The Dark Rashomon Job – chapter 3
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Pain brought her back to the present. She lay crumpled on her right side; a burning sensation in her right arm, hip and forehead gnawed through the darkness until she opened her eyes and managed to blink. Lights, loud shouts, barking dogs, everything attacked her senses, until her confused brain refused to cooperate and started shutting down again. But then she remembered Eliot's knife, and pain much stronger than this physical one hit her unprepared.
Why, what, how, why – she gasped for air and raised her upper body on one elbow. Only then did she remember the strongest pain, a tearing sound in her knee, when the movement moved her leg and pulled. A scream died on her lips when she bit them, hard. Broken. Left to die. Confusion hit her again, for one the moment memory of the ventilation shaft closed again around her, and she crawled – tried to crawl away – but no escape came, only more pain, more noise. More tears.
Three men hovered over her, and their baffling voices melted into one.
"Got her!"
"Find the others!"
"Call the boss – and call the other camps. Tell them to send their men here. We'll need witnesses! Hurry!"
It wasn't important. Only Eliot's betrayal was. She tried not to close her eyes, her brain still paralyzed with disbelief. The air was thrown out of her lungs when she hit the ground, and she could only suck air in small, shaky gasps. Men around her merged into one hand that reached for her hand and pulled. Her elbow sent a bolt of pain through her arm and she screamed and scooted away.
For one second she could focus only on that hand reaching for her – and in the next second, that same hand bent. The sound of bones breaking sent another scream from her lips – she squinted, disorientated, absolutely certain she heard her own legs breaking again – but the body flew away from her. The two other men jumped away as if something exploded between them.
And something really did. She stared at Eliot and his quick, precise moves. He fought only a few steps from her, standing between her and the other men; shadows tilting in the corners of her vision were more men running towards them.
One more man fell down. "Parker, get up and run!"
What have you done? she wanted to scream, but no words came, just a small meep.
Eliot turned to her, despair and anger fighting in his eyes – five more men surrounded him, and that moment cost him two heavy hits – but that was her Eliot, not that cold face that cut her rope. She cleared her mind. You saw it wrong. No other explanation.
She gritted her teeth and crawled a few feet away from the group. You saw it wrong, she repeated the mantra in her head, forcing the reason back – her Eliot would never do it. Not now. He came for her. This Eliot fought to get her out – a familiar feeling returned her to her senses.
But he was losing. There were bodies on the ground all around him, and the rest of the men attacked all at the same time, too close, not giving him time to sort them out and deal with them separately; he was barely able to keep standing. The moment he fell, or stumbled, it would be over. They would simply run him over.
"Let the dogs out!" A man standing aside gave the order, and one from the group stepped away – she saw him running behind her, to the part of the fence that divided the main building and this part.
She couldn't move, couldn't stop him, but Eliot could. He caught one second and the knife flickered under the reflectors, hitting the man in the thigh – he screamed and swirled in the air, hitting the ground.
A scream escaped her when she looked again at the fight and saw Eliot falling back; a bloody stripe blossomed across his chest, and a man who hit him with his foot – dear god, he had shoe claws, spikes flickering just like the knives – aimed for another blow, this time at his head.
She uncurled herself, crawled back, tried to get up – and barely avoided that same man when he flew at the ground one foot from her.
Eliot was back on his feet. Something changed – his speed remained the same, but there were no more dull sounds of his fists hitting flesh – no, his strikes now made cracking noises. He broke bones with brutal, deadly smashes, forcing his way through the remaining men towards the man who gave the order to let the dogs loose.
She suppressed the urge to cover her ears, and instead pulled the phone out. She hit Nate's number, but only static answered. She stuttered a few words nevertheless, and cut the call when the sudden silence froze her.
Eliot stumbled to her; fierce eyes and bloodied knuckles. "We have to clear out," he breathed. "More will come." He didn't wait for her response; the next second his arm was under her back, the other under her knees, and he pulled her up in the air.
She buried her face in his shirt, burying the scream as well – her knee was in agony. No, she wouldn't tell him, they couldn't stay here, there was no time for checking her knee. A few men lay not moving, the others were writhing on the ground, clutching the broken limbs – dear god, she almost sympathized with them.
"I c-called Nate," she managed to utter, clutching at him. Darkness crept over them when he carried her through the hole in the outer fence; obviously, tearing the fence apart was another way to get in. Convenient.
"Good girl," he rasped. There was almost a smile in his voice, but his steps were heavy, each sending the burning needle through her knee, until she couldn't take it, until the creeping darkness engulfed and swallowed her.
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"Thank God you're here!" An unknown man stopped Nate while he was packing the last bottle. The samples he took from the small stream near one of the farms were the last for this evening, and he was about to head to the meeting point. But this guy obviously had something else on his mind.
"Excuse me?"
"You're the new vet, right?" The man only looked worried, not hostile, so Nate let him nudge him to the wooden buildings by which the creek flowed. "Don't have time to call Jim. You'll have to take a look at Sophie."
What? Before he could ask anything, or even think about all possible explanations, they entered the stall, and he faced a huge, black and white cow. Now he knew how matadors felt when facing the raging bull. The thing watched him with hatred.
"Sophie is freshened," the man said, rummaging through the closets. He noticed Nate's blank stare and continued. "Pregnant. Bred, in calf, expectant, whatever you educated people call it – and something is wrong. She is pissed off."
"She is pregnant, of course, so she is supposed to be pissed off – look, I have nothing with me now. I'll call you in the morning and come here with Jim for a proper examination, and we-"
The man came back from the closets. "No worries doc, I have everything you need." He raised his hand, showing him a rubber glove. Up-to-the-elbow rubber glove. "Put this on, and get down to business."
Sophie let out a thundering sound.
His phone saved him; he frantically searched his pockets, giving the sign to the man to wait, and moved a few steps away from the raging mountain of flesh and hooves.
"Yes?"
Cracking noise filled his ear. "Trouble…" A pause with more cracks. "…blown."
"Parker, what's going on?!"
"…hurt."
"Parker, where are you?"
The line went dead.
His voice must've betrayed something, because the man waved. "I see, go. I'll call Jim."
"That's... a goat in mortal danger," he managed to smile. "I have to hurry."
He ran outside, towards his truck, hitting Parker's number. In vain, the call didn't get through. Then he tried Eliot, Sophie, Hardison, and again, over and over, while driving up to the mountain, closer to the lumberjack camps.
One part of the mountain emanated bright light. The third camp.
His heart sank deep. He hit the speed dial again, and pressed the gas pedal.
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Even through the fog that surrounded her while she fought to reach the surface again, Parker knew she shouldn't scream when a sudden movement sent the needle back through her knee. She lay on her back. Soft leaves rustled with her every breath.
She could see only more leaves above her; dark branches made a roof that blocked the dark greyish sky from her sight. Yet, the leaves had a bright tinge. They moved in the breeze, catching the white light from the right. Reflectors from the complex.
Her leg moved again and she cut the scream off, raising her head to see it. Eliot was kneeling beside her, bent over her knee; it took her a few moments to understand that he was listening to it, while moving it inch by inch.
"Torn ACL," he whispered. "I don't hear bones cracking, and that's a good thing. The bad thing is… no walking for you for a long time."
She stared at him stupefied. Only then did he straighten up and look at her, the leaves dancing their shadows on his face.
"Why did you do it?" She finally managed to articulate her thoughts. "What did you do? I saw you cutting m-my rope – you didn't – you wouldn't… would you?"
Only shadows moved.
"Yeah, I cut it," he said a nuance quieter; though he didn't move, she saw a tension settling in his posture. "You didn't stop when I called you, and I was already by the tree where you tied that rope…It was unraveling before my eyes. I had seconds to choose: cut it immediately so you fell onto open ground… or hesitate until you were above the band saws in the sawmill."
"My ropes don't unravel."
"This one did." He raised his hand, showing her the tips of his fingers; the same red rash like he had when the axe's handle had crumbled back in Portland.
"I put my gear in the pile of sawdust while I circled around the fence," she said. "But only minutes passed-"
"It disintegrates the wood, Parker, minutes were enough to damage the rope."
"And you came to get me out." She said it carefully. Testing the waters with him was always tricky.
He got up. "We have to move. They are chasing after us. They are spread in the woods – more men from the other camps are gathering here."
"The reflectors are still close," she said. "Why did you stop?"
"They'll be even closer. I'm taking you back, only on the other side. Take a deep breath now."
This time the pain didn't take her out; he immobilized her knee with some wood, which held it in position. Yet her head and her entire right side pulsated with every step he took.
"I would be better limping," she breathed. "You don't have to carry me."
"I'm not carrying you. I'm… applying you."
"You what – oh." She was really pressed on the cut across his chest – but she wasn't that dizzy. She knew it wasn't helping, on the contrary. "Nice try."
"What did Nate say?"
"The call didn't get through. Or maybe it did. I don't know." She squinted, and then closed her eyes. It stopped the dizziness. "Why are we going closer?"
"Because they are all hunting us. Nobody is watching the main building and I'll be able to find proof of the enzyme. A pile of sawdust isn't enough now."
"They'll find us any minute – they have dogs."
"Guard dogs, not blood hounds. They don't know how to follow a scent. They are still there, not after us. Will you shut up now and rest?"
"No," she said. Her discomfort had nothing to do with the pain now. She searched for words, forcing herself to ask him… but matters of feelings were always too foreign for her. "You came to get me out," she repeated her words, unable to say anything more precise.
It seemed he would start talking again about something else, or simply say nothing.
His embrace grew stronger. "Ya' know… I didn't know if you were alive when you fell," he breathed finally. "You hit the ground pretty hard… and I did that. This time, knowing you're on the end of that rope. That changes priorities, Parker. Makes other things irrelevant."
"Even… deaths?" She held her breath then. He did too; she felt it clearly.
"You can hold on to something – or someone - you've lost," he said finally. "But that stops you from holding something – or someone – you still have. And God help me… I have you, and I ain't gonna lose you."
She buried her smile in his shirt, and relaxed.
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Eliot found a small door in the fence on the opposite side; it took him fifteen minutes of slow sneaking through the forest, avoiding the loud people that searched for them, widening the circle. More of them came every minute, armed with flashlights and a very imaginative assortment of cutting tools.
He left Parker tucked in a pile of dry leaves, under one bush; he did check if the leaves would leave another rash on his fingers. They were clean.
There was no hope of escape while carrying her. He was too slow, already breathless from the fight, and that cut didn't help either – he could fight off a few of them, but in the end, they would get them. Not to mention risking getting lost on the mountain with a hurt woman who needed help.
He told her to call the others, and tell them where to pick her up.
He had another job to do – to make sure no one found her until the team took her away.
The complex was almost empty. Only a few wandering men were still inside the fence; all the rest were in the woods, in a search party.
Five dogs ran up and down the front side of the fence when he entered from the back, coming from the direction of the warehouse and the sawmills. It gave him fifteen crucial seconds.
In the end, it took just one move of his hand to clear the woods of the chase and divert them from Parker – he slammed his fist into the back door of the main building, and alarms went off, ringing loudly through the night.
He grinned then, calculating how much time he had before all of them gathered around the building, leaving the woods clean for the team to take Parker and clear out.
Five minutes before they cut him off. More than enough to search the building. He slammed the door directly into the five growling jaws, blocked and secured the door, and went upstairs.
The alarms were already set off, so he didn't have to be silent and slow – he simply knocked out all the doors on his way up, searching for anything suspicious. He found it on the second floor; a storage room under three complicated locks and a separate alarm system. It held him one entire minute. Fancy locks had no chance when slammed with a heavy working table.
After another minute, he had enough pictures in his phone to make every prosecutor very happy – in his case, Hardison would be happy, when he got the pics. There was also a desk computer, and that meant files, and Hardison heading to ecstasy.
He turned it on and went to the window while it booted up.
The entire empty space around the sawmills was full of people. The woods were clean, and Parker was safe.
He sent the pictures to all their numbers; Hardison would get them, eventually, when they came closer. He checked the computer, and prepared for the first group of reckless idiots who would try to take him down.
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When Parker heard a distant alarms, she knew what he had done and why. The thick forest around her, only a minute ago full of people combing every bush, started to empty, like a bottle put on its side without a cork. One group came dangerously close to her cover, and she ducked lower, not moving, not breathing.
When their steps and quiet voices disappeared towards the complex, she shook the leaves off from her, and groped around to find a branch, stick, anything that would help her to walk.
This place was good for hiding, but her phone was dead. Going closer to the complex might work. And they did need help, and as fast as they could get it.
This was maddening. Her right foot didn't touch the ground, and the long branch she used as a crutch worked perfectly, but nevertheless, every step set her knee on fire. She balanced on one foot, holding the phone in the opposite hand, and her progress was pathetic. With this pace, she would need an hour to get there – an hour Eliot didn't have.
She hit speed dial again, and again, continuing with her shaky steps, and frustration filled her eyes with tears. Pain she could endure; being unable to be fast, not that much.
Right at the moment when her phone finally caught a signal, and when she heard the ringing on the other side, she also heard something else. A quiet rustle in the bushes behind her.
She slowly turned around, clutching the branch tighter, and met the pair of eyes focused on her, glowing in the darkness.
"Hello, Wayne," she whispered.
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Nate was almost run off the road when two large SUVs darted past him on the muddy road; he turned the wheel to the right and let them pass. This would be Ryce-Forbes, going to his complex to deal with a crisis, not some more lumberjacks. They drove mainly trucks.
Yet, that stopping wasn't in vain. His phone finally caught one of the numbers he was frantically dialing. He hoped he reached Eliot, but it was Parker who picked up on the other side.
He listened to her hurried whisper, and his engine died, forgotten.
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This was what a world without microwaves would look like. Hardison stared at the bowl of green goo they got for dinner. Pea soup my ass. They simply blended some cabbage with grass.
All the workers in the community sat in the front yard, at the long tables under the sky, with sweet little candles all around. He and Sophie had to wait with them until they could excuse themselves to walk to the meeting point with their samples, and to see what Eliot and Parker had managed to do with the third camp.
Little lights flickered on Sophie's smiling face. Crickets gave background music to the sound of soft laughter. The scene had almost Lothlorien feeling.
They were, also, covered with mosquitoes, and he had gloves on his hands to protect them, and his collar raised high. Cynthia gave him a tincture for his face and now he smelled like lemon with vinegar.
When his phone rang he quickly jumped away from the table, and walked down the yard. It was Nate.
"We're blown, Hardison, take Sophie and join me at the third camp. Parker and Eliot are in trouble. See what aliases you have – FBI, police, whatever you have."
"What kind of trouble? I have nothing to work on-"
"Their search of the complex went south – thoroughly. I'm closer to the third camp now, and I talked with Parker. She is hidden on the outer side of the fence, and she's hurt. She fell. Don't panic, okay? Eliot's inside the main building, surrounded by dogs and dozens of angry lumberjacks. They gathered from all camps. She said they're entering in groups – and they don't come back – but he can't continue with that for a long. I got the pictures and files he sent me, you'll have them soon when you come in range."
"What's the plan, Nate?"
"The No-Time-For-Playing-Plan." Nate's words sounded hard. "We get there. We get them out. End of plan."
"Couldn't agree more."
"She said one more thing – I'll text you the exact aliases she wants both of you to use, and why, and how, if you manage to arrive on time."
Hardison glanced at Cynthia and Ann-Catrin debating something by Cynthia's pick-up parked down in the yard. "We'll be there in five minutes," he said and cut the line.
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Eliot waited for the third group of reluctant intruders by the main door this time. He had let the first two groups climb up to the second floor, because he had to work on that damn computer, without Hardison in his ear. His frustration with the unresponsive thing helped, though – he poured it onto the attackers. He had to click on the keyboard and the lumberjacks paid for that humiliation.
He sent all the files he could find and open to Hardison's phone, and repeated sending all the pictures to Nate. In the end, just in case and because he didn't know what to do next, he pulled out the entire hard drive and tucked it in his jacket.
There was also a safe on the wall of Lee Ryce-Forbes office, but that couldn't be opened by slamming the table at it. He looked out through the window. No way out for him. They were everywhere. Ryce-Forbes must've called the men from all the camps; he saw Baldy, Derek and Salmon with other familiar faces.
He left the office and climbed down.
This third group, however, took more time to deal with. Fighting took its toll; he was getting tired and slower. The bleeding cut added to that, though it wasn't too serious. Just a nuisance he definitely didn't need now.
Fighting five men left him barely standing and bent in pain, with dizziness from a few nasty hits.
But the same five men crawled out of the building, dragging their broken limbs, sending the message to the horde that gathered around the building.
When he took a look through the glass parts of the door, to check the preparation of the fourth group, he saw Nate standing by Ryce-Forbes.
Showtime.
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The wire fence around the main building was open, and Nate slid through the mud with his truck, spraying the nearest people.
Here comes the civilian witness. Not that lynch mobs had enough mind to take it into consideration. If able to consider anything, they wouldn't be a lynch mob.
Nate stopped his musing when he stopped his truck, a few meters from Ryce-Forbes, who stood there with his men. The same group from the last time he was here – even Heidi was there, blinking confusedly at the roaring lumberjacks. Yellow Boots was trying to organize a few of workers into the group that would attack the door, but they seemed reluctant, for whatever reason.
"Thank God I came on time!" Nate hurried to Ryce-Forbes. A twitch of anger was visible on the older man's face. He, if no one else here, knew what civilian witness in the middle of an attempted murder meant. "I gave Heidi the wrong drugs for your dogs," Nate continued, not letting him say anything. "I got them here now, and I called Jim to come, too – we will examine all five of them and see if…" He trailed off, as if just now noticing the unusual amount of loud people around. "Oh, you're celebrating something? Don't worry, this won't take long, I'm sure your dogs are okay."
Ryce-Forbes opened his mouth to speak, but he looked behind Nate, and shut it.
Nate turned around – a pickup truck roared, following the muddy tracks his truck made.
Two women with shotguns jumped out first, looking more pissed off than that cow had been.
Sophie and Hardison followed, their faces set into official, cold glares.
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Hardison raised his wallet – the shiny piece of metal in it wasn't a badge, but the cut off top of a Coke can – and flashed it at Ryce-Forbes.
"My name is Wayne Rutherford, FBI." As instructed in Parker's message, he said it quietly, for starters. He waved to Sophie, who raised the bottom of the same Coke can. "This is agent Jane Wayne. We believe you have two of our agents in your complex. Would you be so kind as to call off your men, so we can reach them?"
Yeah, he knew this was Canada, but he had an entire speech about joint action and logistic problems about jurisdiction and three dozen complicated legal, official terms and regulations that would confuse and baffle even an entire team of lawyers. When pressed with fear – and damn, he was scared, with Eliot trapped in building and Parker hurt – he could spill five hours of utter bullshit faster than the average mind could follow.
But the sight of Parker at the edge of the light – the reflectors were strong, but they couldn't penetrate the darkness in the trees that surrounded them – tied his tongue, and only a stupid smile flew to her. She limped, keeping her right leg off the ground, using a big branch as a crutch while she hopped closer.
"Hello, agent Wayne!" Her high pitched voice rose over the roaring voices of the mob surrounding them. She also sent him a smile.
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A low howl cut off every sound around the building, when a giant black bear came rushing through the door in the fence. Nate was prepared for that, but he found it extremely easy to freeze as if not acting at all.
The beast galloped, and a howl of panic stirred the mob.
"Wayne!" One of the women with shotguns opened her arms and the bear changed his course, galloping through the men, knocking them over as he passed like bowling pins. He ran to the woman, directly into her arms.
But then Hardison, who used the commotion and panic to go to the other side of the empty space, called Sophie. "Agent Wayne!" he yelled as loud as he could. "Would you mind coming here?"
The bear stopped hugging the woman and turned to Hardison, sprinting to him as fast as a bullet, forcing even more men to dart aside on that new trajectory. Parker's high laugh rose over yells and screams.
"Wayne!" she called again, and the bear howled, spinning in the middle of his step, taking another turn.
By now, Nate could recognize the cheerful bounce in his running to and fro. People who were on the path of the charging beast couldn't. Panic cleared out the perimeter, and only a handful of men still stood – probably frozen in shock. All the others were climbing the fence in desperate escape, or simply going through it, taking it with them as they disappeared into the dark forest.
Ryce-Forbes and his closest men were huddled in a tight circle, back to back, and it was only a matter of time when one of them would notice the red collar around Wayne's neck.
Nate calculated his position, waited until Wayne was close to Parker, mentally drew a straight line between two of them, and called Hardison. "Agent Rutherford! Wayne Rutherford, isn't it?"
Wayne spun in joy and headed directly to him, knocking over a few remaining men who were unlucky enough to be between Parker and Nate.
And that was it – only the middle group stayed, not counting a few of the knocked down who were clever enough to stay low and play dead.
That middle group was directly in front of the main door of the building, and Nate was pretty sure they wouldn't move for a long time – Eliot was standing there, casually leaning on the door frame, smiling at them with his best move-and-you're-dead smile.
Nate had to, however, let Wayne hug him once before the bear ran to the shotgun woman for a helping of cooing.
"Mr. Ryce-Forbes," he called when he saw the group slightly relaxing. "I think it's time to settle this dispute. Authorities were called to investigate your use of forbidden and non- authorized substances, and reckless endangering of wildlife and human health." He saw Hardison nodding; the police had been called. But he also had someone else on his mind. Professor Dobson had said there was one FBI agent here, in the field. Unless he wasn't one of the few that lay beaten senseless, or climbing the fence in panic, he should be here, in the middle of…
"I think the FBI can take over now," a female voice said. Heidi stepped forth, still dressed in a sharp suit. She smiled at Hardison and Sophie and shook her head slightly, as in no-comment, and showed Ryce-Forbes the real badge.
"Uhm," another voice said somewhere in the group. "It ain't happening, Missy." A huge black lumberjack raised his hand with something in it. "Derek Neigh, ATSDR."
"What the hell is ATSDR?"
"Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, ma'am. We've been investigating this man for over a month. He is ours."
"Well," the third voice joined in. "NSERCC has been here for two months, Derek."
"Baldy?" Eliot pushed himself from the door frame and took a step closer – Nate used that move to give a signal to all of them to start gathering. "What's NSERCC?"
"Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada."
"Sorry, guys." The other shotgun woman shook her head. "I was here first – CCOHS." She didn't wait for them to ask her what the hell that was. She went on, "Canadian Centre for Occupational Health and Safety."
Hardison was already beside Parker, helping her to Nate's truck; Nate nodded to Sophie to hurry up. She walked slowly around the group and nobody paid attention to her for now.
Eliot was the last. Nate waited for him, monitoring the group.
Yellow Boots was the next. "I think CEAA is above all your agencies, and I've worked here the longest, more than six months. The Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency has monitored this man and his activities from the beginning. We only needed the proof."
A storm of voices – and a few new acronyms in their replies – rose in the group as they all started to talk at the same time.
Nate took a few steps back. Hardison didn't need his stare, he'd already typed on his phone while Sophie entered the driver's seat. Hardison would probably have problems with accessing their phones even this close to the main building, but sooner or later, they would all have Eliot's pictures and files.
Eliot had five more steps. He passed by a quarrelling group; they were too busy with their credentials to stop him. Only Baldy winked in his direction.
Nate held the door until Eliot was in the truck, then jumped into the passenger seat.
"Sophie, we need a veterinarian," he said. "Step on it."
Only Wayne's sad howl followed them down the muddy road.
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"I thought he would eat me," Parker said to Sophie while she helped her to raise her leg on a sleeping pillow for dogs. She lay on a low examination table, with more pillows behind her back. "I even tried to hit him with a branch, but he looked at me stupefied – obviously not used to people hitting him with sticks, and he nudged me with his nose as if asking what was wrong with me. Which is a pretty clever question for an animal, when you think of it."
Sophie hid a smile and took a tube of cream Jim had given her to apply to the thief's bruises. Parker grumbled when she rubbed that on her elbow. "But then I saw his necklace," Parker continued, talking over her obvious pain and dizziness. "It said: I'm Wayne, I'll follow you if you call me. Please contact – and there was Cynthia's phone number – and my momma will come and take me home." Parker raised her eyes to Sophie. "How do you transport a bear over the border?"
"You don't," Eliot quickly said. He sat in the chair – Jim was putting stitches on a nasty cut he had. "Stop, Parker, we ain't taking him home."
Sophie had avoided looking in his direction because she winced every time she glanced at the needle Jim held; it looked like it was for sewing buffalos, not human beings. But now she checked him. His tone was normal, just as Parker's frown in his direction was the old, familiar one. Not a trace of that dreadful silence that had settled between them after the London night revelation.
Sophie wasn't sure how she stood with Hardison. They hadn't had a chance to talk; they had kept avoiding the subject, and this speeding up put that matter further aside. Maybe it wasn't for solving between them, after all. Maybe it would die out on its own, remaining only as an uncomfortable shadow in the background. She could live with that.
When Hardison and Nate entered the small surgery room behind Jim's office, she saw she had guessed it right. Hardison's eyes met her squarely for the first time in many hours.
"Lucille is ready, and the Challenger is also parked in front," Nate said. "Ryce-Forbes was taken into custody, and as far as we could see, they all took him in, still arguing about their official authorities. We are ready to go. Jim?"
"Finishing here. Your young friend has a severely torn ACL. I immobilized her knee, but she has to see a surgeon to see if she needs surgery."
"No way," Parker said. "A few days of rest, and I'm walking."
"Six weeks of complete immobility." Jim looked at Nate, not Parker, while saying that, and Sophie knew the thief's protest would be in vain. "The Lachman test doesn't lie. It's serious." Jim went to the sink to take off his gloves and wash his hands. "I closed the cut," he said to Eliot. "But you have to go to real doctor to check everything."
"Yeah, sure, first thing when we get home – directly to hospital, no waiting."
Sophie hid her smile for the second time, but Jim didn't notice anything strange in Eliot's reply.
"I have to go now. I have one pregnant and hysterical cow to take care of, and I have no idea how long it will take. Stay here as long as you need to rest. If you leave, just close the door, nothing else." Jim stood at the door for a second before going out. "And thank you. You started Ryce-Forbes's fall, and this valley will again be healthy. Beavers will no longer die." With that, he went out.
"More beaver dams, more mosquitoes," Hardison sighed. He crumpled on the chair near Parker and rubbed his face tiredly.
"What's that smell?" Parker sniffed the air around his face.
"Eau de some-natural-vinegar-shit. Don't ask. Nate, can we clear out of this godforsaken place? As in now? I've had enough of green things, and I'm hungry. Besides, Parker needs a real doctor, not this-"
"Parker needs two days, and she will be ready for Japan," the thief said without a smile.
Nate passed by her to the sink, and hooked his hip onto it. He also looked tired. They all did. The last night wasn't full of restful sleep for either of them. But all of them looked as if a heavy burden had been taken off their backs, in spite of that tiredness – all except Nate.
Sophie turned her chair a little so she could see them all: Eliot leaned back in his chair with his legs outstretched, covered with cuts and bruises; Parker and Hardison together, the hacker holding her hand – and Nate, separated from all of them, watching them with something unreadable in his eyes.
He hadn't gloated at Ryce-Forbes, she remembered then. He'd simply stepped back and let it all happen without saying a word, rushing them all away.
"What's wrong, Nate?" she asked. That silenced Hardison's soft whisper to Parker, and straightened Eliot's back; their attention settled in their sharp eyes.
"I won't risk further damage to your knee," Nate said to Parker. "We'll adjust our job in Japan for just four of us. You'll stay in Portland. With no comm connection."
Parker was so taken aback that she couldn't articulate any word.
"But that's not what's wrong," Nate continued.
Sophie took a long breath. His words were said with an unusual hesitation; something dark lurked in the depths of his eyes.
"You all remember the Dagger of Aqu'Abi, and how really funny that entire thing was," he continued. "You also remember my role in it. Why didn't even one of you ask yourself one question: where I was that night when your paths crossed in London?"
Oh. She met three pairs of eyes, all of them with the same question, the same realization. Nate was right, they hadn't thought of it, too occupied with their own troubles. And Sophie felt a sinking feeling forming in her gut – she didn't want to hear his part in that disaster. Not now, not when everything seemed to be alright again. The team's eyes showed the same feeling.
"IYS was one of main insurance companies that organized the tour for the Purple Sapphire and the Devonshire Emerald. I was there – and I was the one who almost killed you all." His eyes rested on all of them, one by one, but no one said a word. They waited. "Luckily for you," he said, "your actions against each other, though disastrous at first sight, saved you all."
"Nope." Eliot was the first to break the silence after his words. "You might've been in charge of security, but you didn't hold that knife."
"We were warned about a continuous hacking attempt that night, and the authorities had taken it very seriously. It was in the heart of London, after all, and the Museum of Natural History is spitting distance from Buckingham Palace – we had the National Counter Terrorism Security Office in the back rooms, on stand-by. All the security measures were set on high alert, but invisible. All of you were walking directly into a deadly trap."
"But if my hacking triggered it, it wasn't your fault," Hardison said.
"It wasn't you. You weren't that sloppy. Someone else, irrelevant, tried to turn off the alarms. Amateur work, but it directed us to look more closely, and then we discovered your hacking. You were collateral damage, noticed only by a happy chance. Besides, you were after accounts."
"I don't get the 'saving part' in this," Parker whispered. If nothing else, Japan had slipped from her mind.
Finally, Nate smiled. "If Eliot hadn't cut off your rope, and you hadn't fallen into that ventilation shaft, out of sight and reach, you would have been caught, maybe even killed." He looked at Eliot then. "If she hadn't triggered that alarm, sending the closest, regular security onto you, you wouldn't have been forced to retreat without the job done; you would have continued and fallen directly into the real trap, with the anti-terrorist team who would have shot to kill. You would be dead just as your friend."
The word friend, from Nate's mouth, triggered a flicker of pain in Eliot's eyes. He had told her about Jean, not Nate, and this acknowledgment of an unspoken loss seemed to be as equally painful as the memory was.
"And Hardison…" Nate cut the moment, turning to the hacker. "If Sophie hadn't messed up the accounts you were after, disabling your money transfer, you would have been caught, too. We had a team who was waiting for the final pressing of the last key that would show you. You didn't press it, and no police banged on your door with a warrant for your computer."
"Alright," Eliot grumbled; it was the sound he made when not sure how he was supposed to feel. "That's three out of four. What about Sophie?"
Nate looked at her then. Sophie smiled, as warmth spread through her heart. He probably guessed it already.
"Oh, I wasn't saved that day," she whispered, watching them all. "Or maybe I was; it's all about perspective."
Those four people now were her whole world. She knew that even before she realized what had really happened that night, eight years ago. And if she ever wondered if they were the right people for her, now she knew it without any doubt.
"That night," she said, "the four of you, not knowing it, years before we met for the first time, created Sophie Devereaux."
Even Nate stood confused; silence settled on them, but not that dreadful absence of sounds like the last time - this one was a soft cover. "Charlotte Prentiss, the Eight Duchess of Hanover, was no more after that night. My cover was compromised, and I had to leave her behind. That night I chose my new name."
"Not all tears are for evil," Hardison whispered.
Yes, there was a veil of tears in her eyes, but she didn't trouble with wiping them off her face. She stood and looked at them all again – her family – and took Nate's hand.
"Take us home."
.
.
- THE END -