Chapter 7 – Fox in the Henhouse

Jarod watched at the grate while the sweeper monitoring the security surveillance for the Renewal Wing flipped slowly through all of the varying camera angles for each of the feeds. He knew that somewhere, more than likely down here in the SL-19 medical facility, was Miss Parker. She would never have submitted easily, he knew, that just wasn't in her nature at all. So she had probably been overcome – by brute strength, if he knew Lyle's and Raines' style at all – and may have suffered the kind of injury that would land her down here. He wouldn't know until he'd sat here long enough to make sure that the sweeper had flipped through all of the feeds at least once.

There she was! Jarod's gaze focused tightly on the small image on the little monitor at the bottom right of the bank of monitors. She was in the Renewal Wing all right, just as he'd suspected, lying on a hospital-style bed with… with restraints at hands and ankles and wide leather straps across her torso! From where he was, face pressed against the backside of the ventilation grating almost ten feet away, it looked as if she was asleep. He quickly took note of the room designation at the bottom of the screen, so he could find it when he went after her for real. It was just as well he remembered to do that when he did, for the image flipped once more, and the view of Miss Parker was exchanged for that of an extremely old and feeble man attempting to feed himself jello with his skeletal fingers. Just to be safe, Jarod took note of the room designation of the old man as well and noted that it was just down the hall from Miss Parker's.

Jarod very carefully backed away from the grating, never lifting a knee or hand or elbow so as to make the slightest sound until he'd backed quite a ways into the vent – all the way back to the last junction. From here, he'd have to find a safe place to get out of the vents and into some sort of disguise that would give him access to at least the corridors outside the Renewal Wing itself. He liked the overalls and cap that he could probably get away with as a janitor, and aimed himself down the vent at right angles to the one he'd just been in that he knew would end him up in a supply room. As he pushed the little grate open on its hinges, he wondered if Mr. Parker had ever missed that set of engineering blueprints of the Centre that had been quietly lifted from the archives years earlier. He hoped not – for many of the vulnerabilities that he'd been able to take advantage of over the years had come after many days spent poring over those documents and finding hiding places just like this one that were scattered throughout the facility.

With a pair of janitor's overalls pulled over the dark jumpsuit he'd been wearing, and a Centre-drab baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, Jarod took firm hold on the bucket and mop that would finish his impromptu Pretend and opened the supply room door. As he'd expected, nobody gave the janitorial staff a second glance – not even sweepers. Confident in his anonymity now, he was able to make his way down one corridor, around the corner and then down the next until he was just around the corner from the security desk that sat just outside the Renewal Wing entrance itself.

He paused for a moment, assembling the ruse he would use to get past the security desk, and then moved toward the sweeper with a rolling, bored gait. "Got a wet cleanup in room 540A, he announced, flashing his purloined and altered Centre ID that had him identified as Jake Hunter, janitor third class.

"I wasn't notified…" the sweeper started belligerently.

"Fine with me," Jarod shrugged nonchalantly. "Last thing I want to have to do is clean up after some old fart can't eat his Jello without putting most of it on the floor."

"What room designation was that again?" the sweeper asked, evidently reconsidering.

"540A," Jarod answered in an impatient tone. "Look – normally I'm due to be starting on the mezzanine right now – they called me because the others got going sooner than I did. So either I get in right away and get this mess cleaned up, or let me go back up to my regular job – and you can explain to the nursing supervisor why the cleanup she ordered didn't happen."

The sweeper looked up the inhabitant of that room, saw that it was indeed a very old man, and then pushed the buzzer. "Go on," he waved Jarod through.

"About time," Jarod grumbled in just the proper tone for the circumstances and pushed through the swinging door and into the long hallway beyond. At the end he could see another sweeper sitting in a chair in the hallway, obviously guarding the entrance of one of the rooms. He made his way slowly down the hall until he was almost at the chair so that he could confirm that the number of the room being guarded was indeed Miss Parker's room. Then he pretended to glance up at the room numbers and doubled back on himself to the room that he'd stated he was there to clean.

"Wait a moment!" came the call from the far end of the hallway, made in a voice that Jarod had hoped and prayed that he'd never hear again in his life. He glanced down the hallway and saw Lyle and a pair of very burly, very intent sweepers bearing down on him. A glance in the other direction told him that the sweeper in front of Miss Parker's room had turned and was watching him very closely. He could go into the old man's room and potentially put an innocent in danger while attempting to escape back into the ventilation system – or he could just admit that this had NOT been a very well thought out plan and wait for Lyle to just take him into custody.

There HAD been no plan for him to pull this stunt – if Sydney had been here, he'd have deserved the chewing out his old mentor would have so effectively handed out. Angelo's insistence that focus stay on Sam and getting the sweeper away from the Centre quickly and cleanly had been right – but he just couldn't resist proving that he was able to get in and out on his own. Sam was with Sydney now – they'd be able to complete the plan he'd laid out the evening before even with out him – only now they'd have to try to fit in plans to rescue HIM as well, which would make the plan even more dangerous than it had been before. No doubt he would merit the same kind of high-level security that Miss Parker did.

Lyle walked up to the man waiting patiently for him next to a full bucket with a mop sticking out of it, and then he smiled widely. "Thought you'd pulled one over on us, didn't you?" Lyle's smile turned into a smirk. He gave a curt signal, and the two sweepers behind him swept forward and took hold of Jarod's arms. Lyle reached up and pulled the baseball cap from his head. "Trouble is, Jarod, you're predictable on a certain level. I just KNEW that you'd try something. That's why I had given orders to the sweeper at the desk to report anything that happened that didn't come with a written set of orders."

Jarod's dark chocolate gaze was smoldering. "What did you do to her, Lyle?"

Lyle's eyes widened in blatantly false innocence. "What did I do to whom, Jarod – to my darling twin sister?" He smirked again, making Jarod test the hold the two sweepers had on him. "I didn't do anything – but Dr. Abrams has been doing several things to her. You'll be able to experience some of what was done first-hand soon enough. Trust me." He nodded to the sweepers. "Take him to room 580B – the one right next to hers, as you know," he added for Jarod's sake, then looked at the sweepers again. "Make SURE that he's well restrained. We don't want to have to go looking for him before we can get what we need from him, do we?"

Jarod dragged his heels, but that didn't stop the walk down the hallway to past the door behind which was Miss Parker – and then to the door beyond. He swallowed when he saw the hospital bed with restraints at the ready. No, this hadn't been a good idea at all.

oOoOo

Debbie was short, but she was able to shoulder her share of Sam's nearly dead weight to get him into the house. Sydney directed them toward the kitchen, and finally had her help him drop the semi-conscious sweeper into one of the kitchen chairs before running for the duct tape. As much as he didn't want to do this, he knew that Sam would have to be immobilized before he started to come out from under the drug fog that Jarod had given him, lest he run back to the Centre and turn the two of them in.

"Is he going to be OK?" Debbie worried at him as she watched him wrap wrists firmly to thighs and chests to chair backs and ankles and knees to chair legs.

"If we can find the right memory to trigger the barrier between his own memories and the new identity the Centre has conditioned into him to come down, he will be," Sydney replied, his voice showing his reservations. "Otherwise, we're going to have to keep him like this for quite a while."

"What about Jarod?" she asked finally, looking into Sydney's face expectantly. "Are we going to have to go after him now, too?"

"Eventually, with any luck," Sydney answered. "Why don't you go on to bed or to watch TV for a while now – the drugs that Jarod gave him will take some time to wear off, and I won't be able to work with him much before then."

Debbie eyed the older man in frustration. "I'm not a child, Sydney – I'm almost sixteen years old. I don't have school in the morning, because I'm over here with you to keep out from the Centre's path, so I've no reason to get up early."

Sydney smiled. The girl was too bright for her own good. "That may be true," he reasoned gently, "but there's still going to be absolutely nothing more to see in here until he begins to wake up – and I get to start trying to trigger a strong memory to break through the drug's effect. You might as well get some rest…"

"Do you promise you'll call me…"

"Yes, cheri, I promise to call you," Sydney sighed in amusement. "Now, will you 'take five', as I believe it's said?"

The young blonde got a look on her face that told him that his attempt at speaking "youth speak" had failed miserably. "Remember, you promised," she insisted and flounced from the kitchen after shooting one last look at Sam, still dozing in his chair. "I'll be on the couch" she called back over her shoulder.

Sydney shook his head, deciding that he was probably wise to leave the raising of young people today to their parents, and walked over to the sink to make himself a pot of coffee. It was going to be a very long night.

oOoOo

"Wait a minute," Lyle complained as Mr. Raines gestured at Dr. Abrams. "I thought we were just going to get what we needed from him and then get rid of him."

Raines didn't lift his eyes from where Abrams was carefully slipping the needle of a syringe full of slightly yellowish liquid into the bend of Jarod's arm. "This entire project is about creating backup plans for backup plans that will keep the Centre on track and profitable decades, if not centuries, into the future." He pulled noisily on his oxygen. "That means not wasting time or money guarding him with sweepers when we can render him docile and compliant with drugs. We may not be able to have him doing SIMs anymore – but we can at least wait until we KNOW we have the genetic mixture right on the next generation before putting him down – and giving him 837A is the quickest and most reliable means of accomplishing that."

"I wanted to…" Lyle started again.

"What you wanted is immaterial to the needs of the Centre," Raines ground out in a tortured tone. "And for that reason, you will stay away from Jarod – in case seeing you triggers his memory."

"Now wait a minute…"

"And I want you to stay away from Miss Parker too, for the same reason. 'Contingency' is at a delicate phase right now – I don't want her remembering and putting her entire system through shock. You will concentrate all your attention on finding the ones who escaped our net – Sydney and Debbie. They are…" Raines ran out of air and pulled on his oxygen again in a desperate gasp. "…loose ends – and a threat to Centre security."

When Lyle opened his mouth to argue again, he saw Willy take one small step forward – and he reconsidered. "All right," he grumbled, not at all happy to be removed from his ability to gloat over his two most challenging adversaries being rendered vulnerable and ineffective. "In the morning. I'll start in the morning."

"You do that," Raines growled and finally turned to glare at the younger man. This young pup of a Parker was dangerous and devious – and probably coveted the Chairman's seat. It wouldn't do to hand over the Centre to such an unstable individual until the security of Centre profit-making potential was restored and assured.

Lyle knew better than to engage in a staring match with the man who claimed to be his real father – the man who had taken him away and eventually given him to abusive parents and had a hand in abusing him himself. If he did enter such a contest, surely his loathing and hatred would be perceived – and he'd end up being seen and dealt with as yet another threat to Centre security. No, he'd bide his time. The old ghoul surely wouldn't be able to last all that much longer with lungs that didn't work without assistance. And who knew what kind of 'accident' might befall a man so completely dependant upon a volatile and explosive substance such as oxygen.

Raines watched as Lyle stalked from the room – throwing the white curtains aside as he left with suppressed rage – and then gestured to Willy. "Watch him closely," he ordered firmly. "Keep a man on him at all times – I don't want him to sneeze without one of your people hearing it. And make sure he finds Sydney and that Broots brat. We don't need the kind of trouble they could bring us."

oOoOo

"I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Jerry – Jerry Silva. I was born in…"

"I'm sure you could recite all the facts quite correctly," Sydney stated calmly, his expression compassionate, "but it doesn't change the fact that your name is REALLY Sam Alderman. You work for the Centre, yes… but you are Miss…"

"I've never heard the name Sam Alderman before you started trying to shove it down my throat," Sam retorted obstinately. "Look, buddy, I don't know what kind of little game you're playing here, but the people I work for…"

"Like Miss Parker?" Sydney asked sharply.

"Who?" Sam replied, his face turning wary. "Who did you say?"

"Miss Parker," Sydney repeated, "you're her personal sweeper, and have been for almost ten years now."

"I don't remember a Miss Parker," Sam insisted, this time with a little less certainty. "At least… I don't think…"

"Sydney…" Debbie came up behind the psychiatrist and tapped him on the forearm. "Show him this." She thrust a photograph into his hand.

Sydney gazed at the picture with a mixture of appreciation and sadness. Obviously Miss Parker's relationship with the motherless Broots girl had deepened since that first, frantic episode of babysitting. The picture was a small one, taken in one of those booths where one could get four shots for a small fee. In this frame, Miss Parker had her arm around Debbie's shoulders and was laughing in a way that he rarely was allowed to see her laugh. It did him good, in this dark hour, to see that she had actually begun to find that bright and sparkling self that he'd always known was hidden somewhere deep inside – and it only strengthened his resolve to return her to where she could enjoy that again freely. Sam was the key – he HAD to be made to remember.

Slowly he pushed the little photograph towards Sam. "This is Miss Parker, Sam," he said gently. "Are you SURE you don't remember her?"

"I don't want to see," Sam grumbled stubbornly, "and my name's not Sam, I told you."

"You need to look," Sydney insisted. "What are you afraid of – if you really don't remember her, then looking at her picture shouldn't hurt you a bit."

Sam's dark blue eyes came up rebelliously to catch and hold Sydney's golden chestnut gaze. "Call me by my real name," the sweeper dared the psychiatrist, "and maybe I'll take a look at your picture. Otherwise…" He looked away again. "…you can go suck eggs, for all I care."

Sydney and Debbie exchanged a glance, and then Sydney nodded. "Very well, Jerry. I won't call you that other name again – just look at the picture, will you? See if you remember the woman in it?"

Sam looked up again, startled. He really hadn't expected this… this foreigner to meet his terms. The old man had been SO insistent in calling him 'Sam' that he was sure that he wouldn't bend – but now… A glance over the old man's shoulder at the young girl told him how much that concession had cost the both of them – the expression on her face was one of devastation. "OK," he relented slowly, trying to shake off the feeling of knowing the girl from somewhere before, "show me the damned picture."

Sydney slid the photograph a little closer to the bound man. "Here you go. Take a good look."

Slowly the sweeper let his gaze drop down to the table top, and the photograph. In it, he saw a beautiful brunette, her smile wide and easy for the young girl. In the back of his mind, he suddenly heard a woman's voice say, "Do you mean to tell me that a little girl beat the pants off of you in checkers, Sam – and you expect me NOT to say anything about it?"

Sam looked up at the older man's face in sudden confusion. Again he heard in his mind the same woman's voice: "C'mon Sam, you're with me." He glanced over at the young girl, only to get another, much younger voice sounding in the back of his mind, "King me, Sam!"

Then, abruptly, his world pitched as if on a ship in the middle of a storm, making him dizzy and nauseated and disoriented and confused all at once. Voices began to come at him from all directions – some of them his own, some of them the voices of others.

"Your name is Jerry now," an oily voice told him in a malignant tone, "Jerry Silva."

"Miss Parker, I can't move my feet."

"We've lost him, Miss Parker."

"Your name is Jerry…"

"Thanks for the game, Squirt…"

"He's heading for the roof. Sam…"

"You don't need to worry about who that woman over there is – she's nothing to you."

"You need to decide who you work for – the Centre, or ME."

"I work for you, Miss Parker…"

"Your name is Jerry…"

"I work for you, Miss Parker…"

"You know I trust you, Sam – that's why I made you my personal sweeper…"

"Thanks, Miss Parker – you won't be sorry."

"I better not be – it would be bad for my reputation, which would make it deadly for you…"

"Sam, you're with me…"

Sam turned confused and wondering eyes to the older man sitting across the table from him, as if seeing him for the first time that evening. "Sydney?" he asked slowly, then up into the widening eyes of the girl behind him. "Debbie – Debbie Broots? You've grown…"

"Sam?" Sydney asked carefully. He'd seen the odd expression of confusion and listening that had come over the sweeper's face and how Sam had swallowed hard several times while apparently battling something going on in his head. When the blue eyes had opened again, there had been an expression of familiarity and recognition that had been woefully missing.

Sam looked down at himself and then back up. "Is there a reason you have me all trussed up like a turkey? Miss Parker will…" His face darkened. "At least, she would if she were here…"

"Cut him loose, Sydney, he remembers." Debbie handed Sydney a sharp knife from the drawer, and Sydney carefully began working on the duct tape. "It's about time you started being yourself again," she told the sweeper sharply. "I was starting to wonder if Jarod misread the information about the drug…"

"Sydney – they have Miss Parker!" Sam exclaimed in distress. "They're going to…"

"We know they have her," Sydney soothed, crouching down to begin to saw at the tape holding Sam's ankles. "We figure they've probably given her the same drug they gave you."

"That's what I heard," Sam nodded as Sydney looked up at him in surprise. "Mr. Raines kept me close – made me a part of his 'elite force' of sweepers loyal only to him." He looked as if he'd just eaten something bad. "That son of a bitch…"

"What are they going to do to Miss Parker?" Debbie asked him, drawing him back to his story.

"They're waiting until they can get a hold of Jarod – and then they're going to try to breed themselves another Super-Pretender – one with Jarod's genius and Miss Parker's other gifts. Once they have at least one, they'll take what they need from the parents and…"

"And then get rid of them," Sydney finished for him unhappily. "Raines is playing God again – this time with the originals." He took a deep breath and then looked up at the sweeper. "They have Jarod too now."

"Damn." Sam got to his feet unsteadily when he felt the last strap of duct tape give way. He looked about himself and then down at Sydney. "Where are we?"

"Jarod's safe house in Dover," Sydney replied, getting to his feet with a grunt. He'd been too active today – tomorrow morning, his muscles were going to be killing him. "We brought you here…"

"You have to get me back to the Centre!" Sam stretched and bent at the waist to try to regain mobility and flexibility, and then walked the circuit of the kitchen a couple of times to get the feeling back in his calves and feet. "I'm supposed to be enjoying a rest period – if I'm not there when they come for me…"

"Jarod wanted you to go back in – as 'Jerry'…" Sydney told Sam with a nod. "He was hoping that with you on the inside and with his other contact on the inside…"

"Other contact?" Sam's eyes glittered. "You mean, the one that's the reason we kept coming up a day late and a dollar short all this time?" Sydney nodded. "Who is it?"

"Angelo."

Sam put his right hand to his face. "Oh, for God's sake…"

"Angelo helped us get you out, and hopefully will find something on Broots so that we can do for him what we've done for you…"

"But you need me back in there – now more than ever – to get information straight from Mr. Raines that Angelo might not get access to." Sam nodded. "Jarod was right – that IS the best way."

"I'll drive you back to the edge of Centre property," Sydney reached for his coffee cup and drained the now-cold liquid. "Can you make it back to your barracks by yourself?"

"No problem," Sam grinned. "They already know I'm not happy – it would be logical that I would have gotten up and gone for a walk. If I'm caught outside, I'll just play my part and be 'Jerry' being pissed."

"You're going to have to really be careful," Sydney warned. "Raines and his other goons are going to be looking for the slightest sign that you've begun to remember – and they'll probably haul you right back down to Renewal and feed you that drug again."

"Don't worry," Sam reassured Sydney with cold determination. "I know how to be careful. This is Miss Parker's life we're talking about here."

"And my dad's," Debbie added. "Try to find him too, Sam, please? I want him back…"

Sam walked over to her and put a huge hand on her shoulder. "I'll do what I can for you, Squirt."

She nodded. "That's all I ask."

"We'd better go," Sydney urged, reaching for his coat again. "Debbie, lock up after me."

"I want to come too."

"Better you stay here, Squirt," Sam told her with another pat on the shoulder. "Sydney can get me to the Centre and drop me off – and he'll be back for you very soon." Sam raised his eyes to Sydney. "And I'd find yourself another safe house, a little further away, if I were you," he advised. "Lyle's got the assignment to look for you – and he's got Willy putting his team all over the place, including here in Dover. I know – I was there when they planned it."

Sydney looked at Debbie. "Pack your things," he told her. "We'll be moving in the morning, as soon as I've had enough sleep to keep from running the car off the road."

Debbie wasn't happy, but she could see the logic to the instructions. "Be safe, Sam," she said, giving the sweeper a hug at the waist that was returned with quick affection.

"See you," Sam told her and then looked up at the psychiatrist. "Let's go."

oOoOo

Mr. Raines was waiting for Dr. Gregorio Chavez just outside the swinging doors of the operating theatre. "Well?" he demanded with a gasp and a wheeze.

"Now we head for the lab," the Hispanic answered in his faint accent, "and use that sample you extracted from the male to fertilize these eggs. Once they've grown to a suitable size, we re-implant three of them – hopefully one will be carried to term."

"And when do we know if we have what we want?" was the next urgent question.

"Considering the drugs that the patient has been receiving, and the surety of the impregnation date, we should be able to do an early amniocentesis procedure in about eight weeks," the doctor replied. "You'll need to keep in mind, however, that doing the test that early means a higher risk of miscarriage as well as some potential birth defects."

"The benefits are worth the risk," Raines wheezed and nodded. "Keep me informed as to the progress – and when you're ready to do the implantation."

"You're sure the patient wanted this done?" Chavez asked next. "I didn't get a chance to do my normal pre-op interview with her…"

"This was her expressed wish," Raines assured the doctor quickly. "Now that we have custody of the sperm sample of her dead husband, she would want to have that child they always wanted."

"But she can't care for an infant in a coma…" Chavez complained.

"She has family that will gladly take care of the baby until she's able to handle it herself," Raines smiled coldly at the ob-gyn. "Don't you worry – the baby is much wanted and loved already."

Chavez nodded and headed down the hallway for the scrub room to change again. Dr. Abrams stood up from the seat he'd been in since called by Mr. Raines an hour earlier. "You know that we can't be sure of the effects of 837A on the fetus," he reminded his boss quietly, peering into the small window at last, "especially the effects of keeping the level of the drug in her system so high for such an extended period of time."

"I don't want her remembering," Raines spat, and then drew a noisy gasp of breath. "I don't want her remembering her mother, Jarod, the hunt, Mr. Parker, who she is, where she's from – in other words, I want her to find the only security she can have in staying right here in the Renewal Wing. If this fetus is damaged, we'll still have the donor for more sperm to try again after we've let the drug levels in her system drop." The gaunt face broke into a grimacing grin. "Now that we have them both, we have time."

The detachment in the bald man's voice made even Dr. Abrams shudder. "I'll want her closely monitored – especially after the embryos are implanted."

"Do what you need to," Raines said absently. "Just make sure that when your job is done, I have a healthy Super-Pretender – and the building blocks to clone more of them. We only need one, you know…"

Abrams nodded and forced any ethical concerns to the back of his mind. The Centre's entire draw for him had been the opportunity to be working on the cutting edge of medical technology – from drug therapy for psychotics to genetic engineering and reproductive technology. To be able to see his research through, he couldn't spare any consideration for either the young woman in the operating room or the sperm donor somewhere else deep in the Centre.

Only that way would he be able to sleep at night.

oOoOo

Sam didn't waste time glancing backwards toward where he knew the SUV had parked with its headlights extinguished, but pushed through the trees and onto the Centre lawn. His estimate of just where he'd wanted Sydney to drop him off had been on the money – the dark hulk of the on-site sweeper dorm loomed only twenty yards or so to his left. Sticking his hands in his trousers pocket, he began to amble back – not caring whether or not he was seen.

With any luck, Syd and the kid would be long gone by the time Lyle and his cronies would even begin to figure out where they'd been. It was going to be difficult to be this other person – 'Jerry' – when 'Sam' was more than sufficient; but only by being 'Jerry' and by swallowing his pride and his repulsion would he be able to be in the right place at the right time to get information on the whereabouts and condition of Broots, Miss Parker or even Jarod.

He took a deep breath and reached for the front doorknob of the dorm building and pulled it open. Inside, the halls were clear – and he breathed a quick sigh of relief. He really didn't want to have to explain himself this early in his pretence…

Ironic, he thought, that he'd spent the better part of his last decade chasing a man who was a Pretender, only to have it come down to the point where HIS Pretend would be the key to so many people's rescue, including that same Pretender. Very briefly he allowed himself to wonder just what Miss Parker's reaction would be when she found out the lengths to which her personal sweeper had gone to try to affect her rescue – and then he put the entire question out of his mind. He reached his room and quietly slipped back inside

He had the rest of the night – what little remained of it, that was – to manufacture a 'Jerry' façade and paste it on tightly. He would then have to Pretend as he had never pretended before in his life – put 'Sam' in the back of his head to be a mere observer while letting a more cold, calculating, conditioned 'Jerry' do the work that Raines required of him with no visible qualms, misgivings or hesitation.

And God only knew how long he'd have to be able to pull this off.