Vladivostok Hotel, Vladivostok
"Are you going to help me or not?" asked Robin facing her parents.
"Something I don't understand here," said Robert. "Why do you have to see him at all? We can go to court and have this thing overturned."
"I know we can but ... but he has my things, Dad. I want my things back," said Robin.
"What things?" asked Anna.
"My dog Jack and my Swiss bank account."
"Robin, you won't need money and-"
"Uncle Mac sold what he could but we went through all the money you left behind and the insurance real fast. I asked Uncle Sean for help. He set up the account in Switzerland and started it off," explained Robin. "Without that I couldn't afford the best drugs or go to Yale or anything."
"Oh, Sean," murmured Anna.
"Peter has my bank key, my book and he put himself as trustee due to my incapacity," said Robin. "I want what's rightfully mine."
"You don't need the money. Trust me on this," said Robert.
"What am I going to use to start my life over again? I ... I don't even know where I'm going to settle down. Home or elsewhere?" Robin glanced at Vincent who nodded back.
"You don't want to go home with us?" asked Anna.
"I don't know, Mom. I may not fit there anymore." Robin looked at her parents, at Mac, Maxie then Felicia. "I'm not rejecting any of you. I just don't know what I'll do next. But I know what I want right now. I want to put my life back to how I left it - single with the future ahead of me. That's why I need to see Peter and settle things."
"You're just going to let him get away with what he's done to you?" asked Robert. "That's not right."
"It's not right to seek vengeance either," retorted Robin.
"He has to pay, Robin," said Mac. "Justice for you and for everyone he's hurt."
"Justice isn't going to give me back the years I lost," said Robin.
"You want to forget it ever happened. I can see that viewpoint," said Anna.
"No, Mom, I'll never forget it but I can put it behind me. I don't want to waste my time hating someone. You can and Dad can but I can't," said Robin. "I don't have the time."
"And you believe that once you give him back his formulas, he'll leave you alone?" asked Robert.
"I'll make him a deal. He keeps to those," said Robin. "I know he does. Trust me to know what I'm doing."
"This has bad written all over it," said Robert.
"Andrew, Nestor, find a legal divorce document Sinclair can sign," said Anna. "We'll bring it with us."
"Anna? You can't mean-" began Robert.
"It turns my stomach to think of that man getting off scot-free but ... but I see what Robin wants and needs. That's more important," said Anna.
"I have a problem with this entire conversation," said Robert.
"We'll talk it out when we get back," said Anna. "We'll see Sinclair, get the document signed and come back for some sleep. We leave for Australia in the morning as soon as we can."
"Australia? You mean it?" asked Mac.
Robert grinned at his brother. "The old homestead, brother. You haven't been back in forever, yeah?"
Anna took Robin's hands in her own. "Will you come with us to Australia? Use the time to think and decide. Whatever you decide is fine with Dad and me. Don't make any hasty decisions, okay?"
Robin stepped into her mother's embrace. "No hasty plans. Promise."
Donely and Associates
Hands steepled, Sean prayed for patience as he prepared to end his business day a few hours early. His private secretary Faith O'Hara poked her head in.
"Anything else before I shut down, Sean?" asked Faith.
"No, go on home. Start your weekend early. It's been a good day," said Sean. "Before you go, call Tiffany and let her know that I'll stop by the station to pick her up in about an hour and a half. I want to finish a few things first."
"Anything I can help you with?"
"No, no. Just leftover business from Boston. We moved in a hurry and left a lot of loose ends. Good night, Faith."
Sean let five minutes pass before checking that Faith had gone home before he locked his office door and called the Villa. Giles' face appeared on the display.
"Giles, it's Sean. Any word on Faison's whereabouts?" asked Sean.
"Not at the moment."
"Why not?"
"It's not a priority task."
"That madman shouldn't need prioritizing!" said Sean in less than civil tones.
"Let me rephrase that. Faison has not done anything to warrant attention."
"So, you're just going to wait around?"
Giles sighed. "We do have our hands full with finding Robin. THAT needs no priority."
Chastised, Sean backed off. "Right, right. I'm sorry. Faison just hits my buttons."
"I've noticed he has that effect on people."
Sean's eye fell on the New York Times on his desk. On the front page was the story of the week - the attack on the Heritage Foundation. "How is that operation going? Any clues?"
Giles smiled. "They did find her and they're sitting down for a late dinner right now, I believe. I presumed you knew. Sorry."
"Obviously not," said Sean in a dry tone. "I'll tell Tiffany. Can we call over there? What's the time in Vienna?"
"Vladivostok time is-"
"Vladivostok? Russia? How did she get there?"
"I don't have full details. They aren't staying there though. They're bound for Australia first thing in the morning."
"How did they get from Vienna to Vladivostok?"
"Anna and Alex received a call from Robin and-"
"When?"
"The other day. They left for Vladivostok immediately."
"Amazing what happens when no one tells you anything," said Sean.
"I'm sure it was an oversight, Sean. Everything happened fast. I've only slept two hours myself," said Giles.
"Well, the important thing is Robin. I'll pick up Tiffany and let you know when to put a call through."
"Certainly," said Giles. "Not a problem."
Sean ended the call. "No, Giles, there are a lot of problems. The worst thing is that there's not a damn thing I can do about it."
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He felt in the corner for a latch and flipped it revealing a false bottom. Sometimes, the simplest hiding places were the best. He took out an untraceable prepaid cell phone and initiated a call. It was answered immediately.
"Connie, I've decided what I need to do. I want to meet and talk about it," said Sean.
"So soon?" asked Connie.
"I've been dawdling afraid to ... to commit to an action."
"Understandable. Are you sure? You sound so ... down."
"No, I'm not. That's from something else," said Sean. "I've bought a small house in Elmira, New York. You know where that is?"
"That's in the Finger Lakes area right?"
"Yeah. I put the house in the name of a retired WSB agent friend of mine. He stays there, looks after the place and keeps his mouth shut. That will be our meeting place and where I'll send information to you when I need to," said Sean. "The address is 1420 Waterston Street. It's a dead end street. Very quiet."
"When?"
"Two days from now," said Sean. "That will be our last face to face meeting. I'm going to outline my general plans and then ... then we have to work independently and separately going forward."
"I don't like the idea of you having no back up at all."
"This is the way it has to be," said Sean. "I'll see you in Elmira."
A townhouse in Port Charles
Larry Ashton, previously an aristocratic British Lord but now a mere multi-millionaire, trudged up the stairs carrying an early dinner tray for his unexpected house guest noted author P.K. Sinclair aka Cesar Faison. In his other hand he carried a wrapped package. He entered the room at the farthest end of the hallway to find Faison abed watching CNN intently.
"She was my student once, Ashton," said Faison.
"Who?"
"Elena Villiers."
"I didn't know that. There's nothing in her background to-" began Ashton.
"She was Elena Cosgrove when I knew her in the old DVX."
"I see," said Ashton.
"She was ambitious, determined and very clever. I wish I had remembered earlier. She did not deserve this fate," said Faison.
"Remember what?"
Faison chuckled. "Everything and nothing. Never mind. It is a new day for me and I intend to take full advantage of it." He patted his injured leg. "I shall be leaving tomorrow. Thank you for your hospitality."
"Of course, my pleasure. No one likes to convalesce in hospital," said Ashton. "Do you have any special instructions?"
Faison gestured at the pile of folders and documents stacked on the bedside table. "I have finished reviewing our venture's various holdings. I am impressed at what you have accomplished."
Ashton smiled then said, "It's far easier to make money legitimately when one has a great deal of money to begin with. You did give me charge over the company in your, um, absence. I did my best." He cleared his throat. "Forgive me, but I am curious about why you've changed your mind?"
"Why I have decided to resume my destiny and cease hiding away like some leper?"
"Yes. You were extremely adamant that you desired to relegate that life to the past. You placed me and the others in charge of your, um, interests."
"TImes change and people change. You are a perfect example of that." Faison took a long drag on his cigar. "From aristocratic bon vivant to scheming financial mastermind to what are you now?"
"Um, conservative international financier and investor in worthwhile companies needing a hand," said Ashton. "And all around good citizen of the world."
"That is very good," said Faison with an sly chuckle.
"I thought so. It's a very flexible outlook."
"Yet you have remained constant to one goal - the leaving of a financially solid and respectable legacy for your heirs."
"Ned is an Ashton first before he was a Quartermaine. If my battle axe of an ex-wife, Tracy, rubs her family money and respectability into my face one more time, well, I may do someone harm."
"You were wise in that, too. You do not let your women be more than bed warmers or mothers. I must try to emulate that."
Ashton shifted his feet. "I don't know if I could turn away from a ... a grand passion. Having never felt that, I envy you that experience."
Faison's hand slashed through the air. "Don't. It can be unhealthy to change yourself simply to please someone else. I am what and who I am. I accept that now and so must everyone else. Romantic love, bah!"
"May I assume that Anna is out of your system?"
"She is no longer my drug of choice." Faison ground his cigar into the ashtray. "I am quite convinced of her ... lack of feeling for me. A waste of my valuable time to dwell on mistakes."
"Then I should stop keeping tabs on Andrew for you?"
"No. That must continue. My son cannot be cut out of my life as easily as his mother," said Faison. "Our paths will intersect when the time is right for both of us. Continue to watch from a distance. In the meantime, I wish you to transfer one third of the funds in the, what did you call it, the rainy day fund to my discretionary account."
"I will wire it immediately. Anything else?"
"Are you certain we have no exposure from the D99 mess?"
"None directly. Everything was kept in my dear wife Arielle's name. Her attempts at forging my signature are, um, well documented in case of inquiries, in addition to her blackmail threats, of course," said Ashton.
"Where is she now?"
"I have no idea. She filed the divorce papers, disappeared to parts unknown to mourn her dead brother and is probably selling off her assets to raise funds. Why do you ask?"
"Because I suspect that she knows where Helena Cassadine is. She and I have unsettled business as I recall."
"She's left the country."
"Is that a fact?"
"An assumption based on previous patterns. She plans. Her plans are foiled. She retreats to her island. Then she returns like swallows to Capistrano."
"I must defer dealing with Helena until I have the luxury of time," said Faison. His eyes went to the television where a reporter was interviewing a distressed Dr. Lara Larchenko valiantly undertaking the role of acting President of the Foundation. "A terrorist attack? Is that the prevailing theory? How unoriginal."
"Non-profit foundations are not blown up every day. I doubt that a gas leak was to blame."
"That was not a terrorist attack."
"How can you be sure of that?"
Faison looked at his injured leg. "Terrorist attacks are usually examples of brute force - the more public the better. This operation had a certain finesse about it. It only looks like a terrorist operation. That's by design I suspect."
"So, who's responsible?"
"I doubt that that information will ever surface. How convenient that any electronic surveillance is probably destroyed," said Faison. "Let's move on to things we can control shall we? One thing you must do for me and which is of the utmost importance, Larry."
"What's that, Cesar?"
"Be certain that the transactions you carried out immediately after mine and Leopold's arrests are untraceable to us. Check them again."
Ashton looked thoughtful. "You're speaking of the paperwork for NannyCare International? Taking an interest after all this time?"
"Sources of information are always valuable. There must be NO links back to me. None whatsoever," said Faison.
"There are none. It is a duly established enterprise. You are not mentioned in any documentation at all. It's initial funding is from legitimate sources," supplied Ashton. "It's professional reputation is impeccable."
"How is NannyCare doing?"
"Very well. Rather turnkey. Your, um, proxy runs the enterprise quite efficiently."
"Yes, she is very devoted and discreet," said Faison. "Virtues that I am finding to be invaluable."
"Wasn't there something that Leopold Taub had in his keeping connected to NannyCare? I remember him crowing about it once."
"A microdot embedded in an antique Sphinx stamp. It was the earliest data store for NannyCare's first reincarnation - the Nanny Network," said Faison. "It was a rudimentary cipher but it served its purpose at the time. Leopold held it over me to assure my loyalty."
"Where is the stamp or the microdot now?" asked Ashton.
"I'm assuming that the WSB has it. The data doesn't matter. I simply do not want any possible linkage between the old and the new. Absolute secrecy, Ashton."
"I see. It's why I don't know who your proxy is or where she is."
"Exactly. Consider NannyCare our private form of insurance," said Faison. "More than ever, information is power and influence and NannyCare's primary currency is access to those with the information."
"Thank you for thinking of my exit strategy, Cesar."
"You've been one of the few who have remained loyal through ... everything. I haven't forgotten THAT," said Faison. "Tomorrow, I begin the next phase of my plan."
"The same plan as before?" asked Ashton.
"Yes. Aborted for years but still valid. Some things don't change, fortunately. I'll be leaving for St. Petersburg tomorrow afternoon. It is best that we do not see each other face to face going forward. It's too dangerous."
"I agree. How do we communicate?"
"Let me think upon that. For now we will use the old postcard method."
"All right. I think I remember how that's done." Ashton held up the wrapped package. "Here. I took it out of the bank as you requested."
Faison accepted the package and immediately tore the wrappings off revealing a small metal case. He did not miss Ashton's curiousity. "This is my old insurance policy, Ashton. It's time I used it." He took out several pouches. He loosened the string of one emerald pouch and shook out the contents.
Ashton gazed on a curious sight - Faison grinning as he closely examined four antique Roman coins.
"Do you know what this is, Ashton?" asked Faison.
"Other than the obvious, no," said Ashton.
"It means checkmate. Long live the King!"
Seven Feet Yacht Club, Vladivostok
Jack lay sleeping on the couch in the yacht's main salon. Peter swirled his brandy. Strewn in front of him were newspapers detailing the attack in Vienna.
"Well, Jack, here we are alone and awaiting our fate," said Peter in a slightly slurred voice. "I have no formula to deliver the vials with. Cousin Cesar will have my guts for garters. I can't avoid meeting with him. Maybe, I can fall at his feet and beg for mercy. Unlikely to work but I have to try something, don't I?"
The door of the salon opening made him look up. But he was too far gone in his melancholy and drink to care who his visitors were.
CLICK.
A faint hum was heard followed by the hiss of a recording being played back.
A voice, angry, defiant and shrill, filled the room, "Get them! Promise me! They did this to me! My blood is on his hands! Promise me, Helena!"
Another voice sad yet refined came next. "Yes, Elena, I promise. They will pay."
"It's getting so hot in here. He just ... just left me to die like an animal! Bastard! Take care of Peter. Whatever he is, I do forgive him. Find him. Keep him safe. His p-p-people killed Roger. I'm sure of it. Promise me that I will have vengeance!"
"We promise," came a younger voice. "The world will feel your vengeance."
"I don't care about the world anymore," said Elena. "Scorpio. Kill him and everyone he loves and- aargh!"
CLICK
The recording stopped.
"Peter, I'm Helena Cassadine," said the statuesque blonde. "Elena was my dear friend."
"Come with us," said a young brunette. "Call me Arielle. I'm here to help"
Peter put his drink down. "Two women against what - a small army? Do you even know what you're facing? How will you get vengeance? What do you have?"
Armed and masked figures clad in dark fatigues entered the salon. Helena and Arielle seemed to ignore them. A third voice sounded.
"We have solidarity and a common purpose. Mountains have been moved with less," said the woman. She leaned heavily on a cane. "Hello, Doctor Sinclair. You don't remember me but I remember you. I remember everything. My name is Charlotte."
Peter felt his hands and arms being pulled at. He resisted. "I've lost everything! Just leave me alone!"
Helena took his hand. "We can't do that. We need you as much as you need us, Peter."
"But I don't ... I don't have it anymore," said Peter.
"It?" asked Arielle.
"My formulas. Decades of research gone. Taken by that ... that bitch Robin!" yelled Sinclair. "I need my research."
A small smile tugged at the corners of Charlotte's mouth. "Oh, she was feisty. A fighter through and through and admirably devious."
"If it's that important to you, we'll get it back," said Helena. "Do we know where they are?"
"Yes, Helena," said Charlotte.
Sinclair rooted through his desk drawers. "She'll want this in ... in exchange. It's only fair." He tossed a bank passbook on the table.
"The family is all here. Why not take care of them all now?" asked Arielle. "Give me a gun and I'll fire the first shot."
"Not a bad idea," said Charlotte. "Simple and to the point. I like it."