Chapter V: The IPS
Late afternoon in New York City. The passengers of said vehicle descended slowly. A crew of the IPS, the Immortal Prevention Squad, was guarding the bus station on the lookout for any potential freak of nature that might have the wrong idea of visiting New York. The leader of them, Commander Eric Garfield, a skinny grey-haired officer in his mid forties, eyed the flocking people with distrust as his hands caressed a shiny shotgun. Any of them could be one.
Like Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. He had met the Scottish freak in the mid-eighties, when MacLeod had been questioned following the death of Iman Fasil in the garage of the Madison Square Garden. From square one, Garfield had found something disturbing about him. But nothing could be proved. In the end, all the murders by beheading were pinned on the Kurgan, the so-called strongest immortal ever, who was found beheaded in an abandoned bakery, while the Highlander married the Forensics hooker Brenda Wyatt and fled to Scotland.
"Check that couple." He heard the comment of his second, the Lieutenant John Stern, as Stern pointed at a blond kid in a sports jacket that walked beside a man in a brown robe. Garfield examined the man. There was something in him that was disturbing.
"Tell them to stay sharp. I'll approach them."
Garfield rushed to the exit of the station and selected the priest and the kid out. The two of them obeyed without objections. Garfield motioned at one of his men to join him.
"Can we be of any help, officer?" the priest asked kindly.
"What brings you to New York, father?"
"Abbot, officer." The reply was calm yet filled with a peculiar tone. "Abbot Bruno Dolore."
"OK, abbot." Garfield replied, wondering if the queer accent was really from Italy as his eyes fixed on the youngling. "And this boy is?"
"His name is Corey." Dolore answered as he patted the kid's head. The boy nodded foolishly with a broad smile on his lips. "His parents died recently." The kid looked down, sadness prone to appear in his face. "I was due to come here so I was authorised to deliver him to the local orphanage."
"Oh..." Garfield was about to mention something about his obligation to check their clothes. He did not like having to inspect an abbot and a boy for weapons but that was what the IPS was there for: try and spot and terminate any immortal arriving in town. The priest would have to understand. But something in the rear part of the line startled him. There was a man who looked extremely uneasy by the presence of the IPS. He motioned at his man to go there. "I'm sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. Good afternoon."
He approached. It was a tall, well-built man with short hair that was shifting in his place too much for Garfield's comfort. The men drew nearer and Stern stopped Garfield.
"It might be the immortal Liam O'Rourke." Stern whispered as he punched a button in his palmtop. A coloured picture of a person very similar to the suspect, wearing a prison outfit, appeared in the screen.
"O'Rourke? Irish?"
"Yep. He was involved in the Civil War. According to the file, he was convicted for a bombing in the early thirties. He was released ten years ago."
"That's... 1996. Right in time to join Kronos' ranks." Garfield put a bullet in his shotgun. "Seize him."
-----
Kenny had wanted to applaud Kell. His performance as the abbot Dolore had been perfect, rivalling with the best theatrical actors he had been able to see. His own acting had not been bad. But now he was desperate to get away for he knew what was coming. There had been a third immortal in that bus, to whom they had only nodded, and it had to be that immortal they were going after. Despite this, the movements of the IPS seemingly amazed Kell. His tugs at the alleged priest's sleeve were worthless.
"Watch and learn." Kell muttered coldly. "And be ready to run."
Kenny felt half-relieved by learning that Kell was considering the danger. However, he wondered if he would be able to run fast enough to escape a dozen mortals armed with shotguns.
The guards were closing in on the immortal, who had already noticed and was fleeing. Kenny noticed that officer, whose nametag read Garfield, was kneeling to take aim. A second later he heard the deafening blast of the weapon and the immortal was hit, falling down and rolling on the floor.
"Kell, we have to move!" he whispered.
"Be ready. I'll tell you," was the calm reply.
Kenny's hands began to tremble, even more when he noticed that the fallen immortal was recovering on the floor as the IPS surrounded him. What startled him the most was that this immortal was looking at him. In his eyes he read something he had never seen before in someone this close to death: a strange image of deliverance.
One of the members of the squad fired again and that immortal lay on the floor, gasping by the wound on his right shoulder. Kenny paid heed to the man with the minute computer, who was leaving the artefact in his car and taking out a long machete.
"Holy st!" he cursed, tugging at Kell. He had been in other states where immortals were taken to an already-lost trial to then meet definite death. Here, they were swifter: this squad got rid of them on the spot.
"Calm down, kiddo." Kell mumbled.
The immortal was shot yet again and he fell, barely breathing and barely moving, though his eyes were again fixed on Kenny. The 800-year-old boy gave a step forward as four of the squad held the Irish immortal clung to the floor by the limbs. He saw the officer that had questioned them fire in the immortal's stomach. The wounded man spat blood. He saw behind teary eyes the blade approaching against his neck. He stared into the sky and let out a wild shriek to the others:
"Run, you fools!"
Then he lost his head.
Kenny and Kell were already out of the station and fleeing by a lateral street that led to a large avenue. Kenny heard the cry and stopped, his heart feeling the angst of the sacrifice of that immortal, whoever he was. Kell lifted him up and loaded the kid on his shoulders as if Kenny was a potato bag.
"We have to keep moving, idiot!" he cursed the kid.
-----
Garfield stared at the corpse of O'Rourke, as one of his men picked it up and from a distance, tried to send it into a black bag. The soldier raised his arms like a basketball player and sent the head. The leader stared at O'Rourke's pleased smirk, affixed on his face as it dove in the air and landed inside the bag.
"Three points!" the man said as he hit another one's hand.
"Hey!" Stern addressed them rudely. "Quit playing and clean up the mess, dammit!"
"Yessir!"
The men moved to work. Stern offered a cigarette to Garfield, who rejected it. The second gave a smoke and the fumes flew up in the dusk. The leader stared at the shapes of it then posed his eyes on his friend, who was at least a head shorter.
"What is it, Eric?" Stern asked him.
"It's..." Garfield looked into his friend's eyes. "I don't know."
"You hate this job, right?" Stern whispered. "So do I. It's not the same as when we enrolled."
"Right. Ever thought we'd be here when we were in the Academy?"
"I might have." Stern replied coarsely as he smoked again. "Except for the immortals part... and this manhunt."
"I know. It was all about nailing Russell Nash, remember?"
Stern smirked. "Yeah. Who knows where in hell he is now?"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I made a little fun with the name of the abbot. Bruno Dolore is almost a literal translation of Bruce Payne. Bet you noticed the "Lord of the Rings" line so there's nothing to say about that... except "No, O'Rourke will not return as Liam the White."
