonna sit here all day?"
"No, we're gonna sit here till we see Stark," Hobbes grouched, making minute and needless adjustments to the equipment.
Darien huffed. "There's gotta be a better way." He sat up straighter, his look brightening. "What say I take a little stroll inside, on the QT, so to speak."
"No."
"Just a quickie? I'll be in and out before you know it. Promise," Darien whined. He'd take a beating by Chrysalis goons over the boredom he was currently mired in.
"No."
"But..."
"No. Crap, Fawkes, this might not be the most exciting part, but it's the job." Hobbes swiveled about, with that wrinkle between his eyebrows that meant he was truly pissed. "We got confirmation that he's in there, so we wait till he comes out. It's that simple."
"I know that," Darien snarked, "but two and a half hours of the silent treatment makes me cranky." Not quite accurate, but every time he tried to start a conversation, Bobby would kill it by either not responding or giving curt one word answers that discouraged Darien from pressing on.
Bobby's brows shot up. "Silent treatment? What're you talking about?"
"You. Me. No talkie," Darien explained, keeping it short and to the point.
Bobby seemed to find that most amusing. "No talkie? What happened to the wannabe philosopher?"
"He got tired of being shut down by his partner." Darien made sure to shove humor into his tone. He finally had Bobby talking and didn't want him to stop.
At the word 'partner' the strangest expression crawled across Bobby's face and there was no way Darien wasn't going to call him on it. "What? I'm not good enough to be your partner no more?"
Bobby's face fell. "Try the other way 'round, pal," he muttered, then turned away.
That was a hell of a shock for Darien; the supremely over-confident super-spook Bobby Hobbes suddenly thinking himself not good enough for the likes of an ex-thief turned part-time mercenary? Was he a total idiot?
"Hobbes?"
"What?"
Darien wanted to throttle the man. "Now would be a good time to make with the 'talkie'."
Hobbes focused his attention on the clinic entrance across the street. "About what?"
"This attitude of yours." Though Darien had to admit it wasn't like it was anything new. No, this had been festering for quite a while now.
Bobby burst out in rueful laughter. "Attitude? Me? Take a look in the mirror there, pal. You ain't exactly been helping the sitch."
"Me?" Darien squawked, projecting an air of hurt innocence. "I've always pushed the Fatman's buttons..."
Bobby shook his head. "Not that, genius."
Darien sighed in frustration. "Then what? You guys told me to go get a life outside of work, so I did."
Bobby shook his head more violently. "Not that. Unless..." He paused, thinking, his brow furrowing deeply upon reaching a conclusion. "You been hanging out with her ain't ya?"
"Who?" Darien regretted the lone word as Bobby always assumed they were efforts at distraction at best, and outright lies at worst.
"Her. O'Neill and that hoodlum hang-out," Bobby shouted, loud in the close confines of the van.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Darien shouted right back in exasperation.
"Everything, Fawkes. She's pulling you towards the dark side, my friend. Mark my words, you'll regret it. Not today, not tomorrow..."
"But someday. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it. Thing is, my friend, it's my life and outside work I can do what I want, remember?" A low burning anger seeped into his voice.
"You're right, it is." Bobby went cold, not backing off so much as freezing in place to create a barrier that could not be gone around on the subject.
Darien was more than willing to take the draw on that one. "Back to topic; what's this about me not wanting to be your partner?"
Bobby crumpled, shoulders slumping dramatically. "Nuthin'."
It was Darien's turn to snort in derision. "Cough it up, Hobbes, or I'll just ask Claire."
Bobby's head snapped about with a beady-eyed glare fixed in place. "You wouldn't."
"In a heartbeat. Now spill." Darien wasn't kidding, he would go to Claire to find out what was going on in his little tiger's head.
Bobby squirmed, clearly not wanting to have this conversation. "You're a good agent Fawkes. Had a knack for it from day one, but..."
"But?" Darien prompted when the silence went on for more than 10 seconds.
"You been working with Monroe a lot more. Higgens and O'Connell too," Bobby finally said, sounding defeated. "You don't need me no more."
'Don't need...' Darien blinked in confusion. "Hobbes, did you take your meds, 'cause you ain't making sense."
Bobby frowned. "Always with the meds. Could you, just for once, take me seriously?" The frustration was blatant, but Darien was not in the mood to be led about by a sudden attack of Hobbesian paranoia.
"Kinda hard to when you start seeing things that ain't there. 'Sides me, that is." Darien tossed off a wan smile. "We're partners, Hobbes, ain't nothing gonna change that."
The last was emphatic, but did nothing to pull Bobby from the rut he'd apparently fallen into. "That's my point, Fawkes, we ain't part... Crap, look who's come to play." He got the parabolic mike up and aimed at the group now standing outside the clinic.
Darien brought up the camera, adjusted the focus, and started snapping pictures.
Jared Stark, his number one goon Connor, and several others had exited the building and were having a less than civil conversation on the patch of perfectly manicured grass that separated the walkway from the parking lot. After snapping a couple of Stark and Connor, Darien focused on the newcomers. Two, a man and a woman, were in non-standard Chrysalis clone-wear and had a pair of bookends that were clearly their bodyguards. He got close ups and full body shots of the quartet. The matching tattoos the pair sported caught his eye; it was a new twist in the riddle of Chrysalis.
"Who're the newbies?"
Bobby shook his head and flipped a switch that allowed the conversation to be heard via a cheap speaker mounted in back.
"... kind should have been exterminated," Stark growled, apparently not overly fond of their 'kind.'
"I could argue the same," the blonde female stated, her voice cool and calm.
Her voice caused goosebumps to break out on Darien's arms.
"Without our kind you would not exist," the male spoke, his tone barren of any emotion whatsoever.
It made Darien's skin crawl even more violently. "Who the hell are they?" he questioned, not really expecting an answer.
"Those war-time experiments only confirmed what we already knew. You are a mistake," Stark sneered.
"Dunno, Fawkes, but they have the cajones to stand up to Stark, and that there makes them okay in my book... for now." Bobby glanced over at Darien. "Did you get pics of 'em?"
"Yep. I don't think they're Chrysalis though," Darien said as he scrolled through the images on the camera's LCD screen.
"Why not?" Bobby asked as the trading of insults continued unabated.
"No pretty gold pins. The mooks with 'em are wearing them, but they're weird; have wings or something," Darien explained, turning to look out the window. "Looks like the party is breaking up."
"... go back to your compound and stay there," Connor tossed off as he followed Stark to his vehicle.
"Time to go." Bobby quickly stowed the gear, slid into the driver's seat, and started the van.
Darien buckled himself into the passenger's seat, suspecting the ride was going to get rough sooner rather than later. He made sure to secure the camera with the all important photographs just as Bobby pulled out into traffic, several cars behind Stark.
They wove in and out of traffic, being careful to remain far enough behind Stark to hopefully, go unnoticed. After almost 10 minutes of driving, they pulled onto I-5 and began to accelerate, forcing Bobby to follow suit. They continued to keep their distance, staying at least a quarter mile behind and never in the same lane, if at all possible.
So, Darien was quite surprised when Stark's car suddenly pulled to the right lane and slammed on the brakes.
"Crap, he made us," Bobby snarled, not slowing the van. As they neared the car, the rear window rolled down and the barrel of a gun appeared. Bobby had zero time to do anything besides swear vociferously.
There was a soft pop and the van slewed violently to the right, slamming Darien into Bobby as if there was no seatbelt to hold him in place. With screeching metal and burning rubber, the van fishtailed into the breakdown lane and then onto the grass verge. It bumped along for several eternal seconds before coming to a sudden halt, shoving Darien forward into the dashboard.
It was only then he remembered to breathe.
"Well, if this is the afterlife, I'm disappointed."
Bobby chuckled. "You and me both, my friend."
The sound of a car horn caused both men to look back towards the road. There the black sedan they had been following was rolling past and Stark's smiling countenance waving at them, clearly enjoying the situation. They picked up speed and disappeared into the traffic.
"Y'know, I really don't like him," Darien stated.
Bobby rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell phone.
---
"What do you think they were after?" Connor asked as the crappy tan van disappeared behind them.
"More likely a who, and that would be Agent Monroe." Jared showed no concern at the Agency misfits sniffing around. He knew he'd be at the top of the suspect list and had planned accordingly. "Let them try to find her; we'll lead them a merry chase and then," he mimed a trap snapping shut with his hands, "we'll take them out of the game as well. I could do without the thorn in my side."
"They are rather annoying, aren't they? Like gnats," Connor said, amused.
"And like gnats they have short attention spans. Something new will come along to distract them." While he would have loved to spend more time contemplating various methods to eliminate Fawkes, Jared had far more interesting things to do. Dealing with Agent Monroe, for example.
The driver pulled into the parking lot of a three story chrome and glass miracle of modern engineering. Above the main entrance in a flowing script was the word Archangel. This was the new headquarters of Chrysalis' security arm, created six months after the destruction of the San Diego Cerberus offices. Thanks to the Agency it was deemed too risky to continue to use the existing business, so they were shut down, restructured, and recreated. With great success. So far, the Agency had no knowledge of its existence.
The car stopped near the entrance and both Connor and Stark exited, heading to the gracefully arched entryway. The lobby was even more impressive than the exterior. A wide reception desk was manned by two men and a woman, all identically dressed and all fully capable of dealing with unexpected guests.
"Good morning, Mr. Stark," the woman greeted. The smile curving her lips patently false, which did not bother Jared in the least. She handed him a slim file, while one of the men logged his arrival into the computer. "Mr. Ishito has agreed to the terms and would like to schedule a meeting."
Jared couldn't help but be pleased by that bit of news. They had been trying to get an in with Ishito for two years. "Excellent, make the necessary arrangements."
"Here or Tokyo?" she asked.
"Tokyo. He'll be more comfortable on his home ground." To some it would appear a weakness, giving up the tactical advantage, but Ishito would see it as a sign of respect and it would foster the beginnings of trust.
"As you wish, sir." She returned to her seat and set about to do so.
Jared turned left, followed by Connor, and was buzzed through a set of doors. They walked past several rooms that were ostensibly for conferences, if you ignored the heavily reinforced walls, the two-way glass and the not so subtle decorating scheme of 'interrogation room.' The security systems were well hidden but extensive both in the rooms and the in hallway, right down to thermal sensors; a precaution taken since the Agency and Darien Fawkes had a hand in the destruction of its predecessor. It was only a matter of time before they learned of this new facility and it was always best to be prepared. At the end of the hall was an elevator with an electronic pad that Jared pressed his thumb against to be scanned. The light turned green and the doors slid open to allow both men to step inside the car. Connor pressed the six. This elevator only went in one direction from this level and it was not up.
Here the security was more obvious, as well as the means to deal with intruders, or escapees, should they make it this far. At the press of a button the car could be flooded in seconds with a variety of gasses that would immobilize those inside; a creative vacuum system would then pump the gas out, leaving bodies - unconscious or dead, depending on the specific gas used - behind. Gas masks or similar gear would be of no use as some of the gasses were designed to be absorbed through the skin. Only someone in a completely self-contained HAZMAT suit stood a chance. The suits, however, were easily penetrated by projectiles, which is why there were also weapons mounted in the ceiling. Messy, but effective when necessary.
The car slid to a smooth stop and the doors opened. They stepped out into a huge, dimly lit room. In all directions the walls curved, the ceiling arching to a peak some 25 feet above the floor. A giant hemisphere carved into the earth with reinforced concrete and steel. In the center of the room, some 15 feet away from the walls, was another hemisphere, the walls rising 10 feet before the curved roof began; a smaller hemisphere within the existing one. While every surface of the main room was a flat non-reflective dark gray, the smaller room was all glass, modified LEXAN to be precise; virtually unbreakable by anything short of a bunker buster. And they were smart. Between the sheets of LEXAN was a suspended particle device tied to an electric current. When the current was 'on' the glass was perfectly transparent, when 'off' the glass was dark and completely opaque; varying the amount electricity flowing through the film allowed one to adjust the transparency to any level. For this inner room each 'section' of the wall could be changed independently allowing selective viewing of the interior. Currently the majority of the panels were blacked out, blocking the interior from sight.
Scattered about the main room were tables loaded with various devices, some surveillance, some far less innocuous. The carefully arranged vials and syringes on one table, gave a hint as to the real purpose of the room.
People moved about, watching monitors, working at computers, at any of a dozen tasks.
Upon noticing Jared's arrival, one man quickly ended his discussion with two others and hurriedly approached. "Mr. Stark, we weren't expecting you until later," Dr. Burroughs stated, looking irritated at the invasion of his inner sanctum.
"Plans change. The timetable has been moved up." Jared walked towards the glass house, with the doctor trailing behind him. Coming to the first of the clear windows he gazed at his prize. Strapped into the utilitarian interrogation chair was Alex Monroe. Her eyes were closed, but even if they had been open, she would not have been able to see him; the lights were focused in such a way as to render the walls about her completely invisible. A delightful irony not lost on Jared. They were also bright enough to temporarily blind her should she look at them for any length of time, and were therefore more than adequate for use in sleep deprivation. When the light failed there were any number of other, ever more creative, methods to keep her conscious.
Each of her limbs was held securely in the precise position wanted. She could wiggle her torso no more than a few centimeters, her arms and legs mere millimeters, but her head was given freedom for whatever good it would do her. There were electrodes attached here and there to monitor her current state. The EEG showed that while her eyes were closed, she was far from asleep. There were bruises on her arms, similar to track marks, from the injections she'd been given. Concoctions designed to confuse her mind and weaken her resolve without damaging what she knew. At the last update Jared had received, everything had been on schedule.
"Is she ready?"
"I think so," Dr. Burroughs answered.
"You think so? Doctor, I was assured you could break her. Have you done so or not?" Jared had no interest in having his time wasted, especially when that time was limited.
"She is extremely resistant to our methods," Dr. Burroughs explained. "You failed to warn us that she..."
"I expect you to do your job regardless of what I do or do not know." Jared leveled a glare at the man. He was in charge, not this so-called doctor who apparently couldn't even manage to complete a simple task without obfuscation. "I was informed that you were the best at this type of interrogation. Clearly that was a mistake." He turned to Connor. "Arrange for her transport..."
"Wait," Dr. Burroughs shouted, stepping between them.
"What?" Jared asked, irritation at the interruption plain on his features.
"Moving her could be dangerous right now," Dr. Burroughs sputtered, indignation in his voice, but a very real fear in his eyes.
"'Think.' 'Might.' Are you certain about anything?" Jared easily scored with that shot as the doctor drew back haughtily.
"I know my job, Mr. Stark, and I would suggest you allow me to do it."
Now that impressed Jared, for while he demanded unswerving loyalty, he cared nothing for fawning toadies. Members of Chrysalis were supposed to be superior; they had best believe it for themselves. He didn't show his approval, however. "You've had three days. Her DNA may be superior to most, but it's not that good."
That did the trick. The sly suggestion that a mere mortal could defeat the good doctor's techniques in which he took such pride pushed him too far. "She's not." He waved in the direction of the entrance to the interrogation room. "In fact, no few of us wonder why you went to such effort making your final decision."
Jared forced a bland look on his face. It was well known, and even encouraged to a degree, that higher ranking members chose the incubator for their children, however, it was very rare that the host that had been chosen became general knowledge. Monroe being a Federal Agent had been as problematic as her DNA had been compatible. Only one in ten women who came through the clinics were suitable as incubators, and half of those were weeded out during more intensive testing. Alex Monroe had been so close to perfect for Jared and his wife that the differences had been negligible.
Eleanor had made the final decision, but Jared had been certain the moment he read the gene chart. Alex Monroe would be the incubator for his son.
That she had managed the near-impossible, found the boy and discovered Chrysalis, was a source of much annoyance. Only the fact that she and the Agency had not made that knowledge public had allowed Jared to keep the situation quiet. Sharon and others were very much aware of the tenuous ground on which he stood, but had also left him to handle it as he saw fit. So long as the secrecy was maintained, he was permitted total discretion on the matter.
Jared had decided to deal with the most immediate threat - Alex - before moving on to the Agency and Darien Fawkes. That was an event he would relish. This... this was simply a necessity.
He strode to the door of the room and slid it open, Connor, grim-faced, remained outside to observe on the off-chance that Ms. Monroe pulled off another miracle and fought back. As soon as the door sealed Jared spoke, "Good morning, Agent Monroe."
Alex's eyes snapped open, proving that she'd been far from the unconsciousness she'd been pretending. "Stark," she hissed, her body tensing and testing the restraints. "Let me go, you bastard."
"After all the trouble I went to to catch you? I think not." Jared remained outside the cone of light, but her eyes followed his voice as he paced about her.
She shook her head. "You didn't know I'd be there."
Jared smiled. "You're right, I didn't know, but I suspected. I'm still not certain how you managed to tap into my data stream, but I must say I'm impressed." He stopped behind her and moved into the light, hands settling upon the headrest, fingers able to run through her hair should he wish. "I did know you wouldn't be able to resist if the bait was tempting enough."
"You don't know me," she growled, hands jerking hard enough to make the entire chair vibrate. Whatever methods Dr. Burroughs had used had not come even close to breaking her. Jared would get nothing of value out of her right now. Still, he needed to make certain that she understood that he was in control and that she had no hope of rescue.
"I know more than you think," he said slyly, coming about to face her.
"You know nothing." Ever proud and defiant, and damnably confident.
He laughed softly. "I know you are very much alone; that no one even realizes you are missing."
Alex joined the laughter, but harsh, derisive. "Keep telling yourself that, you might actually begin to believe it." Her eyes narrowed. "Whatever you're going to do you best make it soon, I don't imagine you have much time to waste."
"You forget, my dear," he reached out and cupped her chin, "I have all the time in the world."
Alex glared, but refused to comment, perhaps finally realizing exactly how precarious her situation was. She would only remain alive so long as she was of use to him and currently she wasn't.
He released her and turned away, leaving her alone to contemplate her eventual fate. She most likely believed he planned to kill her, but that was the furthest thing from the truth. Oh, no, he fully intended to get everything he could from her.
Dr. Burroughs was pale and looked as if he was going to be violently ill.
"And that, doctor, is why I went to such effort. A host such as her is a rare find." With a last sneering glance at the man, Jared walked away.