Resolutions – 29

Necessary Discussions

by MMB

"Hi, Grandma! Hi, Sprite!" Davy greeted them as he let them into Sydney's front door. "I thought you'd have been here already."

"We stopped and had a fun time in the park," Margaret shook her head. "Sprite here wanted to play on the swings."

"Me 'wing high, Davy!" Ginger grinned happily at her brother. "You come 'wing with me?"

"Not yet. I still have some homework to do before I can goof off," Davy told her. "Why don't you go wait for me in the tree house, and I'll come get you when I'm done."

"Me go tree house, Gamma?" Ginger turned a beseeching face to her grandmother.

"Just be careful, sweetie," Margaret allowed, bending to kiss her granddaughter on the top of the head before letting go.

"OK…" the little girl chirped happily and headed for the kitchen arcadia doors that opened into the back yard.

"Where's your Grandpa, Davy?" Margaret asked curiously. She exchanged a smile with Kevin, who looked up from a laptop computer with a studious expression and then went right back to what he was doing.

Davy pointed. "In the den, with his leg in that thing that makes it move all the time." He led the way into the dining room, where his schoolbooks were spread across the table. "I gotta finish reading…"

"You go ahead, I can find my own way," Margaret patted her grandson on the shoulder as she passed by and walked into the kitchen. She left on a counter the sack she'd carried over her arm from a quick stop at the grocery store and then walked over to the door to the den. She knocked lightly on the doorjamb. "Sydney? Are you in the mood for a visitor?"

Sydney let the document he'd been reading droop. "Come on in," he invited warmly, replacing the document in its folder on the coffee table and closing it as the red and silver-haired woman moved into the room. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink…"

"No…" she waved her hand. "I'm fine. Can I get YOU anything, though? You're kind of stuck…"

"I'm fine," he smiled at her and folded his reading glasses on top of the closed folder. "Where's Ginger?" he asked, looking toward the door into the kitchen.

"In the tree house, waiting for her brother to finish his homework," she replied easily as she took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs near the fireplace. "She loves it out there."

"I'm not surprised," Sydney answered. "I remember sitting up there myself not long after Broots and I built it for Davy. It's really very comfortable."

"Actually," Margaret leaned forward a little in her chair, "I've been looking forward to being able to talk to you at length privately."

He nodded slowly. "I've been expecting that," he replied with a little more care. "Missy told me you wanted to talk to me. I figured our exchange the other day was just a prelude."

"You realize that I hated you for a very long time?"

How much like Jarod she was with her tendency to come straight to the point without any preamble, Sydney thought to himself. "I'd have been very surprised if you hadn't," he replied with a wistful expression. "I'm even more surprised that you don't still hate me a little."

"I'm trying not to," she told him honestly. "You've been a very gracious host to me in my little time here."

"Maggie," he interrupted her gently, "it's OK. I am – or was – a part of a group of people who stole two of your children and kept you running and in hiding for the better part of your life. That isn't going to be something that you can set aside easily."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" she responded with a dramatic wave of her hand. "Your part in my sons' lives isn't quite as clear to me now as it was just a year ago."

Sympathetic chestnut eyes regarded her. "I wasn't a part of what happened to Kyle. I wish I could tell you that I tried to protect him too, but he was put outside my control from the very beginning. I only knew of him peripherally, when the time came to run experiments with him and Jarod jointly. I certainly had no idea the two were brothers."

"I know that," she replied. "Jarod told me about Kyle – he told me what Mr. Raines had done to him. I don't blame you for that."

Sydney nodded. "But you do blame me for what was done to Jarod," he guessed gently. "And my only possible response to that is that I blame myself as well – for all the good it will do either of us now."

She leaned her chin into her hand propped up on the arm of the easy chair. "You know, once I had Jarod back, and our family was together again, I thought that my life would be perfect. And for a while, I think I fooled myself into believing that all those years trapped in the Centre hadn't counted. But then I started to notice the little ways in which Charles and Jarod remained strangers to each other – little things that, if Jarod had grown up with his father in his life, would never have mattered so much."

"Maggie…" he began.

"No," she put up a defensive hand, "you need to know this. Even before Charles died, I knew that Jarod still had a connection to you that he'd never have with either of us — even though he never mentioned you or the time he'd spent with you. He didn't have to. You were the one who had raised him, and no amount of love or wishful thinking could change that. And whether or not you returned his affection, he still loved you as if you were his father — and his decision to come back here and find you when Charles died brought that home to me very clearly. He loved Charles, and he loved me — but a very important part of him loved you very much, and still does."

"Had the powers that be in the Centre known how attached Jarod had become to me," he replied when he could finally slip a word in edgewise, "they would have used that to manipulate and force him to do things he wouldn't normally have done. At worst, they would have taken Jarod away from me and given him to someone else – perhaps Mr. Raines."

"Did you love him, Sydney?" Margaret asked plaintively, "As you raised my son, did you love him?"

"Yes," he answered very softly. "I never said anything – never showed him that I cared to the extent that Jarod would have wanted me to and really needed me to, but yes. I loved him as a son. I still do."

"Then tell me about him," she asked then. "Tell me about my son as a young boy, as a young man… what was he like growing up? Of anyone, you WOULD know…"

The expression that came over the older man's face as he leaned back into his pillows told Margaret all she needed to know. Sydney's memories of Jarod had made his face grow soft and proud – just as Charles' face would do when they talked about their son's determination to create a new and safe life for them. Both men had loved her son deeply — of this there was no longer any doubt in her mind at all.

"Jarod was always very curious, very inquisitive, even when it wasn't in his own best interest," Sydney was saying, and Margaret forced her mind to follow what was being said. "His emotions were always so very close to the surface. He was a very sensitive and gentle person. He made friends easily, despite the limitations of his surroundings. He made friends with some of the sweepers, and all of the janitors adored him." He chuckled. "He and Miss Parker used to get themselves into all kinds of trouble for a while — getting into places that they weren't supposed to. The two of them and Angelo — they were quite the little band of mischief-makers." He shot her a quick glance. "I used to turn a blind eye to what they'd be up to as much as I could, maybe because I knew that Jarod needed a chance to BE a child, even if only very briefly and occasionally, as a break from everything else."

"What all did he have to go through?"

Sydney stared in shock and horror. "What?"

The brilliant blue eyes were half-filled with tears. "He would never tell me very much about what he went through as a child – what the Centre made him do. I want to know…"

The old psychiatrist was shaking his head firmly. "No good purpose would be served by it, Maggie," he told her gently. "But I can tell you that much of his work was involved in running what are known as SIMs. SIMs are simulations of people or events either in the past or theoretically in the future carried out with the intent of understanding motivations of players in past situations or anticipating actions or agendas that might come in the future to influence the way a situation would be resolved."

"How would he do that?" she wanted to know, and leaned forward to hear, finally, some of the information she'd been longing for, ever since her son had come home to her.

"You want to know process?" Sydney was astonished to see her nod vigorously, obviously listening very closely to him. "We would first go over all of the givens of the situation in question and then set the scene in motion, often using props or visual and audio effects that would enhance the environment of the room to match the situation in question. Jarod's gift was his ability to climb into the heads of the people involved in the situation as the action would be on going and predict with a high rate of accuracy what their response would be and why that response would be chosen over all the others. My job was to keep him focused on the situation at hand rather than distracted by some of the more trivial data necessary to make the simulation appear real to his mind."

"That doesn't sound so…" Margaret started, then fell silent as she saw the expression on the Belgian's face change again. "What?"

"Sometimes the SIM was very straightforward and practical. But sometimes the situation that Jarod had to put himself in was…" Sydney shook his head. "Some of it was horrific just on the surface – and far more so when dissected and run through a sensitive young man's mind. Sometimes the terror and emotional distress caused by the SIM could be enough that I'd have to do weeks of therapy just to get him back to some semblance of mental balance again. And how much time I was given to put him back together again generally depended upon just how keenly the Centre wanted him moving on to the next difficult SIM, and the next one after that…"

"Was he ever allowed to walk away from something that was just too awful to consider?" she asked in a shaky voice.

Sydney merely shook his head again sadly. "There were a few SIMs where I simply put my foot down and refused to let Jarod participate. My efforts didn't always work, however." The chestnut eyes were hooded and filled with guilt. "Advantage would be taken of my time away from the Centre – when I'd go on holiday or be sent off to attend a conference or seminar – and I'd come back to work afterwards to find Jarod a near basket case. Sometimes it was to run the SIMs that I had previously refused to let him take part in, and sometimes they would use him in… other experiments…"

"Oh God!" Margaret breathed, her hand to her mouth. "I knew it was bad, but I had no idea…"

"I am sure that the reason Jarod never spoke to you of these things is because he didn't want to upset you," he told her gently. "The most important thing to remember is that he survived those years with his mind and his soul intact – and that he finally escaped the Centre, found you and the rest of your family, and made a life for himself. And a good life, at that."

He was right, she thought to herself. Even though Jarod had been through something that no child should ever have been forced to go through, he HAD come out of it with his wits and integrity intact. Much of the credit for that belonged to the lame man half reclining on the couch in front of her. "May I ask you another question?" she asked finally after she managed to get her careening emotions back under control.

"Yes?"

"What did you think when Jarod escaped?"

Sydney allowed a small smile to turn the edges of his lips upwards. "I was pleased that he'd finally found a flaw in the security that he could exploit, to be honest. I was glad he had the personal strength of character to step out into a world he knew only very distantly and then keep one step ahead of anybody the Centre sent after him, all the while helping others along the way. I was proud of him, and I tried in my own way to help him whenever I could."

"And yet you chased him back and forth across the country…"

"My job," he corrected her carefully, "was to interpret any clues that Jarod left behind him and try to predict where we stood the best chance of catching up to him next." He allowed that small smile to widen slightly. "I usually managed to make my predictions either too late to do the Centre any good, or kept them just far enough away geographically that he could get away without too much effort. Those few times that we came close – or actually caught him – were times when he deliberately LET us get close."

"Why?"

Sydney blinked. "Why what?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what — mentor him as a young man or participate in the search for him later?"

"Any of it — all of it…" She looked at him earnestly. "I just want to understand what motivated you…"

He shook his head. "My motives don't matter…"

"They do to me," Margaret insisted.

Chestnut eyes full of guilt and self-loathing looked over at her. "I had no choice, or so I thought. I was lied to in the beginning – I was told that Jarod was an orphan – and I went along with it without questioning. I was a scientist, Jarod was a subject, and I didn't let myself think much further than that. Then, when I finally did start to question the wisdom of some of what I was being asked to have Jarod do, came the threats and outright attacks against me or those I cared about. In the end, I could see that the Centre was willing to sacrifice just about anything or anybody to force my hand with Jarod – and to protect others and ultimately Jarod himself, I capitulated." He rubbed his eyes tiredly and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will regret much of what I did in those days until the day I die."

Margaret relaxed back against the comfortable cushion of her chair for a long moment of silence. The assessment she'd made two days ago was a valid one — the arrogant, unfeeling scientist who would blithely put Jarod through decades of living hell that she'd always imagined Sydney to be had been only a figment of her imagination. He was just a man — a man who had made mistakes and yet done a good job raising her son. And he was an honest man who clearly understood the depths of his mistakes and regretted them deeply, as evidenced by that discussion she'd overheard and by the expression in his eyes just now. Moreover, during the last few days she had finally seen for herself the vestiges of the older role model in her working knowledge of her son's behavior patterns and could fully appreciate just how much of Sydney had been transplanted into the Jarod she'd come to love so dearly. And finally, she stirred herself. "Thank you."

Once more, Sydney blinked in surprise. "What on earth for?" he asked in amazement.

"For taking care of my son, for trying…" The brilliant cerulean shone at him. "For caring enough to try to keep him safe from the likes of Raines…" She smiled at him. "And for being honest with me just now — and not trying to humor me or put me off."

"I would never do that! You were violated as a parent in one of the most heinous ways imaginable — there are parts of your child's life that you'll never fully understand. I know…" His voice faded away. "I would never do that…"

"Jarod told me that you had a child stolen from you too," she told him with a soft voice, "that you'd know exactly what I'm feeling — what I have felt."

"Yes," he answered in a whisper.

"So I don't have to explain — you already have been where I am, and have felt what I've gone through."

His gaze sought hers, trying to see just what all she was trying to say. "Yes."

"Where IS your son?"

"In upstate New York," he answered, "with his wife. He teaches at a small college there."

"Does he come to visit you? Are you close?" Margaret's voice had grown soft.

"He comes… occasionally. But no, we're not close." Sydney shrugged. "His mother married another man who then raised him as his own — for Nicholas, that man will always be his father. I'm grateful that we're at least friends and I've learned not to hope for more than that."

"I'm sorry," she commented, feeling a twinge. At least Jarod had made the effort to get as close to both her and Charles as he could in the years they had spent in very close proximity. Jarod had struggled hard to put together his family — and Sydney had been locked out of his.

Sydney shook his head. "Don't be. It is, after all, a twisted kind of payback. I am the father-figure to a man who is your husband's son, and yet am just a distant blood relative to my own son."

"You weren't the one who kidnapped my son, were you?" she asked carefully. "I remember a man who looked and sounded very much like you do now talking to me about Jarod's potential not long before Jarod was taken — that wasn't you, was it?"

"No, that was my brother, Jacob," he replied. "He did the intake work on Jarod, not I."

"And you say that you had little choice in having to fulfill the role you did?"

Sydney looked at her sharply. "I swear to you, if it had been within my power to take Jarod away from the Centre when I started to have my doubts — if I had known then what I know now — I would like to think that I would have taken him out myself." But then he looked down at his hands, and at his leg being obliged to straighten and bend endlessly. "But the fact of the matter is that I'm a coward — I don't know that I would have had the strength."

"I don't think you're a coward," Margaret said firmly. "If you were, you wouldn't have the balls to admit it."

The older man shot her an appreciative but twisted smile at her frankness. "You never know."

"I'd like to think I have a fair idea," she replied. "I want you to know that I'm willing to share my son with you — not that I've ever had much choice in the matter, but I guess I don't mind it so much anymore. But then, I never had competition as a mother — it was Charles who always walked in your shadow as a father. He told me once that he'd met you one time, and thought you were a decent man. I've always trusted Charles' ability to judge character. Charles may have been jealous as hell of you, but he respected you — and God knows, despite everything, you did a good job raising our son."

"How are you doing this?" Sydney asked finally. The magnanimity of her words had nearly taken his breath away. He had prepared himself to be blamed, verbally scourged and put in his place — certainly not this!

"Doing what?"

"I don't think that I could be half this reasonable with the man who raised my son as his own, were I in a similar situation — and I know damned well that I wouldn't be as kind. I think the jealousy would be eating me alive."

"Ah," Margaret smiled at him, and suddenly Sydney caught a fleeting glimpse of the stunning young woman she had once been, "but our situations are very different. You never took MY place."

"I just stole your son's childhood from you."

"No," she shook her head. "I think I understand that part of Jarod's reasoning now. You weren't the one who stole his childhood, the Centre did."

"Same difference. I was part of the Centre."

"On one level, yes — but on another, I don't think so." She gazed at him evenly. "Either way, hating you or even being jealous the way I told you about Sunday won't bring me those lost years back. And, despite everything, I'm finding it very hard not to like you as a person."

That startled him. "Thank you!" he mumbled, then gazed at her cautiously. "You're a very special lady as well, you know…"

Margaret found herself suddenly blushing, and then was very grateful that the front door chose that precise moment to slam shut, shattering the moment.

Deb's voice called out into the house, "I'm home — and what am I fixing for supper?"

Sydney's gaze very lightly touched Margaret. "Can I convince you to stay for supper?"

"As a matter of fact, I brought some of the ingredients for it when I came," she told him lightly as she eased herself from the comfort of her chair. "Jarod called and said they were going to be late and to meet them here. I figured that they'd probably be tired and hungry and would appreciate being able to just sit down and eat. I'll tell Deb…"

"Good," he replied to himself as she moved past him into the kitchen and started up an animated conversation with Deb about meal plans.

He sighed and relaxed back into his pillow for the little time that remained of his afternoon therapy, his mind replaying what had just transpired. The much-dreaded talk with Jarod's mother had gone better than he'd expected — and his soul felt just a bit lighter for having won, if not her forgiveness, at least her understanding. He had meant what he said — Maggie Russell was a remarkable woman. Remarkable indeed!

David Lawler stared at the tall man who was now sitting back comfortably in the chair next to him with legs crossed comfortably and a lightly amused smirk on his face. He'd wanted answers, and he certainly had gotten what he wanted — in spades! He remembered wishing to Whisper Man that he could interview Jarod. Little had he known that the future had determined that he be allowed precisely that.

More than startling had been the disclosure that Jarod — Dr. Russell — had willingly returned to the Centre to take up a position of considerable authority AND that the man was engaged to marry Miss Parker. Imaginings about a hunted and paranoid man continuing to live a life on the run and/or filled with thoughts of revenge against the Centre had been completely blown out of the water by the reality of the calm and self-assured Pretender. That the man was a genius was undeniable — it had taken several distinct tries for him to get over the creepy feeling when Jarod would seem to know what he was thinking and answer questions that never needed to be voiced.

And ultimately, when the pretty Chinese secretary had finished delivering the last bundle of documentation, he knew he had as much of the truth as any of the principals of the story did. And the story was nothing like he'd been led to believe by Whisper Man — that it was incredible and ugly hadn't changed, but where the responsibility lay for that ugliness and horror was nowhere near the feet of the current Chairman.

"Are there any other questions that we can answer for you?" Miss Parker asked finally, looking back and forth between Jarod and the reporter.

Lawler shook his head slowly. "No. I think I have more than enough material here to keep me busy for a long time to come. The only question I have left is about the future, not the past."

Miss Parker cocked an eyebrow invitingly at the man in the horn-rimmed glasses. "Oh?"

"If I decide to write an exposé of the underhanded dealings the government has had with firms like the Centre, will I be sticking my neck out legally as far as the Centre is concerned?"

She traded a long glance with Jarod before shrugging. "I would say that that will depend entirely on how you write the story. Provided that you stick to the facts of the matter, and absolve the present administration of any responsibility in the matter, I can't see where you'd have much to worry about from us." She leaned forward. "But, you realize, the Centre wasn't the only research and development firm that some of these people had contracts with — and they may NOT take your actions as kindly."

Lawler's face showed his agreement. "I won't write that part of the story until I have iron-clad evidence against them — the kind that will hold up in a trial. I just wanted you to know that I don't intend to let the story about the government's participation in this go."

"I don't blame you," Jarod told him frankly. "The story needs to come out — if for no other reason than to make sure that it doesn't happen again." He gave the reporter a twisted smile. "I'd be willing to bet that it would be as much of a story as the Watergate break-in did — with much the same consequence for the man who writes it."

Lawler pored into Jarod's dark chocolate eyes yet again to see if there was any agenda behind that observation of his most secret wish, to find nothing but curiosity and understanding there. "Yeah," he nodded. "I suppose so." He moved the stack of folders and documents into his briefcase and struggled to get it closed around the bulk, then rose. "I don't quite know how to thank you for your time, Miss Parker, Doctor Russell."

"I do," Miss Parker rose and shook the reporter's hand firmly. "You can write a companion piece to the article you published today that puts answers to all those questions you posed that are based in fact, not speculation."

"I intend to," he assured her. "I'm sure that Whisper Man will be very disappointed in the next installment of what he or she thought would be a scathing exposé."

"You know," Jarod shook the reporter's hand as well, "it would be very intriguing to find out just who this Whisper Man of yours really is." He glanced up at Miss Parker. "Maybe a call to someone in the FBI might be in order?"

"That's possible," she replied with an appreciative nod, then turned back to her guest. "Thank you for coming and letting me — us — set the record straight."

"The pleasure was all mine, I assure you. And, I want to apologize for my article today. I'll be sending you advanced copy of the follow-up story before I print it, so you'll know what to expect." Lawler's glance touched all three Centre denizens in the room, finding even the expression on the burly bodyguard to be one of quiet attention and no longer remotely defensive.

"That piece served a good purpose in the end," Jarod remarked before Miss Parker could think of an adequate response. "It got the truth — the whole truth — out where it needed to be."

"Have a safe drive home, Mr. Lawler," Miss Parker said as she watched Jarod escort the reporter from the office and then close the door. She sat down quickly and tiredly. "My God!"

"It will be very interesting to read the man's next article," Jarod said with a smile as he walked toward her desk. "Are you ready to go home?"

"I've got…"

"Miss P," Sam broke in, finally easing from his posture of attention, "go home. You're tired and you know it."

Miss Parker's eyebrows skyrocketed toward her hairline. "Excuse me?"

"He's right, Missy," Jarod agreed with a nod of appreciation at Sam. "This has been a hard day for you, and you and I both know what this interview with Lawler took out of you before he even got here." He pointed to her briefcase. "Leave it until tomorrow, and let's head home."

"Does having you working for me mean that you're going to think you can come in here and bully me…"

"Yes, when you and I both know it's for your own good," Jarod replied.

Sam, knowing when his input was no longer needed, made a discreet exit with the intent of snaring Mei-Chiang and heading home himself.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet. "Oh, all right. It's just that I hate it when I get ganged up on, though... Syd and Broots used to do it to me all the time."

"Good for them," Jarod smirked and stretched his hand out toward the door. "C'mon, Miss Parker. We're walking…"

"Watch it, Lab Rat…"

"That's Doctor Russell to you…"

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Canfield asked Gillespie as they climbed from the agent's sedan in the FBI garage.

"Considering what we heard when Senator Jackson came to see you in your office this afternoon, you bet," Gillespie answered in a very business-like tone. "He wasn't very happy with the answers you were giving him, and he let you know what lay in store for you if you didn't go along with what he and Burns were planning for Colonel Stiller. Don't tell me you didn't pick up on that…"

"No, I got it," Canfield shook his head, "but I didn't think…"

"My boss didn't want to have to worry about whether there is any substance behind the threat or no. Between the meeting you had with Jackson and Burns this noon and that little private conversation with Jackson this afternoon, we have more than enough to move on warrants and open entire new lines of investigation."

Canfield relaxed a little as Gillespie took him by the elbow and escorted him into the elevator car. "Then I'm not going to have to meet with them again tomorrow?"

The agent shook his head. "Nope."

The tall Montanan leaned back against the wall of the elevator car and closed his eyes. It was over. Now all that was left was the legal mess that his participation with the FBI would cause.

He could live with that. And when it was all through, well… he'd see. He'd see.

"We have a problem, and its name is George Canfield."

Harry Burns leaned back with his martini and looked at Tom Jackson. "No shit. I could tell that in the car. Did you get a chance to talk to him?"

"That's how I know we REALLY have a problem on our hands." Jackson sipped at his whiskey sour thoughtfully. "I don't think George was ready for things to get down and dirty and splash him personally."

"Damned freshman Senators anyway," Burns griped morosely, then propped his drink on the arm of his chair. "Did you get in touch with your contact?"

Jackson nodded. "We'll have to be patient — evidently Stiller has been moved to a high security wing of the stockade. Getting in and taking care of business may cost us more than the usual fee."

"It's worth it, thought," Burns said, only partially paying attention to the fact that Jackson's doorbell had run.

Jackson listened and then smiled as he heard his wife scurrying to answer the door. "Did you talk to Sanderson about subpoenaing the Centre for a hearing into its business practices with the military?" he asked, satisfied that whoever it was at the door would be dealt with efficiently.

"Yeah — and I gave him copies of the documentation you gave me," Burns grinned back. "How much you want to bet that we have that bitch calling us up and begging us to let her off the hook?"

"Tom…"

Callie normally knew better than to interrupt one of her husband's "meetings" with his Senatorial colleagues, and Jackson's face was twisted in rage at her evidently having forgotten it this evening. He slowly rose to his full height. "I've told you a thousand times…" His words died suddenly when he saw that his shrinking wife was standing next to two suited gentlemen who were watching his every move very carefully. Something told him that he didn't want to finish the sentence he'd been speaking. "Who are you and what do you want?" he demanded of the visitors.

"Senator Tom Jackson?"

"Yes. Damn it, what do you…"

"And you are Senator Harold Burns?" the anonymous suit asked next, shifting his attention to the man still seated in the easy chair.

"Yes?" Burns put his drink on the small table near him.

"I am Assistant Director Berghoff with the FBI, and the man with me is Special Agent Tom Gillespie. We are here to put you gentlemen under arrest for…"

"Excuse me," Jackson stated in astonishment. "I am a United States Senator…"

"…For conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to commit libel…"

Burns leapt to his feet. "You can't arrest us…"

Berghoff simply turned a cold glare at the two men. "I assure you, the arrest warrants we're serving come directly from the Justice Department itself, and notice of intent to execute these warrants was sent to the Ethics Committee earlier this evening."

"Callie, call Jake Thompson," Jackson demanded as Agent Gillespie moved behind him and began securing his hands with handcuffs. When his wife didn't move a muscle, he raised his voice. "CALLIE!! Call Jake Thompson, NOW!"

Berghoff didn't miss the flinch that Mrs. Jackson gave at the verbal whip that had been cracked in her direction, nor the fact that the woman had yet to carry out her husband's wishes. "Jake Thompson?" he asked cooly.

"My lawyer," Jackson hissed, seething.

"Tom…" Burns attempted to calm his friend down, seeing what the federal agents were seeing and not liking the impression that it was making with them. "Calm down." He looked at Berghoff haughtily. "You're forgetting something," he sneered.

"No, just waiting for a little quiet," Berghoff countered. "You gentlemen have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…" He rattled off the traditional Miranda warning by heart, knowing that both men in front of him probably were just as familiar with its strictures. "Let's move."

Gillespie took Burns' elbow and Berghoff took charge of Jackson's. "CALLIE!" the Vermont Senator bellowed again and struggled against the iron hand at his arm.

"Yelling like that isn't going to help any," Berghoff announced with calm and quiet. "And you each have the right to a single telephone call, once you've been booked." He pulled a little harder at the man's elbow. "And you really don't want to add resisting arrest to the list of charges, now, do you?"

Callie Jackson watched with shock and amazement as the federal agents led her husband and his friend from the house, and only when the door had closed behind them securely did she feel safe enough to react. Slowly her body began to shake, starting with her legs and working upwards until she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from falling down.

She couldn't believe it. The police had taken Tom away, and she'd actually survived to see it with her own eyes. Suddenly she could be sure that he wouldn't be returning to the house for a reasonable period of time. Her eyes began to dart around the room, and she suddenly began to move — heading for the stairs and that little suitcase that she'd had packed and secreted away for so very long. With a speed built of fear of being caught in this final bit of marital betrayal, she pulled the tiny slip of paper from an inner pocket of her purse and picked up the telephone.

Eventually the front door to the house opened again, and she slipped out with her suitcase and purse in hand. The cab company had said that they would be there in just five minutes — and another call had alerted the woman's shelter of her coming.

With any luck, Callie Jackson knew that she was at last free — just as her daughter had been for the last year and a half. Maybe someday she'd be able to find Karen again — and tell her how sorry she was that she hadn't been able to protect her.

"Well, I'm hoping that your afternoon wasn't entirely wasted waiting for us to call on your services, Kevin," Jarod said, handing the young man the sliced French bread across the table.

"Oh, I just read at the files that I was working on this morning," Kevin told him with a smile of thanks. "Something about viral reagents and aerosol applicators. I think it was one of your projects…"

Jarod and Sydney exchanged glances, and then Jarod's eyes widened. "Oh yeah – I remember that one."

"What about your day?" Sydney asked Miss Parker pointedly. "Is the Centre going to be taking any action against the Post?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "I have the promise of the reporter involved that there will be a follow-up story published that will correct any misconceptions that the initial story may have caused." She lay a gentle hand against her foster-father's shoulder. "Tempest in a teapot, Syd – nothing that should have gotten us all that riled…"

"We still would be well advised to call the FBI and report this attempt at slander and libel, Missy," Jarod interjected. "That article was the result of someone making a very deliberate attempt at a smear campaign against the Centre in general and you in particular."

"What do you mean, 'tempest in a teapot,' Parker?" Sydney demanded. "I finally read the damned article – and the insinuations were anything but just a game. What's more, my name was mentioned, as was Broots'."

"My dad's name was mentioned in so many words?" Deb frowned. "They can do that?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Deb," Jarod assured her. "By the time Parker and I got through talking to the man, I seriously doubt that he'll cause any more trouble for either your dad or your grandpa…"

"It isn't the reporter that I'm worried about," Sydney said with a scowl. "It's some crusading legal eagle wanting to make his mark in the world on my scalp or Broots' hind side."

"Surely when this follow-up article is published that takes both you and Deb's father off the hook, that shouldn't much of a worry anymore – should it?" Margaret soothed, taking her clue from her son's attitude.

Sydney's chestnut eyes were anguished when he looked over at her. "Remember what we were discussing earlier – how some of those SIMs were horrific? As the person most directly responsible for Jarod's welfare during his years in the Centre's custody, I will be the one held accountable…"

"I already told you, Sydney, that I wouldn't let that happen," Jarod reminded his former mentor very firmly. "It will be very difficult for anybody to level charges at you if the one person who is supposedly the most damaged by these actions of yours refuses to press charges."

"They may decide to move just on the principle of the thing," Sydney grumbled, then took a big bite of his spaghetti in order not to say anything else.

"Are you going to be arrested, Grandpa?" Davy was aghast.

"No, he's not," Miss Parker stated unequivocally.

"Don't you worry about me, Davy," Sydney told his grandson, his eyes sending out the message to the other adults at the table to put the kaibosh on any further discussion of his possible legal woes until at least the children weren't present. "I'll be just fine."

Ginger listened to the adults around her talking as if the older man with the funny way of talking was in some kind of trouble. She stared at him in wonder and worry. Davy had spent a great deal of time they had spent together in the tree house yesterday afternoon telling her all about their Grandpa and the interesting mind games that he played sometimes. She trusted what Davy told her implicitly – which meant that it hadn't taken much talking to convince her that Grandpa was an extra-special person. Even more, from what Daddy had said earlier that day, it sounded as if Grandpa would be the one to help her get ready so that she could finally go to school with her big brother. It didn't take her much work to realize that if they came to take Grandpa away…

"No take Gammpa 'way, Daddy!" the little girl burst out finally. "Him not Bad Man."

Sydney's mouth dropped open at the exclamation, and Jarod bent over his daughter. "Nobody's going to do anything to Grandpa, Sprite," he reassured her with a hug and a kiss.

The little girl was not to be calmed. She squirmed out of her father's embrace, slipped from her chair and ran around the end of the table. Sydney barely had the time to turn before he found himself being clambered upon as Ginger used the supports of the dining chair and a strong grasp on his shirt to make her way up onto his lap. "Oo not Bad Man," she announced to him vehemently, her dark eyes wide and looking up into his face trustingly and certain. She knew Bad Men – Bad Men were huge, and their voices were big, and their hands did nothing but hurt whatever they touched. Grandpa, on the other hand, had protected her – he had let her take refuge with him in the back room while the Big Man had been in the house. Davy adored him, Daddy obviously cared a lot for him, even She seemed very fond of him. Suddenly it clicked – Grandpa was family, something that Ginger had wanted for a very long time and didn't want to see threatened in any way.

"Hush, ma petite, everything will be OK," Sydney steadied his new granddaughter on his lap carefully. How much she looked like Yvette in that moment, he thought to himself suddenly as the memory of that last moment in the camp before the Nazis had come to take his little sister away to the showers washed inexorably over him. He shook himself from the memory with difficulty and put a gentle hand to the side of her head. "I promise."

Those dark eyes seemed to look right down to the bottom of his soul. "No be sad, Gammpa," she announced in a clear, bell-like voice. "Me take care oo." And with that, she turned around to face her grandfather and threw her arms around his neck to hug him tightly.

Sydney's heart caught in his throat. Yvette's very last words to him in Dachau had been an eerily precognitive exhortation for him not to be sad, and once more the pain of that moment in long-ago time washed over him with a strength that there was no way for him to deny. And yet, even in the midst of the anguish and horror of the memory, he could feel the way the child in his lap was hanging onto him with all her strength. Stunned arms were slow to come up and surround her, but once they had found their place around the girl, they held her as tightly as she clung to him. "Je t'aime aussi, ma petite," he whispered with eyes tightly shut, not entirely sure to whom he was pledging his heart.

"I guess she's finally accepted him," Miss Parker commented very softly to Margaret.

"It happened that same way with her uncles Jay and Nathan too," the older woman replied. "One moment she was leery, and then suddenly the gates would open, and she would be her bouncy self with them." She smiled. "She knew Ethan from before – she already knew she could trust him. But Jay looked too much like Jarod, and Nathan was fairly tall – and you know how she is around big men…"

Whatever it was that Grandpa had whispered to her, Ginger understood the tone of voice he'd used even though she didn't understand the words. Grandpa felt like a much older version of her Daddy, in much the same way that She felt like a younger version of her Gamma. "Gammpa not sad 'more?" she asked without moving a muscle.

Sydney kissed the side of her head and loosened his arms around her just a little so that she could look at him again if she wanted to. "I'm not sad, ma petite," he told her gently. "After all, I have you taking care of me now, don't I?"

Ginger let go enough to finally look up into his face. "Oo gots sad eyes, Gammpa," she told him, putting a gentle little hand on the side of his face.

"Only because I know you're worried," he answered her, motionless beneath her piercing, dark gaze. "As soon as I know you're not worried anymore, I can be happy again."

"Them not take oo 'way?" she asked again.

"No, cheri. I'm not going anywhere. I don't think your Mommy or Daddy will let that happen." He put as much certainty into his voice as he could to convince her.

She looked around and saw her Daddy and Her nodding agreement at her, and so she nodded too. "'Kay," she said finally and felt her grandfather kiss her head again.

"Why don't you go back and finish your supper," he told her, "and tell me all about what you did today before you came here. Did I hear your Grandma say that you spent time in the park?"

As Ginger nodded and felt her new grandfather lower her carefully back to the floor, Jarod glanced at Miss Parker and then his mother and smiled. Miss Parker's return smile was cautious – and he knew that she'd seen the look that had come over her foster father's face just like he had. It had been pretty obvious that another one of Sydney's painful memories had been tripped – probably a bad one – but somehow, he had managed to work through it.

One thing was for sure: one of them would have to remain behind that night, to coax him to open up and tell them what was going on – after Ginger and Davy had been taken home.

"That's the last of it," Lauren Mitchell announced as Hugh came back into the little apartment, obviously looking for the next bundle to haul out to the car. "You sure you're not going to want any more of this pizza?"

"No, ma'am, I'm full – really," he told her with a contented look on his face. True to her word, she had ordered a large pizza and had it hot and ready to eat by the time he had arrived at the apartment. Dinner conversation had centered at first on speculation about what would happen to the man who had attacked her. Hugh had reassured her that he doubted that Stiller would see the light of day for a while, considering all the evidence against him. In his mind, it was only a question of whether the civilian authorities would be the ones paying for his upkeep or the military.

In return, he'd had the privilege of watching the very last of her anxiety slowly fade away until the only visible sign of her ordeal left was the faint red mark that still ringed her neck. Once he had her hopefully convinced of her own safety again, the conversation began to wander – and the class distinction that he'd always felt had separated him as a sweeper from her as a research scientist began to fade away too. He found himself telling her stories about his early days as a sweeper, and she had finally gotten him to laughing telling him some of the stories about her days as a student.

"Why don't you take this upstairs to Crystal then," she suggested, closing the top of the cardboard box over the three huge pieces that remained of their supper, "while I do one last check of everything and then lock up?"

"OK." Hugh took the box from her and took the stairs outside the door two at a time. The very young lady who lived upstairs now took a moment to answer the door and stared at him in surprise. "Dr. Mitchell thought you might enjoy this," he explained, holding the box forward.

"Thanks!" Crystal was startled. "Is she OK? I thought…"

"She's fine," Huge told her. "But the man who had attacked her has finally been taken out of the area, and she's decided to move back into her own house. She's moving tonight."

"Does Xing-Li know? I'm sure she'll want to say goodbye too…" Crystal deposited the pizza on the bookcase near the door and then grabbed up her key and thrust it into a pocket before pulling the door shut. "I'll get her."

She followed Hugh down the stairs and then knocked on the door opposite Lauren's until it opened. "Lauren's going home tonight," she announced. "I thought you'd like a chance to say goodbye."

"Yes, thank you!" The Chinese secretary left her door open and followed Crystal to where Lauren was standing next to her car. "So this is it?" she asked quietly.

"Yup," the chemist nodded, then put out her arms to give a quick hug to first Xing-Li and then to Crystal. "I hope I can talk you guys into coming and visiting me sometimes," Lauren exclaimed. "I've gotten used to having neighbors that I could talk to after work – and not having you two around is one of the only down sides to moving back home."

"I'm sure we'd like to," Crystal spoke first, "but you know that you're the only one of us with a car…"

"I'll just have to kidnap you guys then," Lauren decided. "I'll be in touch."

"Take good care of yourself," Xing-Li told her friend gently. "We'll miss you too."

Lauren sighed. "At least this isn't like a complete goodbye – because I hate those. I'll find you at work – we can always arrange to take our lunches together."

"That sounds good to me," Crystal smiled, enjoying the camaraderie of her two best friends. "And have fun moving back into your house."

Lauren gave Hugh a smile, then turned to her friends with raised eyebrows. "At least I have help with that," she sighed happily and waved. "See you." She turned back to Hugh. "Let's get this stuff home now."

"Yes, ma'am," Hugh replied and climbed into his car, prepared to follow the pretty lady scientist to her house. This wasn't such a bad way to spend a Monday evening at all. His only regret was that after tonight, he'd have no excuse to spend any more evenings with Doctor Mitchell anymore. He'd miss that.

"Say goodnight, Sprite," Jarod directed his little girl gently.

"Goo'nite, Gammpa," she obliged and put up her arms to the man still in the chair.

Sydney bent carefully and hugged the child tightly. "Bete noir, ma petite," he whispered into her ear and then kissed it. "Maybe your Grandma can be talked into bringing you over to see me again – what do you say?"

Ginger's eager gaze found her grandmother smiling. "OK," she replied. "Me see you 'morrow."

"Take my car," Miss Parker told Jarod while she watched her children bid their grandfather goodnight. "You'll all fit better. I'll bring the sports car back later, after…"

"Good luck," Jarod whispered to her and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you in a little while." He turned to his mother and children. "Last one to Mommy's car's a rotten egg…"

Davy and Ginger both whooped and took off out the front door at a dead run, with a chuckling Margaret bidding Sydney goodnight and following close behind. "I think Missy wants to talk to you," Jarod told his former mentor with a wave. "And I'll see you in the morning so we can continue our talk."

Sydney's gaze met Miss Parker's, and he worked hard not to sigh. She had that determined look on her face again – one that told him that she was going to be expecting a serious discussion. He'd hoped she hadn't noticed his lapse when Ginger had climbed into his lap — but evidently, she had.

Deb looked into Miss Parker's face and took a firm hold of Kevin's arm. "Let's go see if the swings in the park are still working," she suggested with a knowing look.

Kevin smiled and let her lead him from the house, not exactly sure what had gotten into Deb but more than happy to have a chance to have her all to himself after a long day without her completely.

Miss Parker waited until the only people in the house were Sydney and herself, and then seated herself at the dining table with him. "Looks as if you have another fan, Syd."

"So it would seem," he replied carefully. "Look, Parker…"

"Sydney," she interrupted, putting a hand on his arm. "Talk to me."

"About what?" he asked, being deliberately obtuse. He was tired and didn't really want to have this conversation.

She tipped her head at him, obviously disappointed. "You know very well what I'm talking about," she informed him with quiet determination. "You promised…"

He sighed audibly this time. "It really wasn't all that much…"

"It was enough that even Ginger noticed it," she reminded him. "She said you had sad eyes – that was a masterpiece of understatement, if I ever heard one. What was it?"

Sydney closed his eyes for a long moment, waiting for the memory to wash over him again in a suffocating wave and being surprised when it didn't. He opened his eyes and looked at her again. "I just… the last thing Yvette said to me just before the Nazis took her away was for me not to be sad. When Ginger said the same thing…"

Miss Parker nodded, understanding at last the poignancy and pain of the memory that had been unlocked and released. "She still reminds you of your sister a great deal, doesn't she?"

The chestnut eyes gazed at her with muted pain in their depths. "You have no idea. Sometimes I have to shake myself to remind myself that I'm looking at your daughter and not my sister."

"You weren't ready for what happened at the table tonight, were you?"

He shook his head. "No, I wasn't. She'd been so timid until then…"

"Maggie said that she did the same with both Jay and Emily's husband, Nathan. One moment she'd be all leery and afraid, and in the next, she had decided they were neat people." Her face grew soft. "I'm just glad it didn't take a long time for her to accept you. Jarod was talking about her working with you…"

"I know." He was quiet for a while. Then, "You know, sometimes when I look at her, I see you too."

"Me!" She was astonished.

"I knew you when you were a very little girl, Parker, remember? Catherine used to bring you into the Centre every once in a while – I remember helping you learn your letters one of those times." His expression was soft, much happier. "She looks a lot like you did at her age – or at least when you were her size. She's so small for her age."

"So you're sure it was just the one memory this time?" Miss Parker brought the discussion back where she knew it needed to be.

"I promise, Parker," he told her with a sad smile. "And it wasn't so much that it was painful as it was... I had forgotten… and when I remembered, the memory was so strong…" He put his hand on hers as it lay on the table. "Honestly, it was just that the memory snuck up on me and was so overwhelming there for a moment."

"All right," she said finally, turning her hand over and catching his. "I just don't want you holding any of this stuff in anymore. When you have something like that happen, you need to talk it through — either with me or with Jarod." When his expression grew stubborn again, she sighed. "C'mon, Sydney. You asked for help with this, remember?"

"I know, sweetheart," he agreed and then reluctantly explained further. "All right — I have to admit, this was a flashback more than it was a simple memory. There for a little while, I wasn't sure who I was talking to — Yvette or Ginger." His fingers curled around hers. "For a moment, I could have sworn I could see… the smokestacks of the ovens, the wood of the platform we were standing on… the shower buildings…"

"No wonder Ginger said you had sad eyes." Miss Parker's gaze grew soft. "Tell me about that day — it haunts you so now…"

Sydney stared at her for a long moment, his eyes slowly filling, debating with himself the wisdom of trying to remember with any detail. Then he pressed his lips together tightly and began to shake his head. "We had been in the boxcars for days, I think. I suppose I should be thankful that it had been autumn and the weather had been neither too hot nor cold — but still, it had been hot and close in there. There had been little water, and the only place to relieve ourselves was a bucket in the corner that sloshed and spilled with every jerk the train made. When we finally stopped and the soldiers threw the doors open, we thought only of getting out into the fresh air," he remembered in a harsh whisper. "It was morning – and the air outside the boxcar smelled so wonderful. I can remember stepping out onto the platform and thinking that anyplace was better than the inside of that boxcar. The first thing the soldiers did was to sort us — Jacob and I were frightened when the soldiers took us and put us in a smaller group with some others and then…" He paused to control his voice. "And then the soldiers led my parents and sister away. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face as Yvette told me not to be sad. I…" He paused, his eyes closed. "I never saw any of them alive again."

"What happened then?" she asked gently.

"They took us into this big building where we had to strip and put on prisoner uniforms. Then first I and then Jacob were handed slips of paper with numbers on them and told to go through a door. Two soldiers forced me to sit on a chair while the tattooist copied the numbers from the slip of paper onto my arm." Sydney covered his left forearm protectively, even though his sleeve was covering the still-clear numbers that remained there after all that time. "The soldiers then took us to a long barracks, where we were shown what was essentially a bare rack that had enough space for the two of us to sleep. After a while, we were served a thin gruel with some kind of flavoring in it — I didn't like it, and after I knew what went on there, I tried very hard not to think about what the flavoring WAS. Then Herr Doktor Krieg came for us and gave us both injections of something in the infirmary — then let the soldiers take us away and show us where we would be working. It was while we were being led away that we saw the cart of bodies… and Yvette…"

Her fingers tightened around his. "Sydney…"

He shook his head more determinedly this time. "After that, the days and nights seemed to just fade one into the next — while our hair and clothes filled with the smell of the smoke from the chimneys." He gazed at her with tragic eyes. "Don't ask for more, Parker. I'm tired and I'd like to be able to sleep tonight."

"All right," she agreed easily and reached out her other hand to join the knot of fingers on the table. "Are you going to be all right?"

He nodded, his lips pressed tightly together once more. "I'll be trying to remember the small victories of the day," he told her, squeezing the hand in his, "like my having had that long talk with Margaret Russell that she wanted…"

"Oh really?" Miss Parker's eyebrows raised. "How did that go?"

"Better than I'd hoped," he said, giving her a shaky smile, but holding the memory of the conversation close and not ready to share it yet. "And then there's Deb deciding to take her morning-after pill a little later than morning after so that she doesn't have to worry about a baby…"

"I was wondering how that had turned out, and hadn't found a good place or time to ask."

"So," he continued after another squeeze, "if I keep my mind focused on those things, perhaps I can get a decent night's sleep without the need for another dose of pain med."

"How's the knee?"

"Damned sore — I think the exercises Pete gave me are going to kill me — but I think I'll get through it." He reached out and smoothed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "You go home and get yourself some rest now," he directed with firm gentleness. "You had a big day, and an upsetting one. Get Jarod to give you a massage."

She cracked a crooked smile. "That's actually not a bad idea."

"And tell him I'll have some coffee waiting for him when he gets here."

Miss Parker rose and bent over him to give him a hug. "You sure you're going to be all right?"

Sydney tsked at her and shook his head. "Go on, Parker. I'm a big boy now." He kissed her cheek. "I'll be fine."

After an assessing look, she headed for the front door. Sydney waved back at her as she took up her briefcase and purse and closed the door quietly behind her. Finally he could reach out a hand for his crutches, pull himself to his feet and head for the den. It had been a big day for him too — especially the latter part of the day. He needed his rest. Maybe if he hurried up and fell asleep quickly enough, he could beat out Kevin's insistence on another dose of pain medication.

Whether he could get away without another nightmare was anybody's guess.

"You're aware that Tom Jackson came to me earlier this afternoon, wondering if there wasn't something in this article that the Post published that we might want to look into when it came to one of our major defense contractors," Senator Jesse Sanderson asked, pouring Becca Ashland a splash of brandy into the bottom of an old fashioned glass and handing it to her.

"No, I wasn't," she replied, raising her glass a little in gratitude and then clinking hers to his before taking a sip, "but then, about the time you were having your heart-to-heart with Tom, I was hearing from the Justice Department about the evidence they had amassed against him and Harry Burns and George Canfield regarding their part in the conspiracy that got all those military men arrested just the other day — and now the way they were intended to smear the reputation of the Centre in order to divert attention from their own legal woes."

"Do you honestly think that we shouldn't call a hearing to have the current Chairman of the Centre explain herself?"

"You know," Ashland put her glass on the desk and leaned forward to poke a finger at the thick folder that both she and Sanderson, as members of the Armed Services Committees, had received, "what we SHOULD be asking ourselves is how many others might be involved. This evidence spans decades — years that this Miss Parker was only a flunky in the organization. What were the legislators who were behind the money that was siphoned to the Centre for some of these projects thinking, Jess?" She sat back in her seat and picked up her drink again. "This is an ugly can of worms we've opened. The question in my mind is just exactly how deeply into the can we intend to dig — and whether that damned article in the Post won't get the private sector interested enough that the moment we stop digging, they START because they smell a cover-up."

"You think this is bigger than just Jackson, Burns and Canfield, don't you." Sanderson's comment wasn't a question.

"Don't you?" Ashland shot back pointedly. "Do the math, Jess. And ask yourself if YOU would like to be held accountable for the actions taken by the man who previously held YOUR office."

Sanderson glanced at her nervously and sipped thoughtfully at his drink. "But we have Jackson and his crew, right?"

"The FBI is requesting that we give special consideration to the assistance that Canfield gave in providing the final nails in the other two's coffins. He wore a wire — did you read those final transcripts?"

"I smell an Ethics Committee hearing for those jerks, at the very least," Sanderson answered with a grin.

"No…" Ashland grinned back. "Ya think?" She knocked back the rest of her brandy and put the glass gently on the desk. "So… Do you still want to pull the Centre into a full hearing?"

The African-American Senator from Alabama shook his head slowly. "Not so fast, Becca. That reporter seemed to be in on a lot of information that suggests that the Centre has been involved in illegal activity — whether at governmental request or not — for a very long time. As a major contractor for our military and intelligence communities, don't you think we have an obligation…"

"We can quietly send this reporter a message that some of us here on the Hill are waiting to see what he has to say next," Ashland suggested. "Or," she amended when she saw the look of skepticism, "we can simply wait and see if the next article is as provocative as the last and take our cue from that. If this Lawler fellow has enough to implicate the Centre and make it stick, he'll start writing about it. THEN we'll know that we need to look more closely at what the Centre's been doing for us."

Sanderson thought for a long moment, then finally nodded. "That sounds reasonable." He drained his glass. "I just hope that reporter doesn't take too long in writing that next article…"

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