After informing the staff that he did not wish to be disturbed, Peter entered his office. He placed Jack on the couch in his small office and the dog promptly curled up and went to sleep. The room was decorated in heavy woods and colors. There were few personal items on the desk or shelves. It was not an office made for comfort or productivity. It was simply an office and nothing more.
He sat in his chair and turned on his computer. He entered the security code to unlock his briefcase and placed the file he got from Elena on to his desk. All during his trip back here, he had pondered that folder and its contents.
He opened the folder to a picture of Anna. Seeing the picture brought back memories of a day he'd never forget. It was in some ways the first day of his new life.
Skyview Sanitarium 1993
The slender man paced like an agitated tiger while snarling its displeasure. Smoke swirled from the cigarette in his hand while ash fell from same to the tile floor. Another slender man sat behind a heavy oak desk. Though he disguised it well, he was trembling in fear.
"I instructed YOU to keep her safe! I did everything I could to ensure she would be placed here. And she has escaped?" asked Cesar Faison of his cousin Peter Krieg. "Only the fact that we are related has saved you so far!"
"You forgot to mention she was a trained agent. Do you know how many orderlies and guards she's injured?" asked Peter. "If I had known, I could have put her in a more secure ward. The omission was yours. The expectations were too high."
"SHE was YOUR responsibility. I shall accept NO excuses!" Faison threw his still lit cigar on the ground. "Do you understand how ... MESSED UP everything is now? Do you?"
"I told you that she had help. Maybe a friend or a family member found out where she was."
Faison shook his head. "The only man who knew she was here and who would want her back is ... is busy ... will be busy for many years. I made doubly sure of that." He resumed pacing. "This was my chance. My best chance. I could help her heal. Protect them far better than he ever could."
"Them? He?" asked Peter. "Tessa Quayle, if that's her real name, has amnesia. I don't know how you could have helped her with that. My treatment was not sufficiently refined to-"
Faison whirled and looked intently at Peter. "You gave her drugs? I expressly said NO drugs!"
"Only to calm her. I swear," said Peter smoothly lying. "She is very strong-willed. Any treatment was difficult."
"That she is. Fire, wit, bravery, beauty," sighed Faison. "And lost to me AGAIN!"
"You have substantial resources. You can find her."
"She is very clever. If she does not desire to be found, she won't be," said Faison. "She has disappeared for years before. Will years pass before I look into her eyes once more?"
"She's gone. What more can any of us do?" asked Peter. Whoever the woman truly was, she was valuable to Cesar. For a time, she had been the answer to Peter's own wishes - a woman he could mold into his ideal mate. Que sera, sera, he thought. "Will you fulfill your part of the deal? I did shelter the woman at the risk of my position here."
Faison looked out the window overlooking the expansive grounds of the sanitarium. "Yes, yes, you will receive your new identity as we agreed to."
"Good. I'm grateful, Cesar."
"As am I. At least I know she's alive and will get better over time," said Faison. "I must look forward to the future. Do things as she would have wanted to if she could."
"Things?" asked Peter intrigued and perplexed.
"Never mind. None of your concern," said Faison. "On to other business. I have read your report on your analysis of the sample of carbon disulfide I gave to you. Do you believe there is more potential for it?"
Peter straighted in his chair. Without the fear of death at Cesar's hands, he lost the look of a hunted animal. "Yes, I do, especially in combination with some of my earlier work. But I need time and money and a lab to work in. I can't do it here. Too many people want my head."
"That is why you must die and be reborn as a new identity as I was," said Cesar. "I will be making arrangements per your requirements. Wait for my call and be ready to leave at a moment's notice."
"I will. The sooner the better."
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"I do not want to hear from you again directly. If you must contact me, do so through Donatella," instructed Faison.
"I am not familiar with her or her name?"
"Donatella is our Aunt Edda's youngest daughter. She ran off to Italy then the French Foreign Legion, had Donatella and died in a car accident two years ago. Donatella took charge of the Collection and maintains open communication among our family," said Faison. "At least the ones who still admit to being in our family."
"What is the Collection? Art works?" asked Peter.
"No. It is a treasure trove of all the family research," Faison looked directly at Peter. "I mean ALL the research even the ones from the ... the war years."
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Really? I only have my father's notes and research. The Collection has everything from the, um, camps?"
Faison nodded. "That and other things of interest. Between them, the ladies have successfully archived the collection and created a Library accessible via the Internet. Much of the early basic research that contributed to the development of carbon disulfide came from the Collection."
"But discreetly?"
"Naturally." Faison took a pen and scribbled a number on a piece of note paper. "This is Donatella's number. If you require me, use this number. I shall ignore any other attempts to contact me."
"And she's safe to contact?"
"Utterly." Faison smirked. "No one who knew Donatella would suspect her of anything. History marks the lives of our men but our women remain unscathed to continue on our legacy from generation to generation."
"I never knew."
"How could you living here? My father passed the old ways to me. I hated it at the time but now I see his wisdom," said Faison. "There is one more thing."
"I'm listening."
Faison tapped the note with one slim finger. "This is the only piece of information you may know about Donatella. Not her address, location, face, nothing. It is the best way to protect her."
"But if she's involved in-"
"She is not and purposely so. She may be peripherally aware of our activities but she is not to be actively involved or asked to be." Faison turned very grim. "If you put her in any danger of discovery, you WILL receive a visit from me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Cesar."
"After you establish your own identity, forget I exist."
"But-"
"It is best and safest for both of us to live with as little knowledge of the other as possible."
"And what if our work are at cross purposes in the future?"
"We shall deal with that at that time," said Faison. "Use Donatella to contact me but only for the most important of reasons. I shall do the same." He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick envelope. "Here is your new identity - Peter Sinclair. Memorize it and become this person. When all other arrangements have been made, you will be told to leave here."
Peter took the envelope. "Thank you, Cesar, for everything. Whatever you want from me in the future is yours."
"I shall remember that," said Faison.
"And the search for Tessa?"
"She and her accomplice are away. I have my men following those who attempted to assassinate her. They will not live long enough to have regrets."
Peter's mind returned to the present as he gazed down at Anna's picture.
"Now, what do I do with you? My Tessa and Cesar's Anna are one and the same. He has prior claim and he's not someone I want to cross. I owe him too much," mused Peter to himself. "But, he doesn't know I switched little birds on him. He wouldn't like that. He'd probably kill me. But you, my beauty, could buy me grace from his wrath. But I would have to tell him about the treatment I did on you, wouldn't I? He'd kill me for that, too. He'd have every right to."
"But, if he wants you as badly as I think he does, then I ought to use that to my advantage. If Anna is anything like Robin, then she would do anything for her daughter. Robin certainly has your looks and spirit. How do I get out of this mess and save myself in the process?"
Peter took out all the photos from the folder. He placed them on his desk and randomly began to move them around. He turned possibility after possibility in his mind. Finally, he said, "We need to keep things in the family. That's the answer."
His hand reached for his telephone. He began to dial a number from memory. A woman answered. He said, "Greetings to my favorite cousin. I need a favor."
Robin crouched down and hugged the wall. She had reached an intersection that she had to cross. But the intersecting hallway had a guard's desk at the far end. She would either be seen or she wouldn't. Perhaps she could time her run across.
She peered around the corner. There was no guard at the desk. She couldn't hear the ever present chatter of radios and walkie talkies either.
"Probably on Peter's special project," she murmurred.
Staying as low as she could, she sprinted across and kept running until she was stopped by a steel door and a card reader.
"Damn. Where's that pass key?" Robin patted at her pockets for Greta's key. She hastily swiped it on the reader.
The reader display said: NOT RECOGNIZED.
Peter activated the speakerphone just as Donatella Krieg answered the phone.
"Peter, this is not a good time," said Donatella. "I'm very busy."
"Is it still the business day wherever you are?" asked Peter.
"You know the rules. No information on my location. Just tell me what you want."
"I need to meet face to face with cousin Cesar."
"No."
"It's important."
"His standing orders and beyond my control," said Donatella.
"His words were if it was very important. I have information that he will find to be vital," said Peter. "Please, Dona. I am asking nicely."
"On a scale of one to five, five being critical information, how would you judge whatever bit you have there?"
"A six. No, a seven."
"What is the subject matter?" inquired Donatella.
"Two words. Anna Devane. Tell him that exactly."
There was a long pause at the other end.
"Dona? Still there?" asked Peter after some minutes of silence.
When next Dona spoke, it was in a softer, kindlier voice, "Would this have anything to do with the recent death of her daughter, Robin Scorpio?"
"What? She DIED?" exclaimed Peter.
Robin looked around once before very deliberately swiping the card through one more time.
This time the reader said: AUTHORIZED.
She heard a loud click and the sliding of bolts then one beep. She pushed past the door. Instead of running, she slowed to a walk. She was nearing the tunnel. There had to be more personnel about. The air felt cooler here. She felt a breeze. Robin stood stock still. She felt the breeze again. It wasn't a figment of her imagination.
"The outside door's open. It has to be." Robin quickened her steps. Only once did she have to duck into a side room to avoid detection. Crouching and sprinting at intervals, she made her way closer and closer to the tunnel.
With eyes still closed, Charlotte kept track of what impressions and sensations she could as she was wheeled into a freight elevator. It went down. WIth a jarring lurch, the elevator stopped.
The orderlies began to talk in a language foreign to Charlotte. By their worried tones, she could tell something unexpected had occurred. The elevator began to lurch up then down then stopped again. Something was wrong with the elevator.
She heard another voice on an intercom. It seemed to her that the voice was giving instructions. The orderlies began to work around her. They tucked her blankets around her. A heavy duvet was thrown over her.
Charlotte raised her eyelids a bare fraction. Her orderlies did not look like orderlies. They wore dark suit jacket with a golden logo on the front pocket. She couldn't tell much but the logo seemed like an hourglass figure to her. As one orderly turned, she saw a gun holster strapped to his hip. They were not orderlies but security guards.
Internally, Charlotte fought to not panic. She had a feeling that wherever they were bringing her to was not a place to her liking. She had to do something!
The elevator lights flickered once. The elevator did another upward and downward shuffle before coming to rest.
A tight knit cap was slipped over her head. She heard metal sliding on metal underneath her. Her legs and feet began to burn.