Security Breach
Matt Parkman had been forced to learn that having an idea of the blueprints and actually finding his way through the White House, were two different things. He´d convinced the receptionist to let him pass ten minutes ago. A huge amount of time, considering that no one would try to stop him. By now he should have found the place where Nathan and Shana were waiting for their chance to kill the President.
Still he was wandering around these halls, lost and frustrated about his own disability to find his way, now from all the times in the world. It was just ridiculous. How often did a small detective from L.A. have to actually save the President from getting assassinated? And he should fail because he got lost in all these corridors? Ridiculous. Where was the Secret Service when you needed them to ask for the way?
While he was still considering which of the two turns he should take, he heard footsteps approaching him from ahead. Not just one man, many, and he hid. When a whole delegation like this marched through the hallways of the White House, it automatically indicated something official and in the current situation, this just had to be related to Nathan´s presence here.
He opened a nearby door and slipped in, leaving a crack open, just enough so he´d be able to hear and see.
It turned out he was right. It was official. Not just a bit. It was the President himself who walked by, surrounded by five Secret Service men and a guy in suite and tie who wasn´t Secret Service. A secretary then, Matt guessed, but it was not the most important thing. What became important though was the call one of the agents received over his earwig. He listened for a moment, and then, just as the group was about to take the next turn, he stopped them.
"What is it?" The President demanded to know.
The agent was still listening to the message only he could hear, his face concentrated and serious. Eventually he faced the President.
"We just arrested three unidentified people, Mr. President." he informed him. "They were sneaking around on the second floor."
Matt´s heart skipped a beat. Three unidentified people? They were not talking about him, so who were they? Friends or more assassins, hired by Shana? The President and his assistant were paling at the information.
"Inside the White House?" the secretary cried.
"One of them says she´s a police officer." the agent specified, doubt visible in his eyes. "They claim that there is an assassination plot going on to kill you, Mr. President. And that senator Petrelli has something to do with it."
Matt lowered his eyes. Interesting.
"If that is true, we should put him under arrest and question him, sir." the secretary suggested, looking at the President for approval.
The President nodded, silently, a deep concerned frown on his face, and glanced down the hallway. That was the moment when Matt had to interfere.
The President hesitated, for a moment.
"No." he then decided, facing his men again. "If he really wants to kill me, he won´t run, as long as he doesn´t suspect anything. Let him wait. I want to talk to those people."
"Are you sure about this, sir?" the Secret Service Agent asked. "They could as well be the assassins themselves."
"Then make sure they´re no danger to me while I talk to them." the President's order didn´t leave any room for discussions. The agent straightened.
"Yes, sir."
With that the delegation turned around and headed back the way they´d come.
Matt left his hiding place, feeling uncomfortable. A police detective? Female police detective. Who could that be? Trespassing into the White House? He just hoped he didn´t send the President into a trap just now. But one thing was for sure. He would have run right up into a trap if he´d kept on walking down this hall. To meet Nathan Petrelli.
The identity of these mysterious three people was something he could deduct later, Matt decided. Right now he had to take care of Nathan and Shana. And now he knew where to find them. He turned around and headed down the corridor, into the direction the President had been heading, before he´d turned back.
He didn´t see the door opening further down the corridor, a minute later, Sylar sneaking out of it and walking away quietly, in the opposite direction.
...
Peter threw down the little black bible, he´d picked up from the nightstand, not even knowing why. It landed on the king sized bed, bouncing off the mattress and fell down to the floor. The rooms were empty. All four doors open, busted, by some force, they didn´t know. But since the hotel staff hadn´t called the police because of a burglary, he assumed it had been a quiet force. Something not quiet normal? But there were no other signs of a fight in here.
"That doesn´t make any sense." he blurred, angrily. "Where are they?"
He jumped, at the sound of the TV suddenly turning on. Mary Lightly stood before the screen, idly holding the remote in one hand. His other hand was hidden in his pocket and he looked at the screen as if he´d nothing better to do.
"I think I have an idea." he told Peter, gesturing for the tube.
The news were on, reporting about a recently solved bank robbery, here in Washington. Peter stepped to Mary´s side, watching with a frown, how the police led a dozen men away.
"That´s Perkins." Mary recognized one of them. "Miss Stockwell´s right hand. Those are her men."
Peter almost couldn´t believe it. "What did they do there?"
Mary only put up the volume of the TV.
"As far as we know it," the reporter spoke into the camera. "they were heavily armed but had no ammunition in their guns whatsoever. The word goes that this information was given to the police by a psychic, that claims to work for the police in Santa Barbara. We have no confirmation about this yet but we´ll try to get a better statement ASAP."
"A psychic from Santa Barbara?" Peter repeated. "That´s Shawn. He´s in D.C.?"
Mary idly raised an eyebrow. "Seems he is."
"Maybe he knows what happened." Peter cried, excitedly. "And where Nathan is."
Immediately he was at the phone that sat on the nightstand, picking up the receiver. His hand already hovered over the buttons.
"Damn, what was his number again?"
Mary reached into his pocket and got his cell phone out.
"I have it in my memory." he told him, pressing the respective speed dial button and handed the phone to Peter.
...
"I hope you´re aware of the fact that you´ll be charged for treason." Secret Service Agent Larry Thomas cried, when he lost his patience. "Pretending that you´re insane, won´t save you here."
"I´m not pretending to be insane." the man named Shawn Spencer cried offended. "I am psychic and I tell you, I had a vision of Nathan Petrelli assassinating the President." He faced the man in question, the man Thomas was trained to protect. "He´ll try kill you." he told him but didn´t get a response. "Please, you´ve got to believe us." he faced Thomas again, who only crossed his arms. "We´re not the bad guys here. We snuck in here without permission but only with the best interest in mind."
Thomas faced his black friend.
"I plead the Fifth." he stated, immediately.
That was the moment, when a sound coming from Shawn Spencer´s pocket made Thomas and all of his men jump, all of them immediately pulling their guns on the suspect.
"Wow, wait." Shawn skipped back in his seat. "Wait, that´s just my phone." he reached into his pocket to get it out, very slowly. "Just my cell phone, you see? I´ll put it out."
"Give me that." Thomas demanded.
Spencer obediently handed the phone over and Thomas checked the device, warily. Eventually he pushed the green button, answering the call.
"Yeah?"
"Shawn." a male voice cried into his ear. "It´s Peter. Where are you? Are you in Washington?"
Thomas threw a glance at the man sitting in the chair before him. "You can say that." he answered the caller´s question.
A brief hesitation. Then: "Who´s that?"
"This is Agent Thomas, Secret Service."
Another brief silence. "Where´s Shawn?" the caller wanted to know.
Thomas straightened. "Sir, the person you´re referring to was arrested for trespassing into the White House."
Unseen by agent Thomas, Peter Petrelli´s eyebrows went up in disbelieve.
"Trespassing into the White House?" he repeated, looking at Mary Lightly irritated.
The FBI profiler only raised one brow, his face placid with a tiny smile. "Simply amazing."
"Sir, I need you to identify yourself." the Secret Service Agent demanded now, drawing Peter back to his senses.
"Listen." he said. "My name is Peter Petrelli, I´m senator Nathan Petrelli´s brother. You need to warn the President. My brother has been manipulated to kill the President. If he comes to the White House …"
"Interesting." agent Thomas interrupted the flood of words. "You´re the third person tonight that tells us that story."
He eyed the three prisoners in front of him, trying to think.
"What did he say?" the President wanted to know, stepping forward.
Thomas faced him, tentatively. "Practically the same thing these three told us." he answered at last.
The frown on the President's forehead deepened a little. After a moment of consideration, he held out his hand.
"Let me talk to him."
Thomas hesitated but eventually handed the phone over.
"Mr. Petrelli? This is the President speaking."
...
Matt´s hand grasped around the door handle. He listened, taking a deep breath, his other hand fastening the grip on his gun. Then he opened the door.
The two people were sitting idly in their chairs, a picture of pure innocence. Only that they weren´t. When Shana saw him, she jumped up from her seat. So did Nathan, but other than her, he didn´t panic. He only looked irritated, to see him here.
Shana´s gaze said something more, talked about another form of determination. When she headed for him, Matt raised his gun.
"Freeze." he ordered, his voice cold and even.
Shana froze, her eyes lingering between him and his gun, a fierce anger burning just beneath the surface. She knew, just had to know, that he´d turned the table and that her control over him was gone.
"Parkman, what the hell are you doing?" Nathan asked, irritated.
"Nathan, I need you to stay calm." Matt spoke, still not ready to take his eyes off Shana. "I´ll explain everything. But first I need you," and now he addressed Shana. "To take some steps back."
"How did you get a gun in here?" Nathan was clearly worried.
"Is that a serious question?" Matt replied and immediately turned his attention back to Shana. "Back off, I said."
She glared at him, but eventually obeyed, slowly taking one step after the other backwards, until she´d reached the chair she´d been sitting in.
"Sit." Matt demanded.
She obeyed.
Nathan made a step towards him and Matt aimed the gun at him. Nathan stopped, raising both hands in surrender. The gun found Shana again.
"Don´t worry, Nathan." Parkman said. "You´ll understand it soon."
He reached out, for his mind.
...
"Do you have any proof for what you just told me, Mr. Petrelli?" the President of the United States asked, after a long silence.
Peter hesitated. "I might have." he replied, tentatively.
"And what is that?" the other man demanded to know.
Peter exchanged a glance with Mary Lightly and somehow he knew that Mary´d already guessed it. He nodded at the small profiler and took a step back from him. This time Mary didn´t try to grab his arm just in time, but only watched idly, how Peter closed his eyes, concentrating.
The first thing he heard when he reappeared in the White House, next to the man on the phone with him, was Shawn Spencer´s voice, crying out startled.
"Wow! Dude!"
The President, as well as all the Secret Service Agents around him, jumped, the agents pulling their guns. Peter barely batted an eye. He held the gaze of the man before him, he had to, and held up his hands, showing that he was unarmed.
"Mr. President." he spoke, calm and even. "I´m telling you the truth. I´m here to help. Let me see my brother, then I might be able to put an end to all of this."
...
Nathan Petrelli´s face had turned from slightly irritated to highly irritated. Matt was focused on the man´s eyes, trying his best to reverse the process he´d done, only a few days ago, when he´d put that lie into his head. That he had to kill the President of the United States. How stupidly classic, Matt thought to himself. And what an heroic and most of all patriotic act to stop him from doing it now. Add amused laughter when you feel like it.
But Matt didn´t care about irony or even moral right now. All he cared about was to repair the damage he´d caused. And now he was almost done. Nathan might be confused afterward, maybe shaken or even traumatized, but he would live. He wouldn´t get shot by the Secret Service. And most of all, he would be himself again.
Eventually Nathan started to blink, his eyes asking.
What happened to me, Parkman? What´s going on?
Matt did his best to let him know, to make him understand.
In her chair, Shana shifted her position, ever so slightly, her hand slowly wandering up to her face and eventually to the back of her head, fingers combing nervously through her hair. Matt barely noticed the movement. His eyes were still fixed on Nathan. He was almost done. Almost.
When Shana jumped out of her seat and leaped at him, he was still caught in his mental work, and when he tried to swirl his arm around, to aim the gun at her, he was too slow.
A hit from her and the gun was knocked out of his hand, scattering over the floor. He saw her raise her arm, something long and pointy in her hand, white, made of hard plastic. A hair stick. She brought it down on him, the sharp end aiming for his neck. And then a shot rang out and Shana´s body jerked.
Matt flinched, swirling around. A whole group of people stood in the door. An agent, still holding the gun.
Shana grunted, surprised, and stumbled backwards. The stabbing tool fell out of her hand, hitting the ground soundlessly. The tool they´d planned to use to kill the President.
Matt turned back to the people in the door.
Now that he had the time to actually see them, he met the eyes of Peter Petrelli. Behind him there were three civilians, two guys and a woman. The only people besides Peter who didn´t wear suites and ties. All three of them were staring at the scene with awe, uncertain.
Matt didn´t know what to say. He´d done what he came for, and considering the fact that they´d shot Shana first, was at least a reason to hope that he wouldn´t be the next to fall.
Peter stepped forward, only a little, his eyes jumping from Matt to the man behind him, to his brother. Nathan stood in his place, just like he´d done when Matt had walked in. He regarded the groaning Shana on the ground with a thoughtful frown, her pleading eyes looking up at him. But he didn´t respond, didn´t hurry to help her. Instead he looked up, confused, as if he realized, just now, where he was and that he wasn´t alone here.
Peter started to move, closely watched by the Secret Service Agent, who´d shot Shana, his eyes never leaving his brother. A brother he´d buried three years ago. The fear, the uncertainty, was so visible in his eyes, Matt didn´t even need to read his mind.
"Nathan?" he asked, voice trembling.
Nathan searched Matt´s gaze, for help, as if to ask him, if all this had really just happened. Matt nodded, relieved, encouraging. Yes. It was true. And it was over. Right? It just had to be.
Nathan faced his brother, shoulders tensed, as if he wasn´t sure himself. But then he nodded, affirmative, taking a shaky breath. And Matt understood that the only reason why Nathan was still standing so steady in his place was because his legs wouldn´t move.
"It´s all right, Pete." he spoke at last, his voice shaking. His eyes flew to Matt one last time, nodding at him gratefully.
"It´s me." he found, needing to say it out loud to believe it himself. When he faced his brother again, his voice was a little more even. "The real me."
Peter staggered forward, one leg at a time, and Matt wasn´t sure if the young man even knew he was moving. When he finally reached his brother, it was, for this brief moment in time, as if the two of them were the only people in the room. When Peter reached out a hand, Nathan nodded, as if to encourage him, to stop doubting.
"I´m still here, Pete." he said, looking around the room for a second, taking in the reality of all this. "I don´t know how but … I am."
Those words, along with his brother´s hand resting on his shoulder, was all Peter needed, to know that this man before him was indeed the one he´d grown up with. And that he was real.
„Aaaawwww." Shawn Spencer exclaimed moved, when the two brothers fell into each others arms.
The Secret Service Agents lowered their guns.
...
It was dark, the air radiating the dull feeling of a small and closed room. The ground was hard beneath him, his shoulder blades poking into his flesh when he moved, trying to wake up. Where was he? Why was his bed so hard? And somewhere during the night he must have lost his pillow too.
Mohinder turned his head, trying to see. This wasn´t his room. Where was he? He eased himself up. He was on the ground, in a strange room, in the dark. Outside he heard faint sounds. And then he remembered.
Sylar!
He was up in an instant, looking around. It had really happened. He really was in the White House. Sylar had put him to sleep, once again, and that meant he´d lost a lot of precious time. Maybe too much already.
Immediately he was outside, running down the corridor. He took the turn … and ran straight into an agent, who immediately pulled his gun on him.
...
"Dude, this is awesome." Shawn cheered, holding out his fist for Gus. "We just saved the President."
"Whaaaat." Gus bumped his fist, smiling proudly.
"You, sir, are still under arrest." agent Thomas stated, matter of factly. "So is everybody who was involved in all this."
"What?" Shawn cried. "Seriously?"
"Until we evaluated without any doubt who´s responsible." Thomas turned to face the rest of the group.
Juliet didn´t say anything, she just nodded. So did Matt Parkman, in the exact same humble way.
"I´ll do my best to answer your questions." Nathan Petrelli promised, exchanging a glance with his brother. Peter smiled.
"All right, all right." Shawn groaned. "Let´s get started with it. I want to be home before midnight. There´s a Chips marathon starting at twelve."
"Shawn, an investigation like that can take days." Juliet let him know and when he glanced at her bewildered, she added: "Sometimes even weeks."
"Are you kidding? Who´s gonna give water to my plants?"
"You don´t have any plants, Shawn." Gus mentioned. "But I have a job." he addressed agent Thomas. "And my boss won´t be happy if I´m late for work tomorrow. So I would appreciate it, if someone from your staff could take care of this … little issue and, you know like … give him a call, to explain that I´m delayed. You should try to break it down to him in a gentle way though. You know, that I´m involved in a federal investigation … he doesn´t like it when I work outside my field."
Thomas only looked at Gus, one brow raised, frowning, both at once. Shawn thought it looked hilarious. Almost as good as Lassie when he was confused.
"What was your name again?" Thomas asked.
"Gus. Burton Guster. I´m a pharmaceutical salesman, for …"
"Agent Thomas." someone called from down the corridor, interrupting Gus, and Shawn thought this was probably a good thing. Two other agents came up to them, a bewildered looking Mohinder in tow.
"This man says he belongs to them." the agent reported to Thomas.
"Dude, where have you been?" Shawn cried. "You missed the whole thing."
"What happened?" Mohinder asked immediately. "Where´s Sylar? What did he do?"
"Sylar?" Nathan spoke up, looking at his brother, worried.
Peter frowned, unsure, and glanced at Shawn. Everybody seemed to glance at him. As if he should know. Shawn searched the gaze of his friend, the one who usually really knew what was going on, when he didn´t. But Gus only shook his head, as clueless as everybody.
"Dude." Shawn exclaimed. "I totally forgot about that guy."
...
Outside in the rose garden, one man stood in the dark, alone, looking back at the house he´d just left. The house he´d lived in for three years, once in another life. But that life was over. Worse, it had never been. But if it never was, how could he remember it so clearly? Why? It was all so confusing. Mohinder had been right. He couldn´t trust himself anymore. How could he, if he couldn´t even trust his own memories?
Inside of there, things were back the way they were before. Somehow they´d managed it to fix the damage. But still … some things had changed. Too many things had changed. He was changed. And not for the better.
Sylar took out his cell phone, looking at it in silence. As if on cue it started to ring, also in silence, the display illuminated, showing him the name of the caller. Like a silent accusation, even now.
He didn´t answer the call. He knew what he was gonna say anyway. After a while the mute ringing stopped and his display showed him that he´d missed a call. Sylar smiled, sadly, and dropped the phone. It landed beneath a rose bush, still glowing in the dark down there.
It wasn´t easy for him to leave it behind. He´d numbers in the memory. Mohinder's of course, but also Shawn´s, Juliet´s, Peter´s … Leaving the phone was like burning the last bridge back to his old life. But the life he remembered was gone. He wasn´t even sure if it had ever existed. And before he didn´t know that again, he would not go back there.
He was Sylar. The murderer, the killer of fathers and brothers. The deceiver. The false President. Once upon a time he´d been all of this in one person.
And now? What was he now? Maybe the same. Maybe deep down people never really changed. Not people like him. Or maybe there was another life he´d forgotten about. The one he needed to remember, in order to know who he was now. He could never be sure.
The display of the cell went dark, vanishing in the darkness of the rose garden. They would find it, he knew, and that was the last and only message he would leave behind for them.
Sylar sighed, deeply, before turning around and lifting off the ground. When he flew away into the night, he didn´t look back.
End of Volume Six
...
Volume Seven
– „Redemption" –
The team assembled at the corner across the street. The perfect spot to see everything. The street itself, the crossroad further down as well as the shopping area along this street. Mary Lightly ducked behind the corner, watching the shop on the other side closely. The door was closed but he knew, just knew, that it had been broken, that there was a man in there that didn´t belong there.
Greyson´s, the golden letters read on the window. Watches and Jewelry. Of course he was in there. As soon as he´d read the add in the yellow pages, Mary had known that Sylar would come here, earlier or later. And now the time had come. He was only one stone´s throw away. Close to the touch, so to say.
"Saunders, this is Carson, over." the squad leader radioed. "Can you see us?" He looked over the street, to the second half of the team.
"Yes." Saunders voice answered.
"Good." Carson replied, looking through his binoculars. "We have a visual on the target. He seems to be alone."
"Roger. We´re right behind you."
"Over and out."
After that everything happened too fast for Mary to keep track in detail. He only remembered vaguely, that he repeated his warning to agent Carson one more time, to be extra careful, that the man they were hunting was very dangerous and very gifted. And then the team started to move, over the street and into the shop.
Mary stayed behind, watching.
The fight started immediately, Mary could hear it, all the sounds of it. The electricity when the charges of the tasers were fired, the shots from the men´s guns, the ropes that were bolted off, to bind and restrain Sylar. And the screams of the men when he fought back.
Mary heard it, all of it, and he realized, too late, that it had been a mistake after all, to send unexperienced agents on that operation, to tag and bag a man with supernatural powers.
Without even knowing why he was doing this, he got up and hurried over the street. Maybe he could still do something. What he might be able to do, he, when all these heavily armed and trained men had failed, he didn´t know. But he had to try.
He entered the shop. Men were lying around everywhere, between scattered shelves and broken clocks. A vitrine that was once locked safely, lay in shards, shattered by Saunders body weight, the precious jewelry lying all around the groaning man. Most of his men were barely conscious anymore, just like him. Mary was not sure if any of them was really dead, but he didn´t get a chance to check. Something grabbed him and pinned him to the nearest wall. Something he couldn´t see. But, oh man, he could feel it. The pressure around his chest, holding him, at least ten inches over the ground. His feet were dangling, helplessly. And then he met the eyes of the killer.
"You." Sylar rasped lowly, stepping forward, his hand stretched out for Mary, holding him in place.
"Sylar." Mary managed to say, still struggling for balance.
Sylar stopped, only a few feet away, his eyes piercing into Mary´s soul.
"Did Mohinder tell you to come after me?" he demanded to know.
"He told us you might be dangerous." Mary confirmed. "But it was I who figured that you´d come here. A watchmaker´s shop. It´s not yours, but it resembles what you once were. And what you are now."
"I don´t know what I am anymore." Sylar blurred, suddenly angry. "No one does. And neither do you, Mary."
"I studied your case for three years, Sylar." Mary objected. "I know you, better than you might think."
"You know nothing about me."
"I found you here, didn´t I?" Mary saw a flicker in Sylar´s gaze and felt encouraged. "A soul that feels lost within itself would flee to something that is familiar." he recited his psychological knowledge. "Maybe to even go back there. To something that is more familiar than what became so complicated that it made you feel so lost. Isn´t that right, Sylar?" he held the dark gaze of the killer. "Tell me that you don´t feel it already. Is the hunger tingling? Is it knocking on your door again?"
For a moment, he seemed to get through to the killer. Sylar blinked, confused, uncertain. Then he shook his head, facing Mary, again with this furious gaze of his and Mary wondered how many of his victims had seen those eyes, just before they died.
"I hope you know that you´re playing with your life right now." Sylar said.
"I came here to stop you." Mary told him, trying to get back his hold on Sylar´s conscience. "Don´t do it, Sylar." he said. "Don´t go back there."
Again Sylar blinked, but only for a second. "You´re not the one to judge me." he rasped. "Neither are you the one to keep me from going anywhere. No matter how many men or … psychological tricks you bring with you."
He tightened his fingers, intensifying the telekinetic grip around Mary´s chest, making him gasp when the air got pressed out of his lungs. Only for a moment. Then he let go of him, dropping him to the ground.
Mary felt the impact, his own body sprawled on the floor that had been unreachable for his feet for these past few minutes. He could hear Sylar´s footsteps, slowly closing in on him. When he looked up, he saw his dark eyes right above him.
"You don´t know me a bit, Mary." Sylar spoke and after a while: "Don´t bother trying to find me again. It wouldn´t do you any good." He leaned down to him, his hands on his knees. "It´s too dark where I´m going."
With that he lowered his hand down to Mary´s face and Mary fell asleep. Later he would not be sure if he didn´t dream the whole conversation.
To be continued …