Resolutions – 14

Questionable Returns

by MMB

"Mr. Tyler will see you now," Xing-Li announced to the short and grey-haired man standing at her desk. "Please go on in."

Dr. Franz Ziegler didn't even acknowledge the secretary's graceful gesture, but swept past her toward the office door. He had never approved of Lyle's perverse taste for exotic women, or of his tendency to put them in positions of authority. Preferring to treat them as if they were nonexistent, he ignored them as much as was practical. It was personally repugnant to see that the new administration intended not to simply do away with their services after all.

"Dr. Ziegler, thank you for coming," Tyler rose from behind his desk and extended his hand to the elderly-looking gentleman who only very slowly returned the favor.

"Mr. Tyler," Ziegler nodded his head slightly. "To what do I owe this summons? I am just now back in the country…"

"We know that, Doctor," Tyler said congenially, gesturing for the psychiatrist to take a seat in the comfortable chair provided, sitting down himself. "And we wouldn't have interrupted your day if it wasn't important." He folded his hands on his desk and gazed at the man evenly. "A week or so ago, you were requested to close down operations on Project Black Hole."

"Yes," Ziegler replied without even blinking. "I regretted that I was unable to finish what I had started — I was very close, you know…"

"Yes, I understand," Tyler nodded. "Unfortunately, we have had an opportunity to re-examine the authorization under which this project was undertaken and found it to be of a highly questionable nature. Considering the implications and potential uses to which the project could be put, the decision was made to stop work immediately. It seems, now, that some of the military officers involved in these projects have decided that our decision wasn't a wise one and are attempting to contact the scientists involved directly. They want these scientists to very quietly start up their research again." Tyler watched the man's face carefully. "Have you been contacted?"

Something indefinable shifted in the back of the man's steely grey eyes, and Tyler was suddenly very certain that whatever came out of the man's mouth was going to be a bald-faced lie. "No, I've heard nothing," Ziegler said smoothly. "And if I am contacted, what am I supposed to do other than what we all were instructed to do previously?"

"You should know that the men pushing to get this research restarted are unscrupulous," Tyler forged ahead, hoping to shake the man into admitting whatever it was that he was hiding. "A research chemist was attacked at her home and injured because she refused to cooperate. The Blue Cove police arrested a man last night trying to break into her home. If you are contacted and refuse, you may wish to have Centre protection both on the job and at home."

"I seriously doubt that this will be a problem, Mr. Tyler," the German's soft accent rustled like tissue in Tyler's ears. "But I shall certainly keep your office informed if I am contacted by anyone wanting me to restart my research. Although, I must admit, I am a little at loose ends now — I put in many years on Black Hole that have now come to nothing." Just a hint of frustration and disappointment had managed to creep around the psychiatrist's tight control. "Do you have any idea when I will be given another similarly intriguing project to work on?"

"That will be up to the director of your department to decide," Tyler stated flatly, frankly disappointed in the German. "I have very little to do with that end of Centre operations except in a very general sense."

"The director of my department has been indisposed due to health concerns for several weeks now, for no apparent reason," Ziegler pointed out carefully. "Perhaps the administration should be looking into finding a replacement in the near future. I might offer that I myself was once under consideration for the job…"

"I shall pass along your suggestion to Miss Parker, Doctor," Tyler nodded and rose from his seat. "I want to thank you for taking time out of your day to see me."

"And a good afternoon to you, Mr. Tyler." Dr. Ziegler shook hands with the young man and walked from the office with a superior air about him. Tyler waited until he was sure the man was out of his outer office and then walked out to Xing-Li. "Call Mr. Atlee and make SURE we have an ample watch on that guy."

"Yes, sir." The Chinese woman's tone was still subdued, very wary.

Tyler looked down at her. Her morning's excitement had taken away a great deal of the limited sparkle that she'd managed to acquire over the past few days of her new position. "Are you OK?" he asked in concern.

"I'm fine," she nodded, embarrassed by his continued solicitude. Her boss had stayed doggedly by her side at the cafeteria for far longer than she'd imagined he would, insisting that she drink some apple juice and just relax in a very unprofessional manner. It seemed apparent that his concern had not subsided over the course of the day's subsequent routine. "I'll call Mr. Atlee right now…"

"Xing-Li," Tyler interrupted gently, "it's OK to admit that you're not feeling quite up to snuff after what happened this morning…"

The almond eyes flicked up to his and then immediately down again and reached for the telephone. "I'm fine, sir. You don't need to worry about me." She pressed a few buttons and waited for a moment. "Mr. Tyler would like to request that Mr. Atlee has an ample watch placed on a Doctor Franz Ziegler. Could you have him call back and confirm? Thanks." She looked up at him. "Mr. Atlee's office will be getting back to you, sir."

Tyler could see that she was determined to forge on through the day with her professionalism intact. From somewhere beneath that otherwise compliant and cooperative exterior she had summoned a steely stubbornness that was surprising. He could battle it, or let it win — for now. He decided to wait until later to try to talk to her again. "Thanks. Could you let me know when my next appointment arrives, please?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, turning her gaze back to the work she'd been doing when he'd emerged. Couldn't he tell that she was just protecting his honor — keeping their work relationship strictly professional, regardless of what had happened that morning? After all, it had been Miss Parker that had ordered him to stay with her after that frightening moment when it seemed as if her American dream had been about to shatter. For her to have fallen apart that badly had damaged her sense of 'face' greatly – for him to continue to worry about her was unseemly.

She felt his eyes remain on her for a long moment, and then he turned and went back into his office without another word. Alone at last, she could allow herself to blush and her fingers to slow to a halt on the keyboard.

Her American boss was turning out to be quite different from the kind of boss she had been trained to expect. And she had to admit to herself, deep down where nobody else could ever hear or see, having him so gently taking care of her that morning had been an astonishing experience. Was this what Mei-Chiang had found with her giant fiancé? WAS it true that American men, instead of being cannibalistic sadists, were gentler and far more considerate than the kind of Chinese counterpart she had been trained to serve?

Well, she schooled herself strictly, dreaming about her American boss would NOT get this report typed in. She sighed and resumed her patient and skillful typing.

"Say, Sydney, did you want me to call Deb and have her stop by the store on the way home for some stuff for dinner?" Kevin called toward the back of the house, his eyes once more tired of reading the fine print of Centre documentation. He waited for a reply for a moment, letting his mind slowly let go of the intriguing and engrossing material it had been digesting, and then rose and stretched when no answer was forthcoming from his mentor.

"Sydney," he repeated as he walked through the dining room and into the kitchen, "what about dinner tonight? Did you want me to cook this time?"

He frowned when still no reply issued from the den. He walked over to stand in the doorway and then gaped. The CPM machine was still on the daybed, but there was no Sydney strapped into it. Papers were spread across the coffee table as if scattered there randomly, but of Sydney there wasn't a sign. It was if the man had just up and vanished from his customary spot in the house.

This wasn't like him, Kevin knew. Sydney was a gracious and polite host and housemate — just as he had requested Kevin tell him when he was leaving and where he was going, he imagined that Sydney would normally be loathe to just take off without leaving similar information behind.

He headed out of the front door and over to where he knew the Centre sweeper assigned to guard the front of the house usually parked. "Hi," he greeted the man, who had watched him approach the car with some concern.

"Is there something wrong?" Joe asked quickly.

"I'm not sure," Kevin answered truthfully. "Did Sydney go somewhere?"

Joe nodded. "About a half hour ago, I saw him backing his car out of the driveway. He looked like he normally does, so I figured he'd spoken to you ahead of time…"

Kevin shook his head. "Uh-unh. He didn't say a word."

Joe frowned. "Dr. Green knows how important it is that I stay informed as to the comings and goings here, so that I can provide proper security." Dr. Green had a reputation for being completely cooperative with all security measures. For him to just take off without leaving at least SOME word…

"Do you have any idea where he'd go?"

The sweeper only shook his head. "I'm not as familiar with Dr. Green's habits as someone like, say, Mr. Atlee would be…" Joe reached in his breast pocket for his cell phone. "I'll call Mr. Atlee — maybe Dr. Green talked to him first."

Kevin leaned against the side of the car and listened as the sweeper called into the Centre. "Mr. Atlee, this is Joe… No, well, I'm not sure. Dr. Green drove out about a half-hour ago, and I was just wondering if he'd called you and told you where he intended to go?… NO?" Joe looked up at Kevin with concern. "Well, what do you… No, I'll stay put right here. I have a rather worried young man…" He listened, and whatever Sam was saying was not making Joe happy at all. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir." He disconnected the call. "Mr. Atlee said that he'd get in touch with Miss Parker and see if she knows anything — his advice to you is just to go in the house and wait. He'll call you there when he knows something."

"Hey!" he heard Crystal's voice call from across the street in the park. "Did you lose somebody or something?"

"Go away," Kevin mumbled too softly to be heard, but added a dismissive wave the meaning of which would be unmistakable and started to walk toward the front door of the house. He felt vaguely lost and alone without Sydney around. The older man had been such a consistent and steady support in the days since he'd been released from that prison the Centre had held him in his entire life — having that influence suddenly removed was almost frightening. His first glance once in the house was at the clock.

Deb would be home soon. He'd never needed her more.

"Miss Parker, it's Mr. Atlee on two for you…" Mei-Chiang announced quietly.

"Thank you," Miss Parker replied and picked up the telephone. "Sam — what's up?"

"Did Sydney call you this afternoon?" Sam asked without preamble.

Miss Parker blinked in surprise. "No, why?"

"I just got a call from Joe, the sweeper I have assigned to watch Sydney's during the day. He says that Sydney went somewhere, drove off, and he was calling to find out if I knew anything about it."

"What about Kevin? Sydney probably would have told him if he was going somewhere…"

"Joe said that Kevin was worried — so evidently Sydney must not have said anything to him." Sam closed his eyes. They really did NOT need another disappearance or kidnapping right now… "Any ideas?"

Miss Parker shook her head, stunned. "He's usually pretty well worn out when he gets home from therapy — and that was today. I'm surprised he even had the energy to move!"

"What do you want me to do?" Sam wanted to know. "Do you want me to send out…"

"Not yet," Miss Parker shook her head. "Give Syd time to do whatever it is that called him away so unexpectedly and then come home…" A thought occurred. "Did Kevin say that there had been any telephone calls?"

"Joe didn't say that he did… I can call and ask."

"Let me talk to him," she interrupted. "You hang tight until you hear from me, OK?"

"Yes, Miss Parker," Sam replied and then paused. "How's Mei-Chiang doing up there?"

"As soon as we find out where Syd's off to, I think you should probably think about taking her home with you and taking care of her. She's been very quiet and a little reticent all day — definitely not her usual self. Do your best to reassure her that there's no way in hell that we'll let any governmental agency do anything to her or take her away."

"Don't worry, I'll let her know that she's safe now," Sam reassured her. "And thank you for keeping an eye on her for me today."

"Not a problem," Miss Parker told him, then disconnected and dialed Sydney's number.

"Hello? Sydney?" Kevin's voice answered the telephone almost immediately.

"No, Kevin, it's me," she told him. "Sam called me to see if Syd had called me before he left. I thought I'd call you and see if there had been a telephone call or anything that Syd might have answered…"

"No," he told her, his tone sagging into worry again. "Nothing."

"What was he doing after he got home from Dover?"

He shrugged. "We had lunch, then he went into the den and got on the CPM and had his nap — then I suppose he started to read again…"

A little voice in the back of her mind started to sound off. "What was he reading? Do you know?"

"More of the stuff from the archive, I'd imagine," he answered. "I know that there were papers all over the coffee table when I found him missing."

"What are the papers about?" Miss Parker had a sneaky hunch that those papers could be important. "Go see what the project was that he was looking into."

Kevin carried the cordless handset into the den and sat down on the daybed. "I don't know that I can tell you what this was about," he said finally, sorting through the papers. "They're all really old and in German — and I don't read German at all."

"German!" Miss Parker frowned. "Nothing stands out to you?"

The young Pretender pushed through the papers until he uncovered the onionskin note. "Wait a minute — here's something in English: a note to a Mr. Parker."

"From whom?" Miss Parker was totally taken aback, and her voice was breathy with surprise.

"A Dr. Werner Krieg. Something about the test subjects had arrived."

"Oh my God!" Miss Parker hadn't heard the name Krieg for over eleven years — not since Sydney had found out that the man who had been his torturer in Dachau during the war had been working quietly under contract to the Centre for years. Sydney's reaction at that time had been extreme, considering his normally calm and objective exterior. It was the one time she had seen him virtually at the point of killing a man in cold blood — only to hold back when his self-recriminations gave him pause. "What else is there? There has to be something else…"

Kevin sorted quickly through the very old paperwork. "Here's another letter — this one's typed. Boy, they had fancy typewriters in those days…"

"Who's it from?"

"Krieg again — and to Mr. Parker again. Say…" Kevin's face looked up. "This Mr. Parker wouldn't be one of your family, would it?"

"God, I hope not!" Parker breathed. "What was in the letter?"

"Something about the Grüen twins and test results, and intentions to make sure they make it to America. He says 'The parents and sister have been disposed of, as you requested, so that all emotional ties to family or kin have been severed with the exception of the twin-bond' — whatever that was all about…"

The voice in the back of her head whispered urgently and interpreted the letter for what it must have told her foster father, and Miss Parker leaned suddenly into her hand as her stomach turned. "Listen to me, Kevin. If Sydney comes back, I want you to call me immediately. Do you know if he has his cell phone with him?"

Kevin rose and checked. "No, it's still here, on the charger."

"Damn!" Her mind was awhirl. Where WOULD he go after finding out… "You stay put. I'll have Mr. Ikeda there early, and you stay there. Don't go out and try to find him yourself. This is…" She took a breath. "I know he was hoping to help you find your past, Kevin," she said kindly. "But what has happened instead is that he found a piece of his own — and it's a nightmare."

"But I don't see him mentioned in either of these letters…" Kevin complained softly.

"'The Grüen twins' — I'll bet you anything that Grüen was Sydney's father's name, and that Sydney and Jacob changed it once they came to America to something similar in sound, like Green," she explained quickly. "Sydney was a twin, Kevin. He had a brother, Jacob — he died about ten years ago."

Kevin read the line again. "The parents and sister have been disposed of, as you requested, so that all emotional ties to family or kin have been severed with the exception of the twin-bond." Finally he saw it. "Oh my! You don't think…"

"Right now I just want to find Sydney," Miss Parker said urgently. "Put that paperwork together so I can look at it when I stop by there on my way home. But stay put — and keep Deb with you. I don't want to have to come looking after either of you two as well."

"Yes, ma'am." Kevin could appreciate the need to keep things as under control as possible.

Miss Parker hung up the phone and put her face in her hands. "Oh, my God, Syd! What did they do to you?"

"I've run the names we got through the database three times now — there's no evidence anywhere that this Ping Xing-Li or Hsu Mei-Chiang have anything to do with Chinese Intelligence," Sylvie Gotham said in frustration, flopping a file folder down on the desk of her supervisor. "They aren't in the database, they aren't on a watch list — hell, other than relatively new information on them from INS, there's no sign they exist at all."

"What do you think?" Chuck Whelan asked her frankly. "Do we send out people to question these two, or do we try to dig into their pasts again first?"

Sylvie tossed back her blonde hair with a practiced hand. "To be honest, I think I'd rather do a bit more digging first. We have people in place there — if two agents of the PRC – especially pretty female ones – were going to be slipped into the country THAT quietly, we'd have known about it months ago."

Chuck nodded. "There's a buzz this morning on the Internet about somebody attempting to get INS to take a couple of Chinese women into custody from the Centre — only to find out the ladies in question were not only in the country legally, but valued employees of the Centre. I guess between phone calls to Capitol Hill and the INS, the Chairman over there has raised holy hell and put blocks under it."

"You think these were the same women?" Sylvie gaped.

"I called a pal over there. Yup. Same ones." Chuck leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "I think I smell a rat — and a fairly large one at that."

Sylvie nodded agreement.

"I want you to find out who was the one who suggested we investigate these women — was it a bonafide report coming in from the field, rumor, whatever. And I want to know the source."

"Gotcha, Chief." The pretty blonde swung around on her heels and walked from the glassed-in office. Chuck watched her leave with a gleaming and appreciative eye, then bent back down to his paperwork with a sigh.

He could dream, couldn't he?

Phil Baldwin looked around his comfortable apartment, engraving every detail into his mind. A quick call back to work had uncovered the fact that there were serious questions about the validity of the report of Chinese Intelligence agents at work at the Centre – especially considering the abortive INS raid there just that morning. His friend had told him that at least one agent had asked her where he had gone. That meant that somebody had remembered that it was he who had related the suspicion – and so that it would be he that would be sought for questioning at the very least.

It had been a stupid mistake to have suggested anything to his own people so soon after talking to INS, he admitted, but then, this whole situation seemed to be progressing in anything but a predictable manner. Under normal circumstances, when INS got called in, there was no question as to their authority or justification for their arrests. And the NSA had been incredibly suspicious of all foreign nationals since that bombing attempt in San Francisco the year before, so for them to hesitate going after Chinese citizens NOW was out of the ordinary.

Under normal circumstances, if everything would have gone according to plan, his planting of the rumor with NSA in conjunction with the INS arrests would simply have assured the ladies in question of a quick and quiet jet trip back where they had come from. Nobody would have been hurt – except the Centre, a little. Just enough to let them know that it didn't pay to not cooperate with the American government when it made urgent requests.

But no – the Centre had had the documentation of Lyle's cuties all corrected and updated just in time to ruin his little scheme and get him in very deep in trouble. And now, that meant that he would have to leave his beautiful apartment with all its expensive and customized furnishings and appointments before his own people came looking for him.

There was a small metal box from the lower drawer of his nightstand that he'd fetched up to the bed and opened. In it were several bundles of hundred dollar bills, set aside for just such a contingency a long time ago. Curtis and Burns had never bothered to check the books he kept on the funding sent off to the Centre for their projects – they'd never miss the ten or twenty thousand dollars that had slowly accumulated over the years.

Soon there was a suitcase on the bed carefully filled with clothing, small personal effects and mementos. He couldn't take it all with him – he knew better than to even try – so he just packed that which would either incriminate him even more than before or that which he valued for sentimental reasons.

There was a fishing cabin up in the mountains that he'd gone to for vacation over the years – it would be hotter than hell up there at this time of year, but nobody would think of looking for him there. With a long, final look around, he carried his suitcase and an additional duffle bag with items he didn't want to leave behind out to his SUV and climbed behind the wheel. It was a several hours' drive to White Cloud – and the roads were twisting and dark closer to the lake. He needed to get moving.

"Hi," Deb smiled at Kevin as she walked into the house and found him coming from the back of the house to greet her, only her smile faded some as she noticed the worry on his face. "What's the matter?"

"I thought you were Sydney," he explained as he skidded to a halt. "He's gone."

"What do you mean 'he's gone?'" she asked with a frown. "Grandpa doesn't just take off without telling anybody…"

"Well, he did this time," Kevin told her, his worried frown still firmly plastered on his face. "He even has Miss Parker worried."

Even as he mentioned her name, Miss Parker knocked and then came through the front door, followed by a very early Mr. Ikeda. "Show me the papers he was looking at," she demanded of Kevin without stopping to say hello to either young person.

Kevin blinked at the officious way she was behaving, then led her back into the den and the coffee table with its scattered ancient German documents. Miss Parker sat down on the daybed and picked up one paper after another, then frowned as she picked up a paper with a photograph of a very young and very unhappy-looking boy. She looked at the name: Grüen, Sydney Karl. She looked at the letterhead and saw that this was an official document from Dachau. His entrance form, she knew with a jolt. Another document with a photograph was with it, a virtually identical picture affixed: Grüen, Jakob Michel.

She let the documents drop back onto the table where she'd found them as she reached for the ancient folder in which they had been stored all these years. A spot of crystallized and ineffective glue was all that was left of the label holding the project name under which this had been stored. Curious, she reached for the next folder and examined the tab. "Genius" was all it said.

"What about the notes you found?" she looked up at the young Pretender. He pointed and she picked up the two thin sheets of paper and read them both. The implications were clear – she knew exactly what these documents had proven to her old friend. She dug in her pocket for her cell phone and dialed.

"Sam, me."

"Well…?"

"He's gone alright – and I know why. I want a very quiet sweep of all the bars in town, emphasis on QUIET. Syd's not going to be in good shape, and I don't want the might of the Centre charging through doors at him."

"I've already got three teams ready to move – all I needed was a word of where to send them. But I've got Mei-Chiang with me – so I'm leaving this in Chip's hands unless things get dicier."

She listened and then nodded. "Fine. Have Harrison call me at home when he's finished the sweep. Oh, and you might want to send a team up to White Cloud. He might just be upset enough not to stop driving until he gets up there."

"That's a helluva long way for him to go at this hour. Are you sure…"

"This is REALLY bad, Sam. I've seen what lesser news has done to him in the past, and it wasn't pretty – this is bound to have knocked him for a loop but good."

"What the hell is this about?"

"His past – and what landed him and his brother in Dachau during the war. Looks like there may have been Centre involvement…"

"Oh brother!" Sam was sickened. "They go THAT far back screwing with people's lives?"

"Looks like it. And I think it caught Sydney completely by surprise." She sighed. "He doesn't talk about those days – I think he's tried to forget what he saw and went through. The last time anything like this came up, he ended up putting a gun in a man's face and damned near killing him."

"Our mild-mannered shrink?" Sam was aghast. "You're kidding!"

"At the time," she said carefully, "I told him that he was justified – that the man he'd captured was a monster. He didn't do it, though…" she added quickly, seeing the look of sickened outrage on Kevin's face. "The man ended up being given to the Israelis for trial on war crimes."

"And you think he'd end up in a bar?"

She shrugged. "He's done it before."

"You don't suppose he could have headed in the direction of Albany, could he?"

"God, Sam, I honestly don't know. Let's start our search locally first, then check further out if that doesn't pan out." She sighed again. "I'll call Michelle, though, and warn her to be on the lookout for him and to call us if he shows up there."

"I'll call Harrison later for an update," Sam told her. "Hang in there, we'll find him."

"Thanks." She disconnected the call and stared blankly at Kevin for a moment.

"Did Sydney really almost kill a man?" the young Pretender wanted to know.

Miss Parker looked at him with understanding. There was so much about his mentor – about all of them – that he simply didn't understand. "Yes – and I still think he'd have been doing the world a favor." She thought for a moment, watching Kevin's face fold into disapproval. "Tell me, you aren't too terribly worried about what has happened to the man who was your mentor for all those years, are you? What was his name…"

"Grey," Kevin replied with a sour look. "And no, I couldn't care less if the man lives or dies. Why?"

She nodded. "Well, this Doctor Krieg that Sydney almost killed would have been his keeper during the war, much like Grey was your keeper. Only what he put Sydney and his brother through – the things that went on around them on a daily basis – would have made your life in that isolated house of your look like a paradise by comparison. Have you ever studied what went on in Nazi concentration or death camps?"

"No!" Kevin was appalled. "Sydney was in one of those?"

She nodded again. "Now do you see why we have to find him?"

Kevin nodded. He had a feeling that he would spend time on the Internet after supper doing some research so that he could understand his mentor better when he got back – not entirely sure what he would enjoy the task.

"Miss Parker?" Deb had been waiting patiently for her to get off the phone and be done talking to Kevin. "Is Grandpa alright?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "I'm not sure, Deb – but I don't think so. At least, not right now."

"Alright," Tyler said in a determined voice as he came out of his office door and once more found Xing-Li still patiently typing away on reports. "It's after five, and it's time for you to be done for the day."

"I just have a little more to do…"

"No," he bent and pulled her away from her keyboard. "It can wait until morning. This has been a very trying day for you – you can use your rest." He nodded at the computer keyboard. "Shut it down."

"I'm OK…"

Tyler put himself right in front of her. "No, you're not. You've been quiet and acting like you're afraid you're going to get kicked or something all day. C'mon," he smiled at her. "I'll give you a lift home."

"You don't have to do that," Xing-Li told him as she finally conceded and moved to her keyboard to save her work and shut down her terminal. He was right, she admitted to herself, she WAS tired. And working all day in fear of another set of officers storming into her office to drag her away had been very wearing.

"Yes, I do," he countered kindly. "I watched two complete asses scare the living sh…" He swallowed the invective back. "I don't like what they did to you – how frightened they made you all day. I'd like a chance to put a much more pleasant end to the day for you."

"Mr. Tyler…"

"My name's Cody – when we're not on the clock, I'd rather you use that. Everybody calls me Tyler, and it would be nice to know ONE person who calls me by name when I'm not at work."

He saw the almond eyes open in surprise. "But that wouldn't be proper, sir," Xing-Li complained quietly. "I am only a secretary…"

"Does that mean that we can't be friends?" Tyler asked with a sad note in his voice.

"No… but…"

"Good. Then get your purse and coat – I'm taking you out to dinner."

"Mr. Tyler…"

"Uh-unh," he corrected gently. "Cody. We're off the clock – both of us."

"It wouldn't be proper, sir," she repeated firmly.

He stared at her for a moment, then began to smile. "You can be quite stubborn, can't you?"

"I know my place, sir."

"You know," Tyler leaned toward her as she finally fished her purse from her desk and locked it, "I don't hold a lot to rules that stand in people's way of being friends. Your place is wherever you are – until or unless you hear differently from Miss Parker. And," he held up a finger to prevent her from arguing with him again, "I'll run this past her tomorrow morning, just to make sure that neither of us will have to face that later on. Until then, we keep our working relationship above-board – and our after-hours relationship is nobody's business but our own. Agreed?"

Xing-Li blushed as she felt her boss commandeer an elbow and escort her gently down the hall toward the exit. How could she argue with someone that determined? "Very well," she said finally very softly. In truth, she liked the feel of his hand at her elbow. "But I'm not very hungry, sir."

"OK," he said easily, determined not to let her shut down the evening. "How about some ice cream?"

"Ice cream?" she giggled. Nobody had ever bought her just ice cream before.

"Yeah, just a little something for someone who isn't all that hungry." Tyler's eyes twinkled merrily. "Something small. What do you say?"

How could she refuse? "OK," she said finally. He was evidently determined to take responsibility for helping her feel better that evening. At the very least, she could let him buy her a little dessert. It didn't cost either of them any honor to allow such a small thing.

Mei-Chiang found that chopping the meat and vegetables for dinner that night was almost as soothing an activity as any she'd undertaken all day. Sam had offered to bring some of his spaghetti sauce out of the freezer so she didn't have to work so hard, but she'd assured him that cooking was a relaxation for her. Besides, she hadn't prepared her famous sweet and sour shrimp for him yet – and she'd bought the ingredients the night before. It needed to be made while the shrimp were fresh.

She knew that Sam was worried about something, and that he'd received one call from Chip Harrison, his assistant, since they got home. He came into the kitchen as she began the process of putting the vegetables into the wok in order and cooking them after giving the shrimp their initial cooking and sniffed appreciatively. "This smells wonderful," he commented as he came up behind her.

"It's one of my favorite dishes to cook," she admitted, starting to add the sauce ingredients and making the kitchen smell like a restaurant. It felt good – safe – to have him at her back with his hands resting gently on her shoulders and holding her as she moved back and forth adding the ingredients in order and stirring the mixture in the wok so that it kept boiling and didn't burn. "Is something the matter?" she asked him carefully.

"A friend of mine has taken off without telling anyone where he was going," Sam answered in mild frustration. "His health hasn't been good lately, and he left behind some people who are very worried about him."

"He works at the Centre?" she asked, dishing first some rice to two plates and then covering the rice with the simmering, savory-smelling entrée.

"He was at the Centre long before I came," he answered, taking his plate and hers and carrying them both to the table. "He was there when Miss Parker was a small girl – when Jarod was just a boy."

"Jarod?" She brought him a fork and spoon while giving herself wooden chopsticks.

"You'll meet him soon enough, I'm sure," Sam smiled at her. "He and Miss Parker will be getting married not long after he gets back from California."

"I think I remember him a little," Mei-Chiang mused, chewing her first bite slowly. "Tall? Dark hair?"

"Yup. This friend I'm speaking of virtually raised both Miss Parker and Jarod."

"What happened?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure. I'm just hoping that we find him quickly – Miss Parker is very worried and protective of him – they've been family for years now."

"Been family? I don't understand," Mei-Chiang said, looking up at him with confused eyes.

"You have to understand – there's a sense of family among some of us who have been with the Centre for a while," Sam tried to explain. "Miss Parker, of course, and Sydney – the friend who's missing – he's like her father. Then there's Broots, who's kinda like her little brother…"

"Are you in this 'family' too?" she wanted to know.

"Miss Parker seems to think so," he answered with a little hesitation.

"It's like an extended family," she nodded, understanding entirely. "A very Chinese concept."

"Yeah, I suppose so," he agreed with her, surprised she accepted the explanation so easily.

They ate in silence for a while until suddenly, the events of the day that she'd managed to keep pushed away behind other things that needed to be thought of first would no longer stay repressed. Mei-Chiang put her chopsticks down and folded her hands in her lap. "I was so frightened," she admitted in a very shaky voice. "I thought they were going to take me away – that I'd never see you again – that they would send me back home…"

"It would never happen," he reassured her, putting down his fork and sliding his chair around the corner so that he could put his arm around her and pull her close. "I told you, wild tigers can't take you away from me now – I sure as hell wasn't going to let any stupid…"

"They were police officers," she cried. "They would have hurt you – arrested you too…"

"But they didn't," he soothed into her ear, his hands rubbing large and comforting circles into her back. "Between Tyler and Miss Parker, they didn't get anywhere – and you're right here, where you belong."

Mei-Chiang leaned hard against her giant economy sized fiancé and shivered. The fact was that the officer had had her by the arm and had dragged her away from her desk before she hardly had a moment to think. "I cannot go back," she tried to explain in a voice that grew shakier by the moment. "I would have nothing…"

Sam wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he dared. "You don't have to go back — I'll take care of you," he promised vehemently. "Once you are my wife, they'll never be able to come after you like that again." He bent and folded his large body around her as protectively as he could. "You are the center of my world, Mei. I love you."

"Hold me," she whispered finally, clinging to the front of his shirt,

"I'm here, Mei. I'm here. I have you." He kissed her cheek and her forehead and then finally let his lips capture hers in a passionate clasp. She returned the kiss desperately, letting his touch and passion help banish from her mind for the moment the coldness of fear that had invaded that morning.

"What? Chip?"

"No, it's me," Jarod answered with a frown. "What's going on — you're expecting a call from someone?"

"Jarod," Miss Parker breathed and closed her eyes. "Sydney's gone AWOL."

"What?!"

"Do you remember my telling you that he and Kevin were going through the old hardcopy data archives to sort out the garbage from the…"

"Yes, I remember." Jarod's voice was brisk. "What happened?"

Miss Parker felt her stomach turn again, just as it did every time she thought about just what it was Sydney had found. "He found records dating back to World War II — notes between Dr. Werner Krieg and my grandfather… about him and Jacob. From the looks of it, my grandfather had a hand in his landing in Dachau — and in the murder of the rest of his family except Jacob."

"Oh my God!" Jarod, more than anybody else, knew exactly what such information would have done to his mentor. "How long has he been gone?"

She checked her watch. "Probably about four hours now, as best we can figure. The sweeper in front of the house didn't think anything was amiss — evidently Syd just… drove off."

"This is a bad one, Missy," Jarod said, suddenly wishing with all his heart that he was over in Delaware again. "I don't think he ever really DID get over what he went through during the war — I know he was loathe to even let me see the tattoo on his arm. If you're right, and the Centre orchestrated that part of his life the way it orchestrated mine — and yours and Kevin's…"

"Can you think of ANYWHERE that he'd go…" she implored.

"White Cloud, maybe… to be with Jacob," Jarod suggested. "Jacob would probably be the only person Sydney could feel he could talk to about this that would understand."

"I asked Sam to send a team up there," she nodded. "And to quietly check the bars in town. Last time Sydney's past blindsided him like this, he ended up trying to drink himself under the table."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Jarod said tiredly. "Look, keep me informed."

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "I completely forgot that it was you who called me. How are YOU?"

"Better than you at the moment, but not by much now," he replied. "I was calling to tell you that my court date for Sprite has been moved up to the day after tomorrow — and that I'll be back in Delaware by the weekend."

Miss Parker sat down on her couch, weak with relief. "God, Jarod, I'm glad. I need you HERE — I don't know if I can handle all this by myself anymore."

"Five days," Jarod promised, putting his arm around his little daughter and holding her just a little closer. "I'll be there in five days. By then, Sydney will be home again, and everything will be quiet again…"

"Sydney isn't the only crisis we have simmering," she informed him tiredly. "The military — or evidently a maverick side of the military that contracted with us for some of the more objectionable work the Centre could do — is objecting to our closing those projects down and shipping everything off to the Pentagon. They're even trying to work on the scientists directly — convince them to restart things on the Q.T. The one that refused was attacked…"

"Have you been in touch with the Pentagon?" Jarod asked quietly. "They usually take a pretty dim view to that kind of thing."

"Tyler's working with an Air Force colonel, I know. We caught another one trying to break into that scientist's house last night — and then this morning INS tried to raid us and arrest my secretary and Tyler's as undocumented."

Jarod shook his head. "It sounds like life is never dull at the top of the Centre heap."

"Hurry home," she cried softly. "I don't want to do this alone anymore."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise," he swore. "And I'm sure you'll find Sydney. It might take a while — he's not the kind who will wander too far from the family he has now, Missy. You and Davy are his whole world, and you know it. Deb too. He may take some time for himself — and God knows, considering what he just discovered, he deserves it — but he'll get his wits together and come back eventually."

"I sure hope so," she worried. "He's important to me too, you know… I'm just afraid that he'll hurt himself before he gets his wits together again. I don't know what I'd do…"

"I know," he soothed. "Hang in there. Don't worry about things that haven't happened, Missy."

"I love you, Jarod. I miss you."

"I miss you too, Missy. I'll be there before you know it."

She shook her head. She needed him NOW — but to have a definite timeframe to work with was an improvement. "I'll see you this weekend — Sunday?"

"Depends on how fast I can pack," he smiled. "Sprite doesn't have much, and I've been kind of going through things and deciding what I just can't live without and what I can leave behind. I'm not selling the house — I'm just going to let Ethan take it over."

"That sounds like a good idea," she smiled. "But listen. I've got to get off the line in case Sam or Chip Harrison call about Syd."

"Keep me informed, Missy. I care about him too."

"I will, Jarod." She took a deep breath. "I'll talk to you later."

"Good night," he said softly, then heard her disconnect the call. Sydney wasn't stupid, although he WAS far more emotional than most people realized. When it came to his past, he was both emotional and intensely private. Jarod could still remember the look on his mentor's face when he'd asked him questions about his internment by the Nazis — it was a haunted look that he himself had worn for many years after his own escape.

Sydney was a master at several things, survival at the Centre being only one of the more noteworthy. But above all, he was a master at hiding his own bleeding psychic wounds — from himself as well as everyone else. It had made him a gifted therapist, but it had been an Achilles' Heel as well.

Sydney would be all right in the end, Jarod was certain — but he suspected that the road ahead of his former mentor would not be a smooth or pleasant one.

Deb stood in the arcadia doorway watching Kevin practicing the flowing movements that Mr. Ikeda was teaching him. She felt more than a little lost and abandoned to her own devices. Miss Parker had encouraged the two of them to fix themselves something to eat for supper before leaving for home, and then Mr. Ikeda had taken Kevin into the back yard almost immediately after the meal, leaving her to clean up the kitchen as always.

In a way, she could see that the young Pretender and the Japanese bodyguard had forged a bond between them — and that whatever it was that Ikeda was teaching Kevin seemed to be helping the young man stay calm and focused while his mentor was missing. She, however, didn't have that stability. It had been Grandpa Sydney himself that had given her stability while her father was laid up in the hospital, and especially since her time in California — and now he was gone.

During supper, Kevin had explained to her what it was that Sydney had found and what it meant. She was as shocked by the revelation as Kevin had been — she had never suspected her grandfather had ever had anything quite that bad happen to him. It had never occurred to her that when he would tell his stories, there had been a consistent and huge gap of time between the tales he would tell of himself and Jacob as very small children and the tales of himself and Jacob in college in America. She'd studied a little about the Second World War in school — and the idea that he might have been in one of those horrible death camps was almost sickening.

She moved back into the den and sat down on the daybed, then tipped over into Grandpa's pillows. It seemed as if everywhere she went, bad things were happening to her and to those she loved.

It was nearly dark by the time Kevin and Ikeda came in from their practice. "I shall be in the living room, Kevin-san," the diminutive bodyguard said gently, taking one look at Deb's face as she sat back up again and reading in her expression her wish to talk to his young student — alone. He carefully lead Kevin's glance down to her face as well and then took his leave.

"Are you OK?" Kevin asked her, coming over to sit next to her on the daybed.

"I keep thinking about Grandpa, wondering where he is and if he's all right…" she said, leaning. "I didn't get to talk to him this morning, you know…"

Kevin lifted his arm and drew it around her shoulder. "I know you didn't," he remembered. "But you got to see your Dad today. Didn't that help some?"

"Some," she admitted, then sighed. "He says that there's a chance that he'll never walk again."

There wasn't much that Kevin could say to that, so he just tightened his arm around her.

"I just feel like the world is waiting to fall in on me again," she said finally, the need to put it out in words for someone else to hear and comment on forcing it.

"The world isn't waiting to fall on you," Kevin soothed, kissing the side of her head gently. "Everything will be better again when Sydney is home again. We're just feeling his absence."

"I don't feel safe," she clung to him. "Grandpa always makes me feel so safe."

"Mr. Ikeda is very good at what he does," Kevin reassured her in a firm voice. "And I can help protect you too, you know." He hoped he sounded confident. "Nobody's after us — you don't have to worry, Deb. And between Mr. Ikeda and me, we can keep you safe. I promise."

Deb wrapped her arm around him and nestled down on his chest. "Maybe if we watched TV or something — anything to get my mind off of Grandpa being gone…"

Kevin leaned forward slightly and caught up the television remote and settled back with Deb held close before pointing it at the appliance. "What do you want to watch?" he asked curiously. "I can never make any sense of the shows."

"Anything," she answered, and watched him flip slowly through the channels until she saw some actors she was familiar with. "There. Let's watch that," she said. Kevin tossed the remote onto the coffee table and put his other arm around her waist to hold her closer as they slowly became immersed in the plot of the movie.

"Talk to me."

"We've checked all the bars and lounges in Blue Cove and in Dover, Mr. Harrison. There's no sign of Dr. Green anywhere."

"Damn!" Harrison swore softly. Considering that both Mr. Atlee and Miss Parker had called twice in the last hour to see if there had been any word, the whereabouts of the missing psychiatrist obviously had hit top priority — and he didn't like to be coming up empty on something this important. "OK, if Miss Parker thinks the good doctor might be climbing into a bottle, check the liquor stores in the area and see if anybody has sold anything to him."

"Do you have any idea how many…"

"I don't want to hear it," Harrison told the tired sweeper. "Just get to it and check back in as soon as you have something to report." He disconnected the call, then pulled out a notebook and dialed the number on the first page.

"Fisher here," was the almost immediate response.

"Aren't you guys to White Cloud yet?"

"Just getting there, sir — the road's a little dangerous up here in the dark, you know."

"How much further until you can see his cabin?"

"It's just a mile or so ahead."

"I'll stay on the line with you then," Harrison told him. "We came up empty from the bars."

"Wonderful," Fisher let slide his comment first without thinking about to whom he was speaking. "Sorry, sir," he swallowed just a moment later.

"Stow it. Where are you?"

"Just about there…" Fisher sounded like he was stretching. "Nope. His car's nowhere in sight, and there isn't a light on in the cabin. He's not here."

"Get out and walk the perimeter of the place — check the locks to make sure the place is secure. I'll hang on."

Harrison could hear the sounds of walking, and then the two sweepers calling soft instructions to each other as they moved in on the rustic cabin. A few moments later, he heard the sound of a doorknob being roughly rattled and then footsteps on wood. "No, sir. The place is tight as a virgin's…"

"Fisher…"

"All locked up, sir. He's not here." Fisher paused. "What do you want us to do now?"

"Head back to the barn, boys. Then take tomorrow off — you'll have earned it. Drive carefully."

"Damn," Fisher swore and then disconnected the call. "It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't darker than the ace of spades out here," he told his partner. "We're to head home."

"Just shut up and get in the car," Davis grumbled. "You can help me keep an eye out to make sure we get home safely. Are you sure we can't stop along the way and put it on the company card?"

Fisher shrugged as he slid into the passenger seat. "I'm fine with that, provided YOU'RE the one who writes the expense report and tries to justify the cost of the room."

Phil Baldwin grimaced as his stomach cramped down yet again. He should never have stopped at that roadside stand and bought the hotdog. He knew better — hot days like this could wreak havoc and make for all kinds of food poisoning in such places with little or no refrigeration. He could only hope to make it up to his cabin before he'd need to park himself in his bathroom for a serious and long visit with the toilet.

A suddenly excruciating cramp caught him by surprise, making him nearly double over behind the steering wheel. He groaned as he forced his right foot to push down on the brake pedal and slow the SUV's progress on the steep incline. Only one more mountainside to get down and another to climb before he'd be at White Cloud Lake. He felt the vehicle want to roll forward down the hill and closed his eyes and wiped at his eyes to get the tears of pain out of them so he could see more clearly.

When he finally felt as if he was more in control of himself again, he eased the pressure from the brake and felt the car begin its downward movement. The road ahead of him was twisting and dark — in the daylight a delightful drive through the thick forest, in the nighttime a grueling and dangerous ribbon of black asphalt with only faded reflective white paint running down the center of the road to show him the way.

Baldwin toyed with reaching for the now-warm cup of 7-up that he'd bought to go with the hotdog all those many miles back. Maybe the drink would help calm things down just long enough… He bent forward a little — just enough to wake up his rebellious stomach into a full and sharp cramp.

"That wouldn't be Dr. Green's car, would it?" Fisher asked as he saw the flickering reflection of headlights through the trees.

"I don't think so," Davis answered finally. "That car's white, and an SUV. Dr. Green drives a black Lincoln."

"Well, whoever that guy is, he's not doing too well on this road," Fisher commented as he saw the slow-moving car slip across the center line even as it lined up along the flat bottom of the gorge to make a run at the next hill. "Watch him…"

"I'm trying," Davis yelled as he suddenly had to jerk the wheel when the SUV slid across the white line again. The Centre sedan buried its nose into the cut in the side of the hill, making the rocks and dirt fall noisily on the hood and roof.

The SUV didn't even swerve, but fell from the other side of the road, gaining momentum as it continued downward until it smashed headlong into the trunk of an ancient tree.

And then the mountain road was silent.

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