CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

When Jarod, Miss Parker, and company arrived at Heathrow Airport, they found their reception more than they expected. It appeared that Frederick had suddenly decided that the Central Intelligent Agent who was trying to get him in as the "youngest member of the agency" should give him a holiday, "for all that hard studying and people are getting suspicious"— well that was his excuse. The real reason was that a movie company was lurking about.

Any way, the only one in the CIA (for all of Frederick's boastings) that knew of his intentions was that particular agent. The others thought he was this teenager whose "father" probably worked for the company and was trying to use his "father's" influence to get in.

That was the way with Little Margaret. She was too young for the leading lady or even her friend, even though she often said she was a great singer.

She was getting tired of dressing up as a maid or a flighty coquette when she should have, in her opinion, been Aida or Violette. (They told her it would not work unless it was the part when the latter was dying of consumption.) Margaret was not a tall girl.

Nicholas was busy with his camcorder, which he had bought in the States before coming over; shooting and speaking into the mike at the same time. "Boys and girls, this is Heathrow Airport, I am here at the Ticket Counter. This were you buy your tickets to go to any place in the world." He handed the mike to the attendant, a young woman. "I'm making a video for my class. If you aren't too busy, could you tell them what you do?"

"Sure governor." She put on her brightest face. "Hello boys and girls. I'm Miss Smith. When a grownup wants to go on a vacation, they might decide to go to a place like Rome, Italy! (she said this phrase with great excitement), they come to me and ask for tickets." With that she showed her ticket pad, waiting until Nicholas zoomed in, and continued giving a description of her job, the asking of "smoking or non-smoking, first class or economy, etc," while Nicholas filmed.

Jeremiah and his brothers and sisters were looking rather greedily at chocolate bars behind the glass of one of those small shops inside the airport terminal. Their eyes filled with sorrow, as they tried to get their parents to breakdown, but the suggestion, "we're starving, and we'll fall dead, famished from hunger," did not work on the heartless grownups who just shook their heads. The infants also joined in with a squalor and Miss Parker was almost ready to relent when Patricia whispered "Olivia pinched them."

"Olivia!" yelled her mother at which the girl made a pouting face and became all sorrowful which did not fool Miss Parker one bit.

Lambourni was also looking over the crowd dreading to see if there was a mob with either, his hair color, eyes, shape of face — anything that said, "Lambourni's kids."

Luckily, some of the Lambourni clan had some sense and only a few were there. So after Jarod, Miss Parker, and Lambourni got their respective family members, they all started for the motor car that would drive them to the Opera House when a man in a gray suit stopped them.

"Jarod? Miss Parker?" he asked, going over to them.

"How did you know our name?" Miss Parker asked, "we didn't tell anyone we're coming and who are you?"

"Roger Carmichael. You heard of my father?"

"Yes, The Dominants killed him in Mexico," said Miss Parker. "I wonder whether you were not volunteered."

"My mother had died, and they probably thought that I would inherit her delicate condition. I did."

"So only the strongest were allowed," said Jarod.

"You saw the DVD on the Hercules Project," said Roger, "it wasn't just to get the mightiest. If the war had continued, they would have been parachuted to isolated areas, forced to live off the land, in caves, with little or no shelter. They couldn't afford any sickness and they had to have a strong moral character, an ability to take on the customs and appearances of either a German, a French collaborator, an English spy of dubious loyalty, et cetera."

"So who took care of you?"

"An aunt."

"Maiden?" asked Miss Parker.

"My father's sister. She died six years ago. She did have a husband but he was killed in the Blitz. They had just been married, so she kind of doted on me."

"So why are you here?"

Carmichael reached into his pocket and pulled out two photographs. "Recognize these?"

Miss Parker turned both photographs over. One was of a young Navy Officer, standing proud besides a young woman who looked rather scared. The other was of a doctor behind another woman, this one holding a baby. There was another man in the picture who stood besides the woman, his face beaming. The caption on the back read, "Our one hundredth delivery, a healthy baby girl, St. George's Maternity Hospital, 194-"

"This is my grandfather, Lamech Parker," she told Carmichael, "He was a Navy Lieutenant, but what is he doing in a doctor's uniform and who is this Dr. Halbert?"