Chapter 8

"You are joking…I hope?" Arnaud asked through a strained half smile, struggling to conceal his soaring temper from Theodore Tomaszko. It would never do to show any sort of negative emotion in front a man like this.

"I am deadly serious, Arnaud," came the clipped response. "You should know me well enough by now to realize that I never joke."

Tomaszko, accompanied by a couple of his burly bodyguards, had turned up that morning unannounced to check on progress with the American agent and then, more alarmingly, demanded a demonstration of his 'abilities'.

Even though Tomaszko had witnessed the Quicksilver at work firsthand, albeit briefly, during one of their disastrous early attempts to implant it into a human host - which resulted in a massive brain hemorrhage and the subsequent death of the unfortunate 'volunteer' - he now wanted conclusive proof that his faith in Arnaud and his team had been justified and that invisibility was a reality.

Arnaud had argued that they shouldn't push Fawkes to 'perform' too soon, but against Tomaszko's forceful and unrelenting insistence he had lost. And now, the results of that lay huddled and trembling in a corner of the treatment room with arms covering his head, while Wesley Carter and another doctor tried to tend to the traumatized and barely conscious man.

Of course they'd had to resort to increasingly heavy jolts from the Control Device to get him to co-operate, and Arnaud only hoped that all the hard work put into Fawkes' 'Effective Psychological Conditioning' over the last few weeks, had not been jeopardized and they hadn't pushed too far, too soon.

The sheer brilliance of EPC - which had been developed by the specialists at the Institute for their more violent and uncooperative patients, and then fine-tuned by Arnaud specifically for Darien Fawkes - had been that in just a few short weeks, working practically 24/7, they had managed to break through his complex emotional and intellectual barriers. Though the journey certainly hadn't been without its share of setbacks, almost entirely due to Fawkes' initially stubborn resistance to just about everything they subjected him to during 'Phase 1', including isolation, sleep deprivation and numerous threats and punishments. But Arnaud had anticipated a spirited fight, and had to admit that he would actually have been a tad disappointed if the annoying thorn in his side had given in too easily.

But everyone has their breaking point and they inevitably found his, with an inspired combination of drugs, shock tactics, desensitization and ultimately the use of the Control Device to deliver carefully calculated doses of excruciating agony, overwhelming his exhausted body and finally his mind.

If the first phase was all about submission, then 'Phase 2' was when the really delicate work began. This was where they suppressed his old memories and overlaid them with new ones which were, of course, all part of the 'back story' specifically created for him.

Darien emerged believing that he'd been in an accident and had suffered a brain trauma resulting in amnesia.

He was also still aware of the Quicksilver Gland and of his ability, but in the revised version of his life he was an ex-NSA agent now on the run from his former employers. And Ella Craven was his long-time partner…both professionally and personally.

Of course, until the EPC program was complete Fawkes was still prone to the odd act of defiance - like the display in front of Tomaszko which had resulted in a painful retaliation - along with random flashbacks to his old existence. But very soon they would be ready to move into 'Phase 3', which would ensure that not only did his memory loss became permanent, but by use of a trigger word they would also be able to influence his psyche and then invariably his actions.

And that day couldn't come soon enough as far as Arnaud was concerned. But their ultimate objective would be achieved that much faster if he was allowed to get on with their work without unnecessary interruptions, particularly in the shape of a huge pain in the ass like Tomaszko.

The man had been truly awestruck when Fawkes had finally been 'persuaded' to cooperate, watching in rapt fascination at the first beads of metallic silver materialized, slowly spreading and coiling around his tall frame until he just…disappeared. Discarding his invisible cloak a few moments later in a glittering array of tiny flakes, that left the Latovanian staring in open-mouthed disbelief.

Now, Arnaud could hardly believe what the idiot was asking…no demanding. He expected them to have Fawkes operational and ready for a special project by the weekend.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm himself, he decided to try reasoning "Theo…we are still only half way through his conditioning program. It's at a very delicate stage…"

Tomaszko rounded on him instantly, his dark eyes flashing fiercely, a finger jabbing into Arnaud's chest. He felt rather than saw the two heavies move in from either side.

"I offered you refuge when you had nowhere else to run, gave you protection when your enemies were snapping at your heels, provided financial support and a secure facility so that you could carry on with your research," came the uncompromising response, followed by a deliberate pause. "Now it's payback time, Arnaud."

"But you can see that his behavior is still a little…unpredictable. Until we have…"

"Just do whatever you have to do to ensure he's docile and pliable. I have every faith in you not to disappoint me. That would be most…unfortunate." With that Tomaszko swept out of the room his men obediently on his heels, leaving Arnaud to stare dazedly after him.

"Of all the egotistical, pigheaded, motherf…"

"I assume you're referring to our uninvited guest?" Ella Craven said as she stepped into the room, indicating with a contemptuous sneer over her shoulder in Tomaszko's direction. "The man's an asshole, Arnaud," she hissed. "Why do we even need him?"

Arnaud pulled her onto his arms, nuzzling her neck. "Because, cousin dear, without his money the whole project - my life's work - would have come to a grinding halt. It's not easy being on Interpol's '10 Most Wanted Terrorists' list - eventually you just run out of places to hide," he sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, I don't anticipate us really being free of Theo until I can pay the bastard back with interest for his 'hospitality'. And I won't be in a position to do that until after our little Quicksilver auction. In the meantime, he's got me by the balls and he knows it."

Pulling back now slightly to hold Ella at arms length, as he wanted to check her reaction to his next bit of news. "You know, part of the deal was that Theo would eventually become the proud owner of his very own Quicksilver Gland, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he'd settle for your lover boy once we have him fully house trained."

Ella stiffened immediately, glancing over to where the man in question was now sitting upright with his back resting against a wall, docilely letting Carter wrap a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. "Never," she spat angrily, her eyes narrowing to slits as she turned once again to face her cousin. "After the auction, he's mine. We had a deal, remember!"

With a completely deadpan expression, Arnaud studied for a long while and then, incredibly he began to chuckle. "You should see your face."

"And you shouldn't make jokes at my expense, Arnaud," she said softly, the tension so evident a moment before disappearing now. "It's 'till death us do part' all the way for me and Darien. We've got places to go, clients to see. Invisibility is going global." Ella ran the back of her hand down the side of Arnaud's face. "You'll get your full share too, I promise. A deal's a deal after all."

Arnaud nodded. "I never doubted you my sweet. But for the moment we have no choice but to grant Theo's request, even though I'm not absolutely convinced Fawkes is ready yet. So, let's just hope the little prick behaves himself… for all our sakes."


Meanwhile, about 90 miles north on a small private landing strip, the Agency's private jet touched down, and Rudi Tzarnov was there on the rain-drenched tarmac to meet Hobbes, Claire and Eberts.

On the journey, Rudi briefed them in flawless English on developments at the Institute so far, with a promise of a more detailed update later. He then spent the rest of the journey flirting outrageously with Claire, pointing out different landmarks along the way and recounting bits of old folklore much to her delight. It was a beautiful country. Lush farm land giving way to rolling hills and dense forests the further inland they traveled, through tiny villages that hadn't changed much in hundreds of years and some locals who still favored the Latovanian traditional garb; the men in dark trousers, shirts and a sheepskin coat and usually accompanied with a hat that resembled the western trilby. The women also went for dark and functional, their skirts belted at the waist and embellished with rich embroidery, topped by a sheepskin waistcoat and heavy woolen shawls of black maroon or gray.

It was later afternoon by the time they reached their destination - a small farmhouse just outside the medieval village of Siska, the LMI's current base in the region, and Mikhail Tzarnoc greeted them all at the door like long lost friends.

Bobby warmed to the man immediately. On the long journey from the States, he'd carefully scanned through the file the CIA had provided on the Latovanian Military Intelligence and on Tzarnov and his group in particular. It always paid to do your research and if these people could lead him to his partner, then he wanted to know as much about them as possible.

Tzarnov had fought for his country's independence during the civil way and was a patriot through and through, and now he and his small but efficient group fought to ensure that Latovania remained a democracy. They had been investigating the Belnickov Institute for six months, since the rumors of its unconventional research first came to the attention of their superiors.

Now from what Tzarnov told Hobbes and the others, it appeared that a man - Theodore Tomaszko - who was currently the rank outsider in the forthcoming Presidential election - was somehow connected to the place. How, they didn't know, but Hobbes would have taken a bet that it had something to do with Arnaud De Fehrn and it wouldn't be good.

Of Darien there was little news. Since their agent had filed her report there had only been a single sighting of him, and the one attempt made to gain access to the secure part of the clinic where he was now being held had nearly ended in disaster. So Tzarnov had ordered her to back off for the moment for her own safety.

The group were now huddled around a large oak table in the kitchen of the farmhouse studying a map of the area and several photographs of the castle.

Eberts cleared his throat. "Pardon me Mr. Tzarnov, sir."

"It's just Mikhail," Tzarnov corrected with an easy smile.

"Of course. Well…uh…Mikhail, if everything we've seen and read about it is true, then the Belnckov Institute is an impenetrable fortress."

Hobbes joined in then, shifting in his seat and leaning over the table to snag one of the photographs for emphasis. "Eberts is right. The only way in seems to be over that bridge and through the front door. We could try it, but I don't imagine we'd get much in the way of a warm welcome from ole Arnaud or his cronies."

Mikhail watched while his brother went round the table and replenished their guests' glasses with another generous shot of vodka. Nodding his thanks, Bobby took his down in one swallow; not much of a drinker but unwilling to offend his hosts, Eberts just sipped delicately at his, while Claire - looking decidedly glassy-eyed and swaying a little in her seat - seemed to be savoring every mouthful.

"Tunnels," Mikhail stated, then quickly drained his own glass with a long pleasurable sigh.

"Huh?" from Bobby.

"Tunnels," he repeated. "Leading into the castle. If you know where to look."

"And we know where to look," Rudi added with a mischievous wink at Claire as he took the seat next to her, seemingly oblivious or even ignoring the slight narrowing of eyes from Bobby.

"A remnant from around 1426 and one of the original landowners, Count Boris Sokoloff. It is rumored that the Count dabbled in the black arts and had the tunnels dug out so that he and his fellow 'occultists' could come and go as they pleased, without fear of being disturbed. There's also evidence to suggest that they imprisoned many innocents in the dungeons down there and conducted human sacrifices."

Across the table through the flickering candlelight, Hobbes watched Claire give a visible shudder before draining her vodka glass completely.

Eberts let out an audible gulp.

"Many of the tunnels have collapsed over the years, but at least two are still intact," Mikhail continued. "My operative has been using them for months to get in and out of the Institute undetected. It's a condition of their employment that medical staff live on site, and they are watched very closely. With the exception of a select few none are really trusted."

Taking over from his brother again, Rudi unfolded another map - this one a detailed drawing of the internal layout of the castle - and laid it out over the table.

"When the castle was renovated, the entire lower level including the old dungeons were left untouched. We're not sure why, but it could be because it was just too expensive - after all it's very dark and damp down there - or maybe they just wanted to retain something of the original 'charm'."

The new owners are either unaware of these tunnels, or have just forgotten they exist. We only discovered them ourselves with the help of one of the locals, a poacher."

"Their loss is our gain, huh Rudi?" Mikhail grinned at his younger brother.

"But what about the moat?" asked Eberts curiously.

Rudi responded quickly with a chuckle.. "It's man made and only about 30 feet deep, the tunnels run beneath it. Don't worry my friend, you won't get your feet wet".

Mikhail stared at the three Americans. "So, it's agreed. Tomorrow night we will get you into the clinic. Let's just pray that your young friend can hold on for one more day."


Later that same night, Bobby stood outside in the ramshackle farmyard staring intently off into the distance. It had stopped raining for the moment and the clouds parted every so often to give a glimpse of the full moon.

The front door creaked open and he didn't have to turn to know that it was Claire coming to find him. She gave him a playful nudge and he smiled, his arm encircling her waist and pulling her in close.

"Are you okay, Bobby?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Just thinking about Fawksey, I know this is gonna sound freaky, but I can almost sense him."

"That's not surprising, you two have a special bond. You're closer than brothers"

She felt him tense suddenly. "Fat lot of good that did the kid, huh? I was the one supposed to protect him and I let that bitch Craven get her hands on him…again. And because of that, De Freak has had Darien for nearly a month, plenty of time to screw with the Gland."

"Oh no," Claire grabbed his chin and pulled his face round so that he had no choice but to look at her. "Let's drop the whole guild trip thing. Been there, done it," she scolded. "If you're to blame, then we're all to blame."

"But…" Bobby tried.

"No 'buts'," came the firm warning, though her grip on his jaw did relax slightly and her finger ran a gentle trail along his cheek

"I know you're right, Keepie," he said softly, "but I've got a bad feeling about this. Call it intuition or something. I just hope we're not too late, that Fawksey hasn't given up on us."

Despite the comforting warmth coming from Bobby and the reassuring pressure of his arms around her, Claire shivered and not just from the cold night air. "Wherever Darien is tonight, I'm sure he knows we're here and that we're coming for him."


Darien came awake fast, choking back a sob as he fought to quell the still lurking terror of the nightmare. Pushing back the covers tangled around his long sweat-drenched frame, he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, running shaky fingers over his face and then through his hair.

The figure in the bed beside him stirred restlessly and then reached out to caress his lower back, coming to rest on his exposed hip. He gave a resigned sigh before turning slightly as the touch became more insistent.

"Another bad one?" Ella was asking, and for a split second he thought he could detect a note of irritation in her voice even though those beautiful concerned eyes staring up at him belied that suspicion. He nodded absently, still too freaked by the vaguely familiar images and raw emotion dredged up by the dream to trust his voice.

A moment later she was kneeling behind him, with her arms draping themselves around his naked torso and her chin settling on his shoulder.

"Dr. De Wolfe said it's to be expected with the sort of brain trauma you've suffered. The dreams…and they're only dreams baby…will fade in time."

"I know, but they just seem so…real."

"Okay, so which one was it this time?" There it was again! And this time there was no mistaking the slight edge in her tone. "The creepy blind man?"

He shook his head.

"Bigfoot trying to make out with you?"

"Nuh, uh,"

And then he felt her body stiffen, fingers that a second before had been delicate and soothing in their touch, suddenly digging into his chest until he jerked and tried to pull away.

"Not those women?" she hissed spitefully.

"No…ouch…Ella Take it easy.!" He somehow managed to prize the talons from his tender flesh and stared down in bewilderment at the angry red marks left in their wake

Even if the women in question - a blonde with a crisp British accent, and the dark-haired beauty with the green eyes - had featured as part of tonight's nightmarish episode, he would have been stupid to admit it. Not after the last time, when his confession had resulted in an oddly violent reaction from her. Sheesh, it was just a dream after all It wasn't as if he was being unfaithful or anything if they were just in his dreams, was it? Besides, he wasn't the unfaithful type. At least he didn't think so, but just lately he'd sort of forgotten a lot of things about himself.

"It was the one where the little bald guy gets shot, okay!" he stated guardedly, letting out a relieved breath an instant later as her body relaxed against his once again.

"By you?"

Shaking his head. "At least I don't think so."

"That's a shame," he thought he heard her mumble acidly, but couldn't be absolutely certain. And then her hands were all over him, urging him back into bed..

"Right now you need to get some rest. You've got a long session with Arnaud tomorrow and then on Friday we're going to Grudsk."

Darien nodded reluctantly. He was really looking forward to an entire weekend away from the Institute, but he shuddered at the prospect of spending any more time than absolutely necessary in the company of De Wolfe. Even though he knew the doctor was just trying to help him, there was just something about the man that made him uneasy. And why was it that he never had any vivid recollections of their 'sessions', beyond feeling oddly unsettled most of the time.

But these concerns gradually evaporated as Ella's lips started working their magic on the nape of his neck. "And I've got just the thing to get you to relax, pretty boy," she said teasingly, moving to his collar bone.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," she purred, nipping at an ear lobe. Then she was in his arms, their lips coming together for an intense, bruising kiss.

Before he lost himself completely to the passion of their lovemaking, his mind drifted back to his most recent dream and to the image of the little guy. Why the hell should he care if he got hurt? And who were those women and why did the name Frankie seem to be important. His emotional connection to these people felt so real.

He needed answers. But all things considered maybe now - as Ella's lips moved downwards to lavish attention on another part of his body - wasn't the best time to ask

TBC