CHAPTER TWO

Having Jarod look after and train the young Pretenders was a brilliant idea of not only Miss Parker, but Antonio Lambourni, their oldest son. Right now, he was off for a week in Italy, finishing off a movie about this opera singer who opposed the Nazis and got killed because of it.

Of course, Miss Parker knew why he would do such a thing — out of character for a Homo Dominant, the scientific name by which those with the Pretender gene, were called. Antonio's passion was Opera. In fact, many of the Homo Dominants preferred the old style of music to the modern. Not having the emotions, they preferred the chants, the baroque, and the mournful music of the past. They, unless fed a diet containing Neogenesis Two or Neogeneis, kept their lower emotions and did not prefer the rhythm of modernism. '

So, they remained impassive when listening to a rock band and not even the sound of the top singer would bar them from their task of killing. In layman's terms, they would be considered Sociopaths even without the formula, but their extremely high intelligence made it less likely for them to act out in these tendencies. Jarod's actions during his escape, was proof of that. Most Homo Sapiens would have written letters, get signatures, join a political policy. They would not have decided to get vengeance on behalf of the victim or, as Miss Parker often stated, "Getting even." This was a pure Pretender trait.

As it were, the reason for Lambourni's sudden departure was a certain District Attorney, Jack McCoy. Lambourni's corporate clients usually found themselves on trial for various crimes and later in jail. There was also another lawyer who specialized in defending obviously guilty clients and his reasoning was that "they can't get at me while they're in jail." He was the brother of Lambourni's crooked policeman friend and Miss Parker started to wonder whether this choice of unsavory and lower class individuals was a negative trait in the Pretender bloodstream and whether she had done the right thing at leaving her children off at the lawyer.

She made a phone call. "This is Lady Angela," she said using her official Adopted Homo Dominant title, "Just like to know how the kids are?"

"They are excellent intelligent beings," said Svetlana. "Constance is now back. She is incorporating the food distribution for the internal nutrition of young Dominants."

"So she's getting them lunch," said Miss Parker.

"Hello mother," came a small voice.

"Hello Jeremiah. You'll be back at the family residence soon," she said, thinking of how nervous the child was and how they had rescued him from becoming the next Pretender. She grew angry when she thought of how her own father deceived her, taking one of her eggs, fertilizing it with Jarod's sperm and planting it into Brigitte's womb. Not only that, but she learned that Raines had stolen the baby out the regular nursery and put him in the Pretender program. "I also have to replace the Centre."

"Are you going to blow it up?"

"No. Repair it. Mother's going to see that only good people order from the Centre, so if you see some men drive up with FBI labels on their clothes, or with General Stars on their shoulders, or look like spies, don't worry. They're not going to kill your mother or you."

"What purpose?"

"Do you remember watching that show where the police wanted to know how the bad man killed the lovely girl so they called in an expert and he constructed a scene? We're going to do that."

"That is exciting, mother."

"Your talking has improved."

"We have commu-"

"Communication," came Svetlana's voice, "you say u and then ni."

"Communication, I learned how to say intelligence. That means very smart. But Jarvis, Adrian, Olivia, and Patricia can't say that. They're too little."

"Well you can help them, can't you? You're the oldest."

"But Mr. Lambourni is and Frederick and Margaret are older than me. Frederick's going to work for the C and A."

"No, that's the CIA, but he's not old enough yet. He has to go to Spy school and learn how to talk spy" This entailed telling him silly phrases such as "The boat flies in the water" and "Chickens are common in Red Square" and "Yes, but pigeons are more numerous. I have your message, comrade." Well it had been some time since she watched those old 1960 Spy movies.

Miss Parker also talked to her youngest children, ensuring them that their close relative Svetlana would bring them up to the Centre Tower in a couple of days. "And when I get it finished, I'll get your daddy up."

"Daddy away?" asked Patricia.

"Daddy's looking after some kids who were like him when he was little. They don't know about things like TV, candies, cookies, and your Daddy'll show them what's it like so their work won't be sold to bad men like the kind that blew up the Twin Towers and killed Antonio's wife. Now I've got to say good-bye to your close relative, Svetlana." She talked to Svetlana for a while, told her that on no account were the children to watch any movie over a PG rating even if they gave her sorrowful looks, and she then put the phone on the cradle and went to work.

So far, much of the bullet holes and observation holes were almost repaired, and she now decided to have an inspection, make suggestions as to how the work was to improve.

"Did you clean out Raines's Inner Sanctum?" she asked one of the workers.

"Yes my Lady," said the worker, "however we came upon another area."

"What area?"

He gave a slight bow. "If you come this way. It is a closed location, not in the lower sublevels, but completely sealed. A place for reflection and meditation, but not what one would expect."

Usually places of reflection and mediation were Churches, easy accessible from the outside, but this area wasn't.

The door to it was sealed shut. "Get it open," she ordered, and took out her cell phone. "I've got to check out on Jarod's new charges."

"Hello Jarod, this is Miss Parker."

"Hello Miss Parker. You certainly are a good selector of ah uniforms."

She smiled. "Comes from shopping over in Paris and taking a course for Young Ladies. So how's it coming along?"

"They have seven sections here and ten young Pretenders." He sounded tired.

"So how much do they know?"

"As much as I did. I have to keep each section separate and teach them there. Haven't much time to talk."

"Well make time, Jarod."

"Okay. They have regular beds, dressers, tables, and chairs unlike what I had. The ones mated can see each other, the ones not, can only see me. We've had two visitors, one a doctor and another from the Airforce. Whose idea was that?"

"Lanbourni's. He wants them to get used to people. Did you get the DVDs?"

"Yes, but I cannot understand the significance of these shows."

"I know you watched them one hundred times each, but I want them to watch them only once or twice, just like regular kids and the kitchen staff has been instructed to give them ice cream and cake if they behave themselves." She hung up. So far this part of renewing the Centre was working.

True they still used simulations, but with the safeguards, there would be no evil dictator or criminal boss using them to destroy their enemies.

"Miss Parker, do you want to inspect the room?"

She shut off her cell phone, and waved her right hand. "Okay. Just stand aside."

The light from the hallway was enough to see what was inside. It looked like one of those ladies parlors from the 1940s, the kind that the heroine entertained. Even the dresser drawer and the clothes lying across the bed gave her that impression. There was an old French magazine, and on the night stand were several letters.

She felt something soft and yet hard under her feet, but ignored it for she had to see the letters.

"I'll need some extra light from the hallway," she ordered.

Now she could see things. She glanced around the room, once again and then to the floor. It was then she gasped in horror. "No!" Stepping back, she glanced at the letters, recognizing the name, she realized they were correspondence between her paternal grandmother and her great grandparents.

She read one and as she did, her face paled in horror.

It was in French and the middlest of English translation went like this:

Papa and Mama. From your loving daughter, Margo. I am afraid I made a terrible mistake when I married Lamech. He won't let me see the children. He names them horrible names. After evil people. And there's something terrible going on here. Oh dear Papa, I wish I was back home in Normandy. I wish I was helping you in the Pharmacy. Please help me Papa. Talk to Father Lebreuf.

The reply went like this
My dear cheri, Margo from your beloved papa. and your beloved mama You are in a strange country, but your fears are unfounded. Lamech is such a nice man. He would never harm anyone. Do not be concerned my child He has your best interest at heart and think of your surviving son. How terrible it would be if you left your husband, the same. Remember the vows you took before the priest. You must obey your husband. He is under a strain. Perhaps it is your imagination.

The next letter followed: My dear Papa. I cannot do that. He scares me. I hear screams coming from below and when I looked out the window, I saw my husband dragging this man and woman in. I asked about it and he said I saw nothing. And then late at night, I heard this pounding and then I saw Lamech and another man carry some bodies out and dig in the garden. I will go to the police tomorrow.

That was the last letter she wrote.

Miss Parker shook her head as she looked at the bundle near the door, half hard and half soft and wearing a jersey blue dress, what was once a straw hat, and pumps. But she couldn't look for it long. She was fascinated with the letters. They told of her grandmother being afraid of grandfather, the frequent beatings, her threatening to tell the police about him. They mentioned his work, of seeing him put people in ice water and freeze them to death. They told of the horrors of injecting them with poison, and then there were the screams she heard and the poundings. And all this stopped when her husband shut her in this room and left her to die. Her great grandparents never got the letters from their daughter. They were all bundled along with the fake answers written on Centre paper and with Centre fountain pen.

Miss Parker called one of the workers over and said in as calm a voice as she could. "Get the undertaker on the phone. I want to arrange a decent burial for my grandmother."