12.

Finger Lickin' Tales – Tonight on the Biography Channel – Monster Hunter Whee - Spider Senses – Lunch, Interrupted

"...Paprika, garlic salt, pepper, and of course, lard. Some secret recipe, right? The spice ratio is a bit more interesting, but it's still bull. Nothing that 'secret' about it. All the same stuff can be found in Paula Deen's fingernails." Kyra shrugged, flashed a grin at Krish as he sat cross-legged across from her on a thin blue mat. "You all right?"

He returned the usual weary smile. She'd invited herself into his cottage with that easy, pushy confidence she had. The initial irritation had faded quickly in favor of being glad for company – and interested company, at that. Looking interested is part of her job, the sarcastic part of his mind said. Nonetheless, she'd listened with an open, interested face as he pointed out his mother's pictures of gurus and blue-skinned devas, giving brief mythical bios before flopping onto a pillow across from his mat. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, no, you're not, but whatever." She jutted her chin up towards the pictures. "Said your mom sent those?"

"She did, yes." Krish chuckled, leaned back with a wince. While the environment had proven to be an enormous boon to his health, it hadn't erased every symptom entirely. He still wasn't sleeping, and that meant a stiff and easily-worn body. He'd still take it over the alternative. His mind felt more alert than it'd had in months. "She is far more into the faith than I am, I'm afraid."

"Ah. Old country Hindu."

Krish coughed a short laugh. "My mother is a stout little dark Irish woman, raised Catholic. She, ah..." He dropped his eyes, the memories rueful, funny, and sad. "She took to my father's faith rather hard after he died, looking for comfort. I was quite young."

She peered at him, dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes with a tint of green. "Yeah, you don't look Irish."

"Luck of the genetic draw." He shrugged. "It was her way of holding on to him, I suppose. We don't discuss it much."

"'Kay." She folded her hands together and dropped them into her lap as she pulled herself into a pose matching his. "What happened to him? Your dad." She pulled a grimace. "If it's not my business, just say so. I know being nosy is my job, but I don't try to be an ass to my neighbors."

He grunted, a soft noise more out of surprise that her statement echoed his earlier thoughts. "He died in his sleep."

Kyra looked nonplussed. "That's... not so bad?"

"He was thirty-four. In perfect health at the time." A wan smile. "His heart just stopped. Like the Laotian men."

"Sorry?"

"East of India, it happens sometimes. Young men and children just die in their sleep. This was rare, and it nearly destroyed my mother." He shrugged.

A light dawned on her face. "And you got a complex about sleeping."

"No." He began to laugh again, coughing into his hand as his body rejected the activity. "I mean, yes. But that is the joke. That isn't the problem."

She sat still, watching him. He glanced up, saw the look of concerned seriousness on her face, and lost himself in another painful laugh. "He would have died anyway, it seems. Like I am going to." He looked back up at her, corners of his lips twitching in a wry grin. "I was afraid of sleeping, yes, because of what happened. But now I can't. Luck of the genetic draw."

When Krish stopped laughing, he looked up to find Kyra staring at him with an inspecting, probing worry that caused a nearly physical recoil. He was unused to that level of study, preferring a simple, unnoticed life. She opened her mouth to speak and was interrupted by the sound of a thwack on the front door. "I'd better get that," he said, defying her next question with a touch of relief. Dry amusement aside, the conversation had gone very personal very quickly – his own fault, he knew; some desire to share what he carried - and a part of him felt it would be wise to consider what had already been said before discussing his issues further.

He rose carefully and noted the small shadow that cast itself against the windows along the cabin door. Opening it revealed Ben, a polite expression on his face despite tight lips. The smaller man looked up at Krish in greeting, then flicked the piercing blue gaze beyond him and into the house. "There you are."

"Here I am," Kyra said behind Krish. He could hear the caution in her voice. That would be a good topic for another time – Mr. Linus had been a perfect, polite gentleman since their arrival. She obviously felt different.

"I ask you to accompany me, Ms. Glaukopis. It seems it's come time for me to ask that we get down to business." Ben dipped his head in a curious gesture of respect. "I expect Hugo will join us later as we get down to details."

"Right." Still the tension in her voice, even as Krish sensed her rise behind him and then just barely felt her brush by. She paused to turn her face up to his. "Take it easy, alright? Anything I can do?"

Krish smiled, finding himself touched that she asked. "No." He dipped his head in a way similar to Ben's and went back into his cabin to think in silence.

. . .

"No, no, no… aw crap, dude, it's not going to hit the trap. It's not gonna hit the trap!" Hurley mashed buttons with a frantic, hurried need, bending forward and half-rising from the couch. On the TV screen, a small figure in digital furs and leathers turned and began to run at an angle away from what appeared to be a giant dinosaur painted in riotous colors. A smaller figure could be seen moving around in the background, apparently off on its own mission to try and recover the situation.

Tsuchi sat on another couch, facing another TV, his fingers flying around the Wiimote with precision. "Run back towards me." His voice was low and serious.

"I'm gonna get eaten!"

"Trust me. Run back. The trap is fine."

"Fffuuuuu…" Hurley twisted the controller around in a mimicry of his character, blindly charging the little fur-wearing monster hunter back the way he'd just come. The screen seemed to shake as the neon punk dino-thing also swerved to catch up to its little prey – and caught on something nearly invisible against the digitally painted background. It fell with a roar while Tsuchi's little hunter charged in to start stabbing with a polearm. Hurley joined in, getting a couple of shots off as the monster quivered once, and then fell still. "Man, I suck at this game." He put the controller down on top of the table.

The young man managed a quick smile; with a game in front of him, or his laptop, he was fast and outgoing, seemingly normal. Take them away and he returned to fidgety unease. An improving fidgety unease, but still. Hurley had started regular gaming nights with the kid, figuring that the fun and easy socialization (the latest big word Ben had taught him) might help the kid out. Also, what the hell. Hurley was behind on video games. It was something familiar from the old world.

"Want a soda?" Tsuchi was up out of his seat and ambling towards the kitchen.

Hurley paused, ready to answer, when something, some thought, tickled across his mind and then vanished before he fully comprehended it. "…Sure, dude." His hesitancy earned him a backwards glance before the dark head disappeared behind a fridge door.

The tickling sensation came again. "Uh."

"Hurley?" The mop of dark hair popped up over the door.

"Spider senses are tingling. I'm okay." Hurley put a hand up to his forehead, now feeling a sense of ghostly pressure. "Something's not right, but I'm okay." He put the other hand out for the can of Dew, still sensing the look from Tsuchi. He popped the top, took a slug of liquid, then sat for a few, holding the can. "I think we better take a break for a few."

Tsuchi popped his own can open and sat back on the couch, watching him with a rabbity look of concern. The oddity of his behavior was causing a step back for the kid, but Hurley couldn't help it. He was right on the edge of something.

. . .

Richard Alpert rose from his seat with a look of mingled relief and surprise that the meeting was actually occurring. "Mrs. Hume. I'm very glad to see you." He gestured to the seat across from him, a white bamboo chair caught in the softened sunlight of the restaurant window. "I arrived early and wound up with a table. I hope this is alright with you."

Penelope gave him a warm, if nervous smile and slipped into the seat, draping the handle of her purse on its arm. She clasped her hands before her and gave a light shrug. "I asked for the meet, it'd be quite rude of me to renege."

"It would still be within your rights, under the circumstances." Richard smoothed his tie against him as he sat back down, squinting out the window at the passersby. "I can be glad for the courtesy." A waiter came by and filled their glasses with ice water. Richard watched the liquid slosh and settle before continuing. "I assume everything has gone well on your end. The, ah, call." He picked up the crystal glass and took a sip.

"Yes." Her response was simple, but the tone that carried the word was complex. He chose to leave it be, unraveled. "I made some other calls when the time was good. I may have sold my shares, but there are many in the corporation who still know me as the boss's daughter." A little smile. "They were more than happy to share their condolences and their gossip." She tilted her head at him. "Many of the upper management were very surprised by their acquisition by Paik. Of course, some sort of purchase was likely, under the… circumstances, but Paik was an unexpected choice."

"I've seen the public holdings; Paik's move into Widmore's bioscience fields was abrupt."

"Too abrupt. Mr. Alpert, my father's colleagues have the files the financial papers do not. Paik Bioscience didn't exist until a month before the formal acquisition of Widmore, despite the breadcrumbs given out to pretend it was an older internal project. The groundwork for the new division was laid in January of 2008." She stressed the dates, indicating their importance. He studied her face for the answer. "They were ready to create this new division almost two years ago. They prepared it the moment my father was announced dead." She shook her head. "They waited until it was needed. They knew it would be needed. Paik Bioscience is a shell corporation designed to manage Widmore. Nothing more. Their offices are a beehive of busywork and paper, according to the old family friends that had visited." She took a sip of water and sat back.

Richard studied her face, absorbing the information. "But they were not the ones to start purchasing stock in the company."

"No, that was the dead executive you told me about. The one from Hanso; the one who was murdered. You might have mentioned that last." She sounded reproachful. "The poor man must have got a jump on their plans."

"Paik had him murdered. Then somehow finagled his stocks back into their hands."

"He worked very closely with Paik's new Mr. Flood during his time with Hanso. Did you know that?" She put the glass down, then murmured something to the waiter when he approached. Richard ordered himself a light chicken salad sandwich. After he left, she continued. "Mr. Flood's alibi is very solid. There's no chance he did it, according to the Copenhagen police." She gave him a tight, wry grin. "One of those horrible coincidences."

Richard returned the smile with a similar one of his own. "Back on the island, we knew all about coincidences."

"I'm sure." A note of cautious distaste. There was a flicker of red light against the crystal of her glass, refracting and shining for a second before disappearing. Richard dismissed it as the gleam from some car's rear, or even a bicycle light. "You indicated that you had been told something is important about this, something is going on. I still need to call some people, there's indeed something very odd going on in all this, but I wanted you to know what I'd found so far."

Richard bowed his head, lifting it again as the sandwich arrived. "I'm very appreciative, Mrs. Hume."

"Call me Penelope, please, unless Des is with us." She flashed him a prim smile. "I've had to explain to him what I'm up to and of course he does not approve."

"Very understandable."

"I agree; it's one of those messy little moments that make marriage interesting. He's upset, but he's abiding." The red light flashed by again, this time catching Richard's notice more strongly before it vanished. He had seen neither bike nor car that time. "There's one more trail I can give you for now."

. . .

Ben blew across the mug of tea and pushed it across his kitchen counter at Kyra. "There we are, a nice oolong with honey." He flashed a bright smile at her terse expression. "It's also completely free of poison or other toxic possibilities. It's all very antioxidant. I read that in one of those terrible personal health magazines while I was on a plane recently. A shame we have to taunt people into trying good things by shamming them about how trendily healthy it all is. But there you have it."

She kept her peace and her dour, staring expression, but did slide a hand out to curl it around the mug's handle.

"Lord, lately I've been the one getting stared at. Once upon a time, that was my job." He sighed. "Let me cut to the pertinent parts, it'll spare us 'face time.' I want you to find some way into the Paik Bioscience facility in London and get any files, any documents, anything that we can later analyze out of their CEO's office. As soon as possible, but I am aware of the difference between reality and your better spy drama. Tax documents, communiqués, anything. Any language, of course. Be it a digital invasion or infiltration." He shrugged. "I'm prepared to offer any assistance in this you may need, financial or otherwise. There are certain caveats."

"Such as?" She brought the mug up to her lips, sipped, then closed her eyes. "Okay, that's good tea. I still think you're a creepy little bastard, but that is a damn good drink."

He tilted his head at the grudging compliment. "Thank you. Hugo would prefer no harm done to another if at all possible."

"You must hate that."

"I find it stifling in certain circumstances – as Al Capone famously knew, you can get more with a kind word and a gun than just with a kind word – but I understand and respect his viewpoint in this. If there is no other option and your very safety is at risk, well, that is a matter for judgment." The shoulders lifted in a light shrug, dropped again. "Your assessment of the job?"

She put the mug down, then seemed to stare through him, thinking aloud. "They're going to have an internal network, if they're smart. It's a safe bet that they do. No general public access. Remote accounts will all be vetted and monitored by their IT department, and what those accounts can do will be very limited. Getting onsite will have similar issues; any good tech joint has a combination of on site security and keycards slash IDs. The better ones have very complex digital keycards, even. Tech labs tend to have DNA or print verification as well."

"I confess, it sounds intimidating."

"Mm. There's one, simple, first step."

Ben arched an eyebrow in query.

"Find their sysop. Any complex system can be circumvented by going a direct route. And I have a very direct route."

"I am hesitant to ask."

She chuckled. "A good rack. I need a flight to London and an expense account. Don't worry, I'm not going to buy out Soho. Typically – but not always – it doesn't take much to impress a computer geek. As a bonus, I even speak some Linux and Python. It's irresistible to those guys. Trust me, I can get in."

Ben held his silence, loathe to admit that he was unsure what a Linux was. He suspected it was an OS or programming language, but better to be still and look wise and figure it out later.

He waited for her to work on her tea a little longer before speaking again. "Of course. I'll handle all the flight arrangements for you-" He turned his head as the front door smacked open.

"Dude!"

"Ah, Hugo. Perfect timing, I needed to discuss Ms.-"

The big man cut him off. "Do you have your phone with you? The little cell?"

Ben studied Hurley's face as he barged across the room. It was filled with tension, the knitted forehead of a man with a headache, wild eyes. Rather than play word games, his instinct told him to fish in his pocket for the slim Nokia. "Of course, Hugo."

"I need you to call her back. Right now." He flapped a meaty hand. "Her. Crap. Des's wife."

"Penelope?" Ben saw Kyra glancing back and forth between them out of the corner of his eye, a startled expression on her face.

"Call her, dude. Now."

"Hu-"

"NOW."

At a total loss for words, Ben snapped the phone open and flipped through its call history.

. . .

Penelope leaned towards him, her tone dropping into the confidential. Richard bent his head to listen. "Hawking and I were not the only ones approached. There's more people you might like to talk to. In fact, I suggest it. I think they may know a great deal beyond this financial matter, possibly even something more useful than that. I-" A bleating noise came from her purse. "Oh dear, it's probably about poor Charlie. He was a little ill this morning." She leaned back abruptly, trying to nudge her purse open in time to dig up the phone before it gave up, fingers pausing as a sharp, cracking noise broke the air between them.

Later, Richard would swear to himself that he saw the bullet flash inches from Mrs. Hume's face, but of course, that was impossible. What was a fact was noting the spreading spiderweb-crackled hole in the window and then, instinctively, pushing himself up from the table and lunging towards the woman. His momentum drove them both to the floor, below the lip of the windowsill, and out of sight of any further shot.

All of that within a second. Then another patron noticed the hole in the window and began to scream. Underneath the wail, Richard looked down into the eyes of an undamaged Penelope Hume and saw not fear but a rising red anger. "DeGroot, Mr. Alpert," she said to him, her voice quivering but otherwise reasoned. In the distance, sirens began to approach. "Gerald and Karen DeGroot. Ann Arbor, Michigan."

. . .

Later:

"You have… one… missed call. Press one to listen to voicemail, seven to delete."

*bleep*

"Mrs. Hume?" The voice was strained, confused. It gave her none of the fear she felt the last time she heard it. She looked up, around at the near-empty business as Richard continued to talk to the police. They were leaving her alone at the moment, having taken her statement no less than six times thus far. "I have been asked to call, but not given a reason why. I appear to have missed you, despite Hugo's insistence on timing. My apologies. As it seems important to Hugo, I ask the courtesy of a return call at your leisure. Thank you."

*click, beep*

"You have… no… unheard messages." Penelope flipped the phone shut, her knuckles suddenly white as her hand clenched around the phone's slender, plastic form. Then she charged into the restaurant bathroom to vomit in a mess of released stress, shock, and something that was either surprise or horror.