In the darkness of his office, Vincent Muldoon savoured a burgundy, staring through the large window at the emptiness of the streets. He liked it. The taste travelling through his tongue gave him a feeling that could only be second to sex. But that was not a choice. Since his wife Julia had been murdered 22 years ago, celibacy was a way of life for him. The Kurgan had discovered her while she watched her killed-in-battle assignment. That day, Muldoon swore he would bring the last immortal, whoever he was, to dust.
But MacLeod defeating Kurgan had been too unexpected. He chose to keep tabs on the Highlander. Someone with the power of all immortals was too powerful to be defeated. When his adoptive daughter died, and his wife left him, he knew it was the right time. They set in motion a plan, which failed in the last stage: the death of the Highlander. It had been an unexplainable failure. Since then, isolated attempts had taken place, wherever and whenever they could spot the Highlander. He had been spotted in Buenos Aires recently.
A beep interrupted his chain of thought, and a distorted female voice passed a message. She had some information. Muldoon asked her in. A cute brunette with suit, glasses and a short skirt that revealed a fine pair of legs walked in, handed in a couple of printed sheets and left the room. Muldoon watched her do so intently. If Julia's memory hadn't haunted him, he would have harassed her. Oh yes, joyfully.
He read the papers and took a deep sip to contain his anger. Zachary Jones, the man that had reported MacLeod's presence in Buenos Aires, had been killed. So had Robert Briggs, the best they could find to take the Scot down. For some reason, the Highlander still carried a sword. He had not counted on that. Which would be the next step now? He caressed the little grey bristles on his chin, feeling the cold contact of the wedding ring in his finger against it. He knew what to do. He called the secretary again. She walked in.
"Get me Nicole O'Ballahan."
She nodded and walked out. MacLeod would surely fall to her and die. But Muldoon removed the Highlander from his head, being more concerned with gazing at the secretary leaving.
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Connor took off his coat and headed to the bathroom. Garfield looked around the hotel room. Three-star hotels seldom looked that well. Everything was neat and clean. The service had been extremely good too. He approached the coat the Highlander had used and looked for something in it. The Highlander returned, off the bloodstained clothes and in a red tee shirt. Garfield glared at him, uneasy about something.
"Where is the sword?" he asked.
Connor laughed. "Heh-heh. What sword?"
"Don't fool with me, MacLeod. The wakizachi."
"There's no wakizachi."
"I can see that. Where did you hide it?" He was losing his patience.
"Like I said, there is no sword."
Connor called room service and asked for two coffees. He sat down gaily in front of the TV, feeling Garfield's eyes piercing him, and watching George Lazenby play the worst James Bond ever. He needed to trust somebody. The man knew about him, and had met him before. That was not enough but... there was no one else.
"MacLeod... " Garfield said after a while, giving up. "Whatever."
Coffee came in. Connor tipped the clerk and then had a sip.
"I used a sword, but there is no sword."
"How? Don't tell me it's magic."
"Heh-heh. A kind of magic actually. It's the power of illusion."
Connor stood up and kneeled in front of the other, who did not understand. He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, his face began to change. It was... Lieutenant Frank Moran... then... Brenda Wyatt... then... Eric Garfield himself... then... Connor MacLeod again. Garfield's eyes almost fell off their sockets.
"How can it be!" he was terrified.
"It is the power of the sorcerer Nakano. He trained me. He wanted me to have his power, so he challenged me when he thought I was ready..."
"Nakano..." the other mumbled, remembering something. "... thought he was a myth... like Methos."
"Neither of them were. Both lived... and both died by my blade."
"When?" Garfield queried, wanted to know more.
"Nakano got me drunk one night, and then challenged me. I had defeated him before but refused to take his head. But that time I was not that clear-headed to stop. And Methos... it's a long story."
"But why don't you use it to...?"
Connor gasped "It demands a great deal of body energy, which I'm barely able to produce now that I'm mortal." Indeed, beads of sweat were tripping down from the Highlander's brow.
"So... you actually have the power of all the immortals?"
"I inherited some quirks mostly. I discovered I had this ability when..." Connor stopped, his eyes suddenly struggling against emotion.
Garfield knew when: the day the Watchers had called in at his place, beginning the runaway frenzy Connor was in ...