Shadow Services Limited, Reception Lounge
Jennifer hurried to the desk; Isobel Andergård was on duty. Several of the girls shared it, thinking to use the experience to pad out their CVs a bit if they ever decided to quit, by claiming 'secretarial' or 'receptionist' experience. The little blonde grinned lasciviously; Jennifer had heard she had a predilection for redheads (as Jennifer herself did for blondes...). Normally she'd have enjoyed flirting with the girl - she was a lovely, cute little thing after all, even if only four years older than Sophie - but now was definitely not the time. "Where's Sylvia? I need her."
"I think she's busy right now, Jenny -"
"Don't give me that, you little tart," Jennifer snapped, her anxiety boiling over into uncalled-for anger, "she's never too busy for me! I need to see her, now!" But she couldn't maintain her sternness in the face of Isobel's hurt look, realising she'd gone too far; she was just a kid, and didn't deserve that. "Oh, I - I'm sorry," she apologised sincerely, "Isobel, please, I need her. Please call her. It's about Sophie, sort of."
That did it; Isobel's attitude changed instantly to one of sympathy. "Oh, that's different. Is she okay?"
"She's fine, thanks," Jennifer managed to smile, "thank you for asking."
"Jenny...I just found out about a friend of mine," Isobel told her quietly, tears in her eyes, "who's got the same thing...she's got an appointment at Reynolds Associates tomorrow..."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Impulsively she reached for Isobel's tiny hand and gently squeezed it; Isobel smiled gratefully and returned the gesture. To Jennifer's enormous relief, Sylvia was now making her way down the stairs.
"Hello, darling, what's up?"
Sylvia's office
Six minutes later
"Well, that all sounds very odd, I agree," Sylvia frowned, "but...well, if I could play Devil's Advocate here, if they're offering to help, why were you so scared?"
She was still scared, although she'd received a text from her Gran confirming Sophie's safe arrival and that Cherry would indeed protect her - one less thing to worry about, at least...
"You mean, apart from the fact that he wanted to kill me?!" Jennifer nearly sobbed. "Sylvia, I can't explain it, but I know I'm right. I swear: that man wanted to kill me - he was looking at me as if I were a cow ready for butchery, sizing me up, figuring where he wanted to cut!" She shuddered, fighting back tears. "It was horrible, Sylvia. Those eyes...they were so cold, almost...almost inhuman..."
"Oh, come on, love, surely you're imagining things," Sylvia doubted, trying to placate her, but she was starting to get worried. Jennifer wasn't the flighty sort; she'd always been of a practical and securely grounded turn of mind, especially after Sophie was born. Having a daughter at nineteen had forced her to grow up, and she'd made a very good job of it.
"It wasn't just me, either," Jennifer insisted stridently, "Sophie was just as scared! I don't know why, but...Sylvia, please, you have to believe me," she begged, "there was something terribly, terribly wrong! Please, I have to talk to Kelly - he's the only person who can help! I can't go to the police, because...well, you know why I can't!" Why was Sylvia being so obstructive about this? Why couldn't she just call him already?!
Of course, she would never believe the answer and Sylvia was desperately trying not to give it - while being equally desperate to show as little reticence on that score as possible; Jennifer was too shrewd to miss something like that, and if she really pressed, well...
"I can't just call him out of the blue like this, darling," Sylvia protested mildly, attempting once more to deflect Jennifer, "I need something more to go on. Listen: just tell me once more, from the top. I -" But then she hesitated as a thought suddenly struck her. She had a feeling about this from Jennifer's description of the silent man's unspoken desire to slaughter her; it sounded all too familiar.
But surely, it couldn't be...
Could it?
"Jenny, um...was there anything specifically - odd - you could focus on?" Sylvia asked, fishing carefully. Please, God, please let me be wrong...
Jennifer, puzzled, described the odd fit and cut of the men's clothes, the lack of ties, the strange colour contrasts - but it wasn't until she started describing their peculiar mannerisms that she suddenly got the distinct impression that something in Sylvia had sat up like a cat fixating on prey.
It was only then that she remembered something else...
"You know...there was something very odd, about the man who never spoke," Jennifer recalled slowly, "but...I thought it was just a trick of the light at first. Now...now, I'm not so sure..."
"What about him?"
"Well, it's the strangest thing...his facial skin had a really odd colour. It was very pale, but...I could swear it was green."
That single word tripped all of Sylvia's internal alarms, but she dared not reveal her tension to Jennifer. She could, after all, be imagining it; the poor girl was clearly distraught...no, the analytical part of her demurred, her descriptions are too precise for a woman ruled by fear. Most likely, her concern for her daughter is forcing her to stay rational. She is afraid, of that there can be no doubt; but her decision to come here was entirely logical...and, if your suspicions are accurate, entirely correct.
She'd always hated that internal voice, as it reminded her far too much of her overly domineering father, a man who prided rationality above all else and held only contempt for astrology and religions of all kinds. She'd nearly joined the Jesuits just to spite him, but refrained on realising it'd only prove him right - joining a religious group when you didn't share their beliefs was just stupid.
She asked, "Green? Dear, that is odd...are you sure?"
"Yes," Jennifer nodded, feeling more certain of it now, "it was pale green."
"And the man who spoke," Sylvia inquired carefully, her dread increasing with every word, "you say he never said a word unless the other man looked at him...almost as if he were giving permission?" She hesitated again, but pushed on; she simply had to know - it sounded like a certain pattern she'd heard about once before in a briefing, years ago. Diamonds And Gold..."Or...as if he were...controlling him...?"
Jennifer stared incredulously at her. "Yes," she murmured in startled realisation, "that's it! That's exactly right! He - he was just like a puppet!" She shook her head. "But - it doesn't make sense..."
"I'm afraid it does," Sylvia said quietly, her conviction firming. Jennifer was shocked at how serious she sounded. "Jennifer, you've been one of my best escorts, and certainly my best friend for years, plus I absolutely dote on that darling little girl of yours. That's why I'm going to take the biggest risk of my entire life." Her voice rose. "I hereby state for the record that I am under no influence, persuasion, coercion or drug, and that my actions, both current and intended, are taken of my own free will. I am fully aware of the possible consequences, and I accept full responsibility."
"Sylvia, who the hell are you talking to?" Jennifer wondered, realising Sylvia wasn't addressing her.
"In a way, I'm talking to Kelly," she sighed. "You know I used to work for the same...firm...that Kelly does? Well, they still keep an eye on me from time to time...as they're most likely doing now. In fact, I hope they are." She wrote rapidly on a Post-It and handed it to Jennifer. "You'll most likely find him there, or at least you'll be able to get in touch with him from there if he happens to be off-site."
Jennifer stared confusedly at the Post-It giving the address of Harlington-Straker, which she recognised as a film studio that made films so bad they were nearly good. "What - this is a film studio," she pointed out, "he told me he works for a security firm, and that you used to work for it, too..."
"Oh, is that what he told you? Well, he always has been a devious son of a bitch," Sylvia smiled. "Security firm...well," she reflected amusedly, "it's sort of true, I suppose." She dropped the banter. "Jennifer, listen carefully. You have to go to that address. Ask for Paul Foster or Alec Freeman - and tell them I sent you; it's very important you tell them that, dear. One more thing: he'll likely be, ah, busy, so you'll need something that's guaranteed to get his attention - Kelly's, I mean. Tell them..." she sighed, knowing what this would likely cost her, but her friend was more important, "tell them it's about SHADO."
Naturally, Jennifer didn't follow. "Shadow?" she asked, even more confused. "I don't understand."
"You're not expected to," Sylvia returned brusquely. "Darling, there isn't time to explain. Go. Now."
And God save you, Sylvia prayed, if I'm right.
And God save me, if I'm wrong...
As soon as Jennifer had left, Sylvia opened the concealed, shielded and airtight safe in the floor of her office, which no-one else knew about, and took out something her friends would've been shocked to learn she owned: a fully-loaded SIG-Sauer P226 9mm semi-automatic.
She checked the action by reflex as she'd been trained to do, verifying there was one in the chamber. The weapon was standard SHADO issue and had been supplied by Alec Freeman, who'd also instructed her in its use early in her SHADO career; he excelled as a firearms teacher and thus it wasn't long before she acquired a high degree of skill. Needless to say, none of Sylvia's staff, and certainly not Jennifer, even knew she had it.
She probably wouldn't need it and hadn't even touched it in a long time, but one never knew...
Harlington-Straker Studios, Main Lot
A security guard on patrol was the first person to see Jennifer; naturally his first thought was: Whoo, she's stacked! New actress, maybe, he supposed. Sure looks the part, pun not intended. Better check her out, though. "Can I help you, ma'am? I hope so," he grinned.
Jennifer wasn't offended; she knew what she looked like. He was just being a man appreciating a pretty woman; she was used to it. She smiled winsomely (something, curiously, she'd learned not by herself, but from Sophie). "Well, yes: I need to see Mr. Paul Foster or Mr. Alec Freeman, please," she requested politely. "My name's Jennifer Harrison; I'm looking for a...friend of mine, Mr. Kelly McAllister. I was told he might be here. Please, it's very important."
Another smile, and a slight, subtle turn to the left (bringing her cleavage into better view), did the trick; the guard smiled back and told her, "Mr. Foster's in Stage B right now, ma'am. Down that corridor," he indicated, "and turn left at the end."
"Thank you."
And thank you, Dolores, for the tip, she added wryly to herself, recalling a fellow escort's advice, which she called 'Men 101': "If you need something from a bloke, just give him a flash of cleavage and a smile. Trust me, it even works on gay blokes!"
Of course, the fact that Dolores was a shade under six feet tall, with a very firm (but quite natural) pair of 36Ds, might have had something to do with it...
Harlington-Straker Studios, Stage B
"How's that look, Mr. Foster?" a stagehand called, adjusting a spotlight. Jennifer heard this on her approach, and immediately made a beeline for the man being addressed.
Paul checked with a light meter and nodded in satisfaction; the balance of light to shadow was perfect. Harlington-Straker was a stickler for detail, a fact that baffled the rest of the industry, as they were known to be useless film-makers; oh, the films were made competently enough, to be sure, but they were still crap. "Looks good, Tim. Lock it there."
He became aware of a subtle perfume in the air, then realised it wasn't perfume; rather, it was the natural (and, he'd always thought, superior) scent of a mature woman. He turned, to see an absolute stunner behind him; if she wasn't already a film star, he thought instantly, she would be, from the moment he got her before a camera. Harlington-Straker had discovered a few successful actors in its time, but they always ended up defecting to or being poached by other studios...of course.
Paul smiled broadly. "Hel-lo! My lucky day," he chuckled. "Ma'am, if you're looking to break into the movies -"
"I'm not, Mr. Foster," she interrupted him with polite urgency. "I'm sorry, but I need to speak to Kelly McAllister; I was told he'd be here. Please, it's important. I'm Jennifer Harrison; he knows me, and my daughter Sophie." She smiled at the memory. "We had a really nice day out."
He took this in his stride, and prepared to deal with it as he had countless times before; standard procedure was to deflect anyone and everyone away from the Commander unless they really had to see him or unless he was expecting them, and Paul had been informed of no such appointment. "I'm afraid Mr. McAllister's a very busy man -"
This wasn't going the way Jennifer had expected and hoped. "Please," she said again, a little louder, pleading with her eyes. "Sylvia Margolis sent me - she told me to tell you that." She'd got his interest, she saw, understanding now why Sylvia had insisted Jennifer mention her. She finished: "Sylvia said to tell you: it's about shadow."
For all his training and experience Paul couldn't help tensing, although the way she'd said it told him straight away that she had no idea of what she - or Sylvia - had really said. But Sylvia had to have had a compelling reason for telling the woman that; she certainly knew better than to be blasé or offhand when it came to security.
His internal debate lasted less than a second; the proper course of action was obvious. I have to find out more. Then we'll see. Wait - 'Jennifer Harrison'? Isn't she the woman Penelope mentioned...the one who's been seeing the Commander? Red hair, stacked, gorgeous...? I'll be damned, I think she is!
"Well," he smiled, projecting reassurance so as not to alarm her, "his office is free; we can talk there, and I'll find out if he's available." Even as he spoke, Paul was assessing her professionally, figuring how best to take her if need be. He was too much of a veteran to underestimate her because she was 'only' a woman; hell, he'd once had his arm broken by a waif of a girl, no more than fifteen and half his weight or less, but thoroughly indoctrinated by a terrorist organisation being unwittingly used by the Aliens.
He hadn't underestimated her, having gone in entirely prepared to kill her if he had to, and yet to his utter chagrin she'd somehow still gotten the better of him - even though he'd been a professional combat expert for far longer than she'd been around. It was Ed who'd taken her down in the end, without killing her, as part of one of the last - and best - pieces of fieldwork he'd ever performed.
And Paul was still totally baffled as to how Ed had made it look so easy. The actual takedown happened so smoothly and so damn fast he still wasn't sure exactly what Ed had even done.
This woman was tall, clearly healthy, and he knew from experience how tough mothers could be - and never mind the fact that she'd already told him she had a kid, he could tell that from the motion of her hips as she walked; it was unmistakable to a SHADO operative trained in observation.
Krav Maga, he decided - quick and quiet. Then a little trip downstairs, if necessary...
But as they settled in the office and Jennifer somehow found herself telling him what she'd told Sylvia (she wasn't to know that Paul had been trained to utilise the world's most subtle and effective interrogation techniques, the best ones operating in such a way that the subject wanted to tell all), his interest rapidly grew...and peaked when she mentioned the silent man's pale green facial skin.
There was only one thing that could mean.
But it was unlike them to be so brazen, and they hadn't used their 'puppet' technique - if that was indeed what Jennifer was describing - in several years...no, he decided, I'm out of my depth. The Commander should deal with this.
He smiled at Jennifer. "Could you wait outside a moment, please? Miss Ealand will fetch you a coffee or something." She nodded and exited the office. The doors closed.
Paul wrestled with it a moment longer. Am I passing the buck? Maybe, but...better safe than sorry.
His decision made, Paul picked up the phone and pressed a particular, unmarked key on the intercom's keypad. To anyone not on a certain short list, the key would not respond at all; the micro-circuitry within it read a variety of vital signs and compared them to those stored in its encrypted memory. It identified him as Colonel Paul Foster - he knew it had, as it briefly vibrated under his fingertip - and opened a direct, secure line to the Commander's Office.
"Yes, Paul?" Kelly answered; he knew immediately where the call was coming from, of course, and from whom - its origin point was clearly indicated on his terminal screen, as was the identity of the caller.
"Hi, Kelly. Listen, you remember that last chess game? Well: Rook to Queen's Level Two; Rook takes Pawn."
"King's Knight takes King's Bishop's Pawn, King's Level; check. What is it, Paul?"
"Well, I've got a young lady here -"
"You frequently do," Kelly griped.
"- Ms. Jennifer Harrison," Paul went on.
"What?! How the hell did she know to come here?! How'd she know where I was?" Kelly demanded, startled. He now knew why Paul had requested the security check, namely because there was an unexpected and therefore unauthorised civilian way too close to SHADO. Though it was unlikely she'd hear anything of their conversation, Paul was, quite rightly, unwilling to take the risk.
"Sylvia Margolis," Paul replied simply.
"Dammit, maybe we should have killed her!"
"Jennifer's got an interesting story to tell, Kelly," Paul said carefully. "I think you'll want to hear it."
There was a brief silence. Then Kelly sighed: "I'm coming up. Get out of my office."
As the doors closed behind Paul, Jennifer looked up from her coffee; Paul smiled at her again. "He's on his way up. I should warn you not to be too surprised when he arrives. This being the film industry, a lot of strange stuff goes on here." And if you only knew how strange, he couldn't help chuckling to himself. Then again, shortly she probably would know...
"Arrives from where?" she demanded. "There's only one way into and out of that office, so that doesn't make any sense," she complained. Paul could immediately see her appeal for Kelly, beyond the gorgeous package; there was a keen brain in there, too...and a feisty personality.
"It will," Paul grinned.
Sure enough, the office doors soon opened again - and there sat Kelly behind the desk.
Though she couldn't keep the utter surprise off her face, Jennifer somehow managed to keep her jaw from dropping, thus going up a point or two in Kelly's estimation and six or more in Paul's.
"Hello, Jennifer. Come in. Thanks, Paul, I'll deal with it."
"How did you do that?" she wondered as the doors slid shut. "Is there a trapdoor or something?"
"We'll deal with that in a moment," Kelly told her in a clipped, brusque tone she'd never heard from him before. "First, tell me what's happened." She hesitated; he rapped, "Now, Jennifer." It'd slipped out before he could stop it, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't addressing a member of the studio staff or a SHADO operative; he cursed to himself, knowing how she'd react, wasting time in the process.
Sure enough, she flared: "I don't work for you! Just because we've fucked doesn't give you any right to give me orders! Who the hell -"
"Jennifer, I'm sorry," he interrupted in a much more normal tone, "you're right. But I have a feeling we don't have time to waste."
"That doesn't give you any right -"
"- to give you orders, no," he agreed, forestalling her, "but I repeat: we do not have time for this. Jennifer, please - just tell me what's wrong!" A concerned note entered his voice as a thought occurred to him. "Is it Sophie? Is she okay?"
"Well, it is, sort of..." She told him exactly what she'd told Paul; just as Paul had, he tensed on hearing about a green-faced man.
His next, terse question shocked her: "What did you agree to?"
"Nothing," she cried, tears starting, "I was too scared!"
"Jennifer," he asked, gently now, "this may sound strange, but...can you tell me why you were scared? Please, it's very important." She stared at him, bewildered; he continued softly in an encouraging tone, "Did it seem...instinctive? Was there something you couldn't quite see, or understand, about either or both of them?"
"Yes..." she whispered, realising it herself now, "it was...instinct. But...but I don't know why..."
"I do," he said grimly, "and you need to." He'd made his decision. It could be nothing, else it would certainly represent a bold if not brazen move on their part, but he didn't dare take the chance. Besides, he reasoned pragmatically, if he was wrong the error could easily be corrected with a certain simple injection (and a minor dressing-down from Henderson). He pressed a key on the intercom. "Miss Ealand, we're going...downstairs. No-one in or out without my authorisation."
"Yes, sir," Miss Ealand acknowledged, as she had so many times before.
He pressed another key, activating the voiceprint analyser, stating flatly, "McAllister, Kelly, Commander."
"Voiceprint positive - Zero-Zero-One, McAllister, Kelly C., Commander," a voice responded, to Jennifer's shock. She was further shocked when the office started descending.
"What - this whole office is a lift?" she instantly realised. So that was how he did it! But why...?
"It is indeed, Alice," Kelly replied with dry humour, "and this is where I show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes."
"Come back, Morpheus, all is forgiven," Jennifer couldn't help quipping nervously, recognising the reference. He almost smiled.
The lift soon stopped; before he opened the doors he said, "You probably thought Sylvia said 'shadow', S-H-A-D-O-W, yes?"
"Well, yes. What other way is there of spelling it?" she asked confusedly.
"This one," he told her, as the doors slid open and she saw the SHADO emblem on the facing wall.
For several seconds, she just stared at it. She could barely take it in. Then the words leaped out at her:
"Strategic Headquarters...Alien Defence - wait, Alien?" she gasped. "You - that doesn't mean illegal aliens, does it...?"
"Illegal aliens are nowhere near as grave a threat as we deal with," he told her quietly. "In fact, they don't even register. To us, they don't matter. Go on."
"...Alien Defence Organisation...SHADO. Oh, I see." She instantly saw something else. "Sylvia - she still works for you, doesn't she? No wonder it's called 'Shadow Services'!"
"It's a useful bit of misdirection, and typical of her sense of humour," Kelly admitted, "hiding in plain sight. Yes, she is a freelance operative; occasionally she retains a client sufficiently rich and/or powerful to draw the attention of...certain people. She keeps tabs on those clients for us."
"So...they're really aliens? I mean, not of this Earth...?" she asked in a subdued tone, awed and scared. He nodded and explained concisely. "And 'defence' - oh, God, that means they're hostile, doesn't it?" she comprehended, when he was done. "And - and I had - I had one in my home, didn't I," her voice rising to a terrified near-scream as the full horror of it struck her like a sledgehammer, "near my DAUGHTER -!"
Kelly cursed again. Hysterics were the last thing either of them needed. But she surprised him by very quietly folding up and weeping. He took her in his arms, stroking her hair, and waited for the emotional storm to subside, knowing that nothing constructive could be accomplished until it did. It wasn't that he didn't understand or sympathise, but if he was right - and he was sure of it now - there wasn't time to indulge her. Jennifer had to toughen up now.
Her daughter's life could be and probably was at stake.
It took a surprisingly short time for her to calm down. Perhaps she could see he was her best shot at resolving this. Or perhaps, he mused, there's even more to her than I thought...she seems to have the Talent, as he privately thought of it. She'd grasped the implications of the meaning of SHADO's acronym immediately, and discerned the connection to Sylvia with no prompting. This spoke of a keen mind - one that, with the right training, could be useful...
Am I rationalising, because I want to help her and little Sophie? Kelly had to ask. Now, if ever, he needed to be objective. Or am I assessing her properly? Then again, that could wait. There was an opportunity here, he saw.
She would likely hate him for the rest of her life, but if it worked, at least she'd have a life in which to hate him. Ed had warned him this day would come, and now it had. He already knew the choice he would make...the one he had to make.
The only choice he could make...