Although the individual story ideas are mine, the characters are not and nor is the central concept of The Pretender. They belong to TNT, MTM and NBC productions, as well as the fertile imaginations of Craig Mitchell and Steven Van Sickle.

Original characters are mine and I would beg you not to use them without my permission.


Escape From Alcatraz
Part 1


Joshua

The boy reached out for the phone as it rang, not taking his eyes off the book in his hand, but the ringing stopped an instant before he picked up the receiver. Murmuring from the other room told him that it was for her and he turned his attention back to his novel. Several minutes later, a click revealed to him that the call was finished, and he sat up as the door of his room opened.

“You’re still awake?”

“Yeah.” He sheepishly ran a hand through his hair. “I got into the book.”

The young woman grinned, her bright blue eyes dancing. “I know the feeling. Don’t stay up too late, okay, Josh?”

“Are you going out?” he demanded.

“For a little while,” she answered cautiously. “I’ve got a few people to meet, but I should be back by morning, say eight.”

“If you’re not, I’ll call out the cavalry,” Joshua promised, watching her shrug into her coat and wrap a scarf around her neck. “Have a good night, Prodge.”

“You, too.” She cast a lopsided grin in his direction, a dimple appearing in her cheek, before she shut the door. Minutes later, he heard the key locking the front door and then the garage door opening.

*~*~*~*~*

When Joshua came into the kitchen the next morning, the young woman already sat at the table, reading the paper. He fetched a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice and sat down opposite her, picking up the sports pages.

“What time’d you get in?” he asked around the first mouthful, and she grinned.

“About four.” Her eyes fixed thoughtfully on his elbow, which rested on the table, and he quickly slid his hand down onto his lap. “Busy day ahead?”

“Not really. A few classes, but that’s it.” He spooned in and rapidly chewed through a mouthful of cornflakes. “You?”

“An article to finish editing, so that we can eat for another week.” She cast an eye over his lanky form. “It used to be so much cheaper before you came.”

“What’d you reckon would happen if the editors of those papers found out what you did between articles?” he suggested, ignoring this. His voice deepened dramatically. “By day, Shannon is a mild-mannered newspaper editor, but by night…”

“Stop it!” she protested, throwing the paper at him and standing up to grab a pear out of the fruit bowl. Sitting down again, she began to slice and core it. “Will you be home for lunch?”

“Depends on who’s doing what after class. Why, did you have anything special planned?”

Shannon smiled, reaching into her bag and producing two tickets. “A friend got them for me and I had this idea you might feel like going to a special audience test screening of the third Lord of the Rings movie this afternoon. We can go out for dinner after.”

“Oh, man!” Joshua’s brown eyes shone with delight. “I love your friends!”

“I’ll meet you outside the Plaza cinema at four thirty. The show stars at five, but we can stock up on popcorn first.”

“Cool!”

“I only have two tickets,” she warned him, “and I’m not giving up mine to anybody, so you can just hold your tongue about it at school and act all superior tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure.” He snatched an apple out of the fruit bowl as he stood up. Joshua’s bag lay near the door and he picked it up, shouldering it. “I’ll see you there at four thirty.”

“Have a good one,” she responded, carrying his bowl over to the sink with her own dishes and beginning to rinse them as he shut the door behind him and went to get his bike.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon picked up the phone, her eyes still fixed on the screen in front of her, picking out and correcting the mistakes in the article she had received the night before, after getting back from the cinema.

“Hello?”

“It’s Nat, Prodge. How’re you doing?”

“Hey, Nat!” She pushed away from the desk and turned the chair to look out of the window next to her. “What’s up?”

“You busy tomorrow night?”

Shannon grinned. “Are you asking me out or wanting my help?”

The man on the other end chuckled. “Which would you rather?”

“I want you to tell me that project’s ready for my input.”

“It is,” he affirmed. “I wanted to check with you about tomorrow night being best.”

She started up a program and produced a digital 3-D model of the building. “What’s security like?”

“Lax, at that hour. Most of the big-shots have left already, at least by the time you’ll be leaving.”

“Parking?”

“Pick me up at eight. I’ll check in for duty and come up to help you.”

“Make sure you do and the next time we talk, I’ll accept the invite of a date,” she teased him. “And what do I look like?”

“You’re Italian, with green eyes, red hair and darkly tanned skin. I’m sending you a picture now.”

Shannon opened it and laughed. “Well, it’s certainly different,” she joked. “And should I look like it when we go out, as well?”

“Let’s get this over with first,” Nat told her sternly. “This is the biggest you’ve done.”

“I know,” she responded solemnly. “I’ll see you at eight, at your place, tomorrow night.”

Disconnecting the call, she raced through the remainder of the article and then sent it off. Getting to her feet, she knelt beside the bed and pulled out a large box, opening it on the mattress. Using the photo as a guide, she selected the correct hair and skin color packages, carrying them into the bathroom, to be applied later. Turning she found Joshua standing behind her.

“Is this the big one?” he demanded. “I know you’ve been planning it for a while.”

“You know I don’t talk about what I do,” she snapped. “Not even to you, Joshua.”

“Take me with you,” he begged. “If this is the big one, the more help you’ve got, the better.”

“No,” she responded sharply. “I’m not risking your life on this.”

“You’re risking your own.”

“It’s my life and I can do what I want with it,” she told him angrily. “But, whether you like it or not, you’re under my guardianship and I say no.”

She brushed past him, going into her room and slamming the door behind her, sitting down at her computer again and using it to mentally walk through the plan for the following night. Joshua had been correct when he said this was the big project, one to which she had been working since her rescue. It was also one of the most dangerous she had ever attempted. Despite her belief in her ability to pull it off, she couldn’t deny a tremor of nervousness as she began to prepare for putting her long period of planning into practice.

*~*~*~*~*

The sun was sinking towards the horizon when Shannon stepped out of the shower and began to rub the tanning cream over her hands, face and neck, paying special attention to the area around her hairline. A few minutes later, as she put the bottle down, her skin was significantly darker. The next bottle provided the dye for her hair, and she combed it through carefully. Her mouth already held several prostheses that would alter her jaw line and the position of her cheekbones. Practice had enabled her to talk clearly around them. A pair of green contacts completed the look, making her appear to be a different person.

“Signora Maria Lanzano,” she murmured softly to herself, shaking out the red skirt in which she was attired, before she looked at herself in the mirror, her eye caught by the necklace she wore, the crucifix hanging from it and imitating the Boss in her whispered exclamation. “Oh God, I hope this works.”

Her hands fell to her sides after fastening her hair up on top of her head and washing the dye off her hands. It would take a special cream to remove the fake tan, and it couldn’t afford to come off until she was safely home again, hopefully having completed this mission.

The house was quiet when she left the bathroom and pulled on her white shirt, knowing that the dye was dry enough not to transfer onto the material. Standing in front of the mirror, she penciled a few lines onto her face, instantly aging herself several years. This was one of the things she did best: disguise. It explained her value to the team that used her. That, and her ability to be anyone she wanted to be.

*~*~*~*~*

“You have 30 minutes until you’re due to arrive in the building,” the man told her softly from the front seat of the car, his hand on the handle, waiting to exit it, his eyes fixed on the large building ahead of them. “The parking space is available – we made sure of that – and the car be ready to go when you get out.”

“Did you talk to Cici?”

“She’ll be waiting at your house when you arrive. If you don’t need her, she’ll leave again.”

“Nat?”

“He’s already waiting. He’ll set everything up and then be at the car when you get back to it.”

“And you, Dan?”

“I’ll call you with the signal if it’s clear.”

“When?”

“Three hours after you leave here, to the minute. You’ll be home by then.”

“Assuming it goes to plan,” Shannon murmured.

“It will.” Dan’s hand came down on hers, squeezing gently. “It has to.”

His hand lifted and then he was out of the car, using the shadows to disguise his path over to the patch of darkness in which another car waited. Although the woman couldn’t see it, she knew that the drivers were switched, the man who had been sitting in the car with the engine running, so the bonnet would be sufficiently warm to suggest that it had been driven some distance, replaced by Dan, who would then drive into the parking lot of the building.

The passenger door opened and the other man slid into the seat, placing a package on his knee and flipping it open. She presented her left wrist and he attached a watch, containing a case in which was nestled a pill in case things went disastrously wrong. Her eyes were immediately fixed on it, trying to imagine how it would feel to take it. Her mind refused to accept the idea.

A small gun appeared as if by magic on her knee, and she hoisted up her skirts and slipped it into the hem of the garment, knowing that the casing in which it was contained would protect it from magnetic detection. This group was organized and planned ahead for these missions. However, they also lost agents at a steady rate, and Shannon couldn’t help wondering if this was her turn.

“Ready?” the man growled softly, and she nodded.

“This has been a long time coming.”

“You’ve proved your worth time and time again,” her companion agreed. “That’s why we’ve given you such an important target.”

“I value that.” Her finger gently stroked the face of the watch.

“This is what you’ll need to set the scene,” she was told, and a small bag was placed in her hand. “You’ve been a doctor for years, or that’s what they believe, and you know how to administer this with the least fuss.”

“It won’t hurt for long,” she promised, half to herself, accepting the case. “Not him.”

“No, it won’t,” he agreed. “Nat will be waiting for your signal. You know what to say.”

“We’ve been through this,” she reminded him. “I know what to do.”

He turned his head, his eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. “I don’t want to lose you, Shannon,” he murmured. “If you know it all, that’s not as likely to happen.”

“This will be a success,” she told her companion firmly. “This is the one we can’t afford to fail on, and we won’t. I won’t.”

“Good luck, Prodge,” he murmured, slipping out of the car and into the darkness. A subdued roar told her that the motorbike had taken off and she was alone.

Checking her watch, she knew it was time and started the car, driving it into the parking lot and to the space she had been told was left for her. It was in shadow, she noticed at once, but also only a short distance from the rear entrance. Gathering her things, she got out and casually locked it, her attitude relaxed as she mounted the few stairs and entered the building, mentally controlling the pace of her heart. Her papers were presented at the desk and passed with barely a glance. She looked around, as if mildly interested, recognizing the interior from the many photos she had seen and memorized.

“Signora Lanzano?”

She turned at once, hearing her heart pounding rapidly in her ears as a lump formed in her throat, which she hastily swallowed. “Si.”

A bald-headed man stood a short distance away, his hand clutching a small trolley, on which lay an oxygen tank. He smiled. “I assume you speak English, Signora. My Italian is a little rusty.”

“I do, Signore,” she agreed, stepping forward and offering her hand.

“My name is Raines,” he told her, his voice grating and making her feel slightly ill at the sound of it as he shook her hand. She knew about this man, much more than she wanted to. “If you will follow me, I will take you down to the room where people are expecting you.”

The fake Signora Lanzano accepted her papers from the reception desk and affixed her card with her picture to her shirt, pulling it straight as she followed Raines to the elevator. He chatted lightly as the car descended, and she kept an eye on the board above the doors, already aware of her destination.

“You have a large complex here, Signore Raines,” she commented, in heavily accented English. “This must be a difficult place to organize.”

Raines’ features darkened instantly. “Unfortunately, ma’am, I haven’t had the opportunity of being in charge here myself. My work is restricted to some of our projects. However, I believe it would be a heavy responsibility, yes.”

She nodded solemnly, feeling the large gold loops in her ears brush coldly against her neck. “And is it one of your projects with whom I shall have the pleasure of working?”

“Again, no, Signora Lanzano,” he stated, his voice lowering to an even deeper growl. “But this is a very interesting subject. I’m sure you will find working with him a fascinating experience.”

The doors of the elevator opened at that point, and it was an effort for the woman to refrain from a sigh of relief as several men in dark suits joined them, meaning that she was no longer alone with Raines. Numerous other guards were waiting in a room to which Raines directed her, along with two men, one in a paler suit with white hair and the other in a black outfit, with dark hair and eyes, who remained seated as the older man rose.

“Sydney, this is Signora Maria Lanzano,” Raines began, indicating the woman. “Signora Lanzano, Sydney is one of our psychiatrists and has been Jarod's handler since he began working here.”

“A pleasure,” she murmured, offering her hand again. Sydney accepted it with a faint smile.

“You are Italian, I believe, Signora,” he stated, and she nodded.

“That is correct, Signore. I was born in the south of the country and emigrated here to America a number of years ago. I hope that you will pardon any errors in my English, but it is still a new language for me.”

“You speak it perfectly, madam,” he complimented her. “However, if you would prefer it, we could converse in your native tongue.”

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” Raines growled, and turned away without another word, many of the sweepers accompanying him out of the room.

Sydney waited until he was gone before waving the woman to a seat and taking one opposite. “I understand that you have been involved in studying people of abnormally high intelligence,” he began. “It would be fascinating work.”

“It is,” she assured him honestly. “It is an area of particular fascination for me. I do appreciate this chance to work with your subject.”

The psychiatrist indicated the younger man, who still remained silent. “This is Jarod,” he told the woman. “I’m not sure precisely what information you’ve received about him.”

“Some.” She smiled slightly. “And what I have read intrigues me. It will be a pleasure to get to know such a powerful mind more intimately.”

“I can imagine.” Sydney passed over a folder, which contained all the details necessary to work with this project. “I will be interested to read your report.”

“I have no doubt.” She watched the man rise to his feet and say goodbye to his student, nodding as he left the room. Only one sweeper remained when the door slid closed behind the psychiatrist and was locked. The only way out now was the key hanging from the sweeper’s belt, and Dan’s eyes were blank, showing no recognition. She let out a slow breath and turned her head to find Jarod watching her.

“From where in Italy do you come, Signora?” he asked curiously, in fluent Italian, and she arched an eyebrow.

“I believe it will be better, Jarod, if I ask the questions and you answer them. Now, you were given a simulation to complete for my arrival, I understand.”

“Si, Signora.” He rose from his chair and waited for her to rise also before leading the way across the room to the corner where the results waited. His explanation took almost twenty minutes, and then she waved at a chair that stood in the corner.

“Sit down, Jarod.”

He obeyed immediately, watching as she extracted a case from her pocket and placed it on the table, opening it and extracting a syringe. As she filled it, she could see tension rising in him.

“I don’t generally receive artificial aids to help me with my work, Signora,” he protested quietly, in his native tongue.

“This will be most beneficial to me, to ensure I get accurate results for the project I have in mind,” she responded, approaching him and seeing as the sweeper also moved to his side, seeming to wait in case Jarod reacted violently. However, the Pretender allowed her to inject the contents of the syringe without any response.

She turned to Dan once the shot had been given. “That will require approximately thirty minutes of incubation,” she ordered. “Escort Jarod to his room and bring him back in,” she stood back and appraised the subject, “forty-five minutes, just to make sure it worked.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The sweeper waited until Jarod was standing and then went with him to the door, using the card at his belt to release the lock. The woman returned to the table, laying out objects from the case and flipping the folder open, occasionally glancing at her notes.

Suddenly the lights in the room dimmed and she left the objects where they lay, hurrying to the air vent and easing the cover open. Inside, from the dim light cast by other covers, she could see the passage that would lead to the other exit and she hurried soundlessly along it. The cover already stood ajar for her exit and she slipped into the room, checking that the hallway was empty before hurrying to the service elevator.

Inside, she inserted a key into the lock and released the panel to reveal the wiring, setting it to go directly to the ground floor. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears now, her eyes fixed on the lights indicating the floors, as they rose up through the last few underground levels. Reaching into the hem of her skirt, she pulled out the small gun, cocking it and then turning the key in the lock to seal up the panel, allowing the elevator to stop at the ground floor.

The doors slid open to reveal a thankfully empty hallway. She eased along it, her eyes flickering around the dimly lit space, her mouth tasting metallic. Her fingers tightening around the gun in her hand, she moved up to the external door. A box mounted on the wall beside it revealed that it was locked, and she mentally counted down the last few seconds in which the security system would be on a loop, knowing that the door would be unlocked for the quick half-second during which the system would be returning to normal.

The lights dipped and she pushed the door opened, lifting her skirts and slipping out of the door, letting it fall shut silently behind her. Two shadows already waited in the car as she hurried to it. A moment later, she was in the driver’s seat and pulling out of the space.

“Jarod okay?”

“He’s out,” Nat’s voice told her out of the darkness. “But he’ll be okay.”

“Now we just have to get out of here,” she murmured, fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel, disliking driving without lights, although she did it regularly.

Suddenly, there was a mass of shouting and yelling from her right and her head whipped around in that direction. A figure could be seen racing towards the car, several sweepers in pursuit, and the breath caught in her throat in a horrified gasp as moonlight made identification of the figure a possibility.

“Get out of here,” Nat ordered. “Now, before they catch us!”

“No,” she snapped back, reaching over to throw open the passenger door and revving the motor so he would hear it. The figure hurled himself into the seat and slammed the door shut after him, at which point Shannon threw the vehicle into gear.

The car flew through the carpark and Shannon flicked on the headlights, aware that secrecy was no longer possible. As the boy beside her fought to catch his breath, she heard yells from behind them and then the first of numerous dull pops.

“Get down!” she shouted about the noise. “They’re shooting.”

Joshua slid down onto the floor of the passenger seat and she could just make out the darkened shadows on the floor of the back seat when she turned to look back over her shoulder.

“They won’t shoot to kill,” Nat yelled about the noise. “They wouldn’t want to kill him.”


“They don’t know he’s here,” she shrieked back, steering the car towards the exit. “They’re after Josh, not Jarod.”

She heard a curse from the back seat but her attention was immediately diverted by the sight of the boom gate beginning to lower. Forcing her foot flat against the floor of the car, she heard the engine scream in protest, but the vehicle leapt forward. At the same time, however, a sharp crack to her left was followed by the window shattering. Pressing her head back against the headrest of the seat, she felt the bullet whistle past, seeing out of the corner of her eye as the passenger side window suddenly turned white.

The boom gate scraped along the top of the car as it went down, and then she felt a sudden blow to her upper arm that knocked the breath out of her. Pain came next, an agonizing pain, which, in a normal situation, would have made her scream, but she couldn’t afford the luxury of that now, and she tried to ignore the white-hot agony as she forced the car to its limits.

For a few seconds, apart from the high-pitched sound of the engine, there was silence, before suddenly headlights through the rearview mirror lit up the inside of the car.

“Is the rendezvous point ready?” Shannon demanded through gritted teeth.

“Yes, at the place we planned it,” Nat responded curtly.

She nodded once, recalling the discussion about escape plans and plotting her actions when she arrived at the point.

“God, there’s heaps of them,” Nat reported, sounds suggesting that he was pulling himself back onto the seat again. Suddenly his voice yelled loudly in her ear over the revving engines of their own car and the ones behind. “Go, Shannon. We should be able to outrun them.”

Nodding again, she pressed her foot to the floor again, feeling wind rush past her face from the broken window. Breathing would have been difficult in normal times, but, with her injury, it was even more of an effort, however she tried to force that away.

A hill loomed ahead and she knew that just over the top of it was the place that the set-up waited for them. There was a short distance between them and the first of the black sedans, so she was able to flash her lights in the prearranged signal and then extinguish her headlights, steering the car into an area of bushes and then around them to conceal it from the oncoming cars.

Killing the engine, she placed her uninjured hand on Joshua’s shoulder, preventing him from rising, watching as the Centre’s cars flew past in pursuit of the other vehicle. Suddenly there was silence and she turned to look at her backseat passengers.

“Everyone still alive?”

“Yeah.” Nat’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Good driving, Prodge.”

“How’s our passenger?”

“All right.” His gaze rolled around to where Joshua was slowly climbing back onto the passenger seat, his eyes wide with terror. “What kind of an idiotic thing did you think you were doing?!” Nat raged. “Do you have any idea how important it is that nothing goes wrong with these operations? Did you want to kill us all?”

“Not now,” Shannon intervened. “Let’s wait until we get away from here. Personally, I don’t feel safe yet. A second team could follow the first.”

“Fine,” Nat snapped, with difficulty pulling Jarod up onto the back seat, and the woman could see that the Pretender’s eyes were closed and he was limp, the drug she had administered having sedated him sufficiently to allow him to be smuggled out of the building, as Nat did up seatbelts to keep the unconscious body still. “Let’s get out of here.”

*~*~*~*~*

The gate was already open when they approached it, and, as they drove along the driveway, the woman shut it behind them, heaving a sigh of relief when it was closed. Pulling the car up to the door, she saw two people come out of her house and approach the car. Exhaling slowly, she turned to Joshua.

“Go inside,” she stated coldly, as the back door of the car was opened and two people helped Nat to carry Jarod into the building. “We’ll talk about this later.”

He shot her a scared look and obeyed immediately, leaving her to back the car into the garage with one hand, the other arm throbbing so agonizingly that she was unable to lift it out of her lap.

“It’s over,” she stated aloud, trying to calm herself and halt the adrenalin rush. “It worked. You did it. He’s safe.”

The relief was undeniable as she shut the car door and staggered into the house on weak legs, her right hand pressed over the wound on her left arm. Closing the garage door, she entered the living room to see Nat sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands and Joshua standing awkwardly opposite him.

“I can’t deal with you now,” the man snapped. “Go to bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“It’s already morning,” Shannon interrupted. “It’s just past two.”

Joshua turned as she spoke, his eyes widening in horror as he looked at her. “Geez, Shannon,” he breathed. “What happened?”

“Your idiocy,” she snapped. “Go to bed, Josh. Now.”

Nat looked up sharply at her tone, bounding to his feet as he saw the red-soaked shirt she wore and the blood oozing from between her fingers. “Glory be,” he murmured, helping her to a seat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We didn’t have time,” she explained, looking down at her shirt, grinning wryly. “I guess this will need to be dry-cleaned before it can go back into the dress-up box.”

“Cici,” Nat called loudly, ignoring this. “Bring your case here.”

A tall woman with blond hair and sparkling green eyes appeared in the doorway a moment later, hurrying to the duo when she saw the blood and opening a case she carried onto the table.

“Bullet wound?” she suggested, soaking cotton wool with some antiseptic and dabbing at the arm and shoulder.

“Yes,” Shannon agreed. “And I’m going to need a few new car windows.”

“The Centre can pay for those,” Nat ground out, his eyes full of concern. “They caused them.”

“Do we know about the others?” the injured woman panted, as the wound began to throb.

“Dan called. They’re safe,” another man told her as he appeared in the doorway, running a hand through his hair, which showed numerous gray strands. “And apparently the pursuit cars headed back to the Centre about an hour ago.”

“Good.” She leaned against the man who still stood beside her, closing her eyes. His hand gently stroked her hair and she let out a deep sigh.

“This will hurt, Prodge,” Cici stated evenly. “Sorry.”

“It already hurts,” Shannon retorted.

“A lot,” the doctor added, and then the younger woman could feel cold metal against her skin. A shaft of pain shot along her arm and she clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around her red skirt. “Okay, it’s out.”

There was a rattle on the table and Shannon opened her eyes to see a small bullet lying on the wood. Her eyes swiveled round to see that a bandage was being applied to the wound on her arm.

“You’re lucky,” Cici told her. “Another inch or two higher and it could have shattered the bone. But that should heal in a week or two.” She fetched a triangular bandage out of the kit and knotted it gently around Shannon’s neck before settling her arm into it. “That’s it,” she reported. “Go to bed now, and in the morning I’ll check it again.”

“Are you staying?” Shannon asked. “Or will you come back?”

“I’ll stick around to keep an eye on Jarod,” the other woman answered, peeling off a pair of latex gloves and starting to pack her things away as the older man collected the trash and threw it into the bin in the kitchen. “Unless you don’t want me here.”

Shannon reached out and grabbed her hand with a grin. “Don’t be daft,” she scolded the woman, good-naturedly. “Of course I do. Can you find somewhere to sleep?”

“The sofa’ll do,” the doctor responded, gently pushing the woman in the direction of her room. “Go to bed, Prodge.”

“But take out those contact lenses first,” the older man suggested. “Or you’ll have sore eyes when you get up.”

“And let me have that shirt when you take it off so that we can wash out the blood,” Cici added.

“Any other instructions?” the woman joked. “Or can I actually go now?”

Shannon felt Nat’s hand come to rest on her uninjured shoulder, walking her out of the room and in the direction of her bedroom. “Want something to help you sleep?” he offered, but she shook her head.

“No, thanks for offering. You know how I feel about drugs.”

“You did well, Prodge,” he told her warmly. “Very well.”

She shot him a wry grin as she went into the bathroom and began washing the hand of her unhurt arm, preparatory to removing her contacts. “Does this mean I graduate to the big league?”

“It’s likely,” he agreed. “As soon as you get over the injury anyway.”

The woman managed to ease out the two colored lenses, placing them in the relevant containers and then wiping her watering eyes with a damp facecloth. It was a relief to look up at her familiar blue eyes when she raised her head. Nat leaned against the closed bathroom door, his darkly tanned arms folded across his muscular chest and his gray eyes watching her closely, shadows obvious under them. His light brown hair was short, except for a cowlick that hung down into his eyes.

“You look tired,” she suggested.

“I am,” he agreed somewhat testily. “Maybe I wouldn’t be quite so bad if that little idiot – “

“He was only trying to help,” Shannon interrupted quietly. “He figured out what this plan involved and wanted to be a part of it.”

“I thought he would have remembered the dangers involved in his own rescue and realized that we can’t have people messing it up.”

“How could he?” she asked reasonably. “We used the same process on Josh that we used on Jarod, so how could he possibly be expected to remember it when he wasn’t conscious?”

Nat sighed deeply. “You’re right, darn you,” he admitted after a second, suddenly grinning. “Why is it that you can still think clearly when you’re so tired that you can barely able to stand up and I can’t?”

She grinned at him. “I’m female.”

He swung a mock punch in her direction. “Go to bed, Prodge. You’re getting annoying now.”

“You’re standing in the doorway,” she reminded him sweetly. “How can I?”

The man stepped aside, offering a deep bow. “My humblest apologies, your Majesty. Can I do anything else for your gracious Highness before you retire for the night?”

“You can go home, sleep for a bit, and come back feeling cheerful,” she told him. “And you can present a non-biased and unexaggerated report of what happened tonight to the Boss.”

He grinned, gently pulling her towards him and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. “Go to bed and try to sleep, okay, partner? I’ll do my best to obey orders.”

She hugged him with one hand. “Good night, Nat. You too.”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 2


Shannon

Shannon heard a noise and tensed, cursing silently as pain flashed up her left arm. Turning her head in the direction of the door, she saw the handle gradually begin to go down and slid her hand under her pillow, where her gun lay. The cautiousness of the motion gave her the idea that it wasn’t Cici coming to check on her, so she was wary. The sun was starting to rise and she knew she would get a clear shot at the intruder in the limited light that shone around the thick curtains hanging over her window.

“Who is it?” she asked sharply, her voice covering the sound of her releasing the safety.

“Me, Josh,” a voice muttered, and she breathed a sigh of relief, securing the gun and replacing it under the pillow as he opened the door.

“You shouldn’t do that,” she scolded gently. “You know I have weapons in here. One day I might shoot you.”

The boy sniffed and rubbed a hand over his nose as he nodded. Shannon held out her uninjured arm and he crossed the room, sinking down onto the floor beside the bed and taking her hand in both of his.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a muffled voice, and she released his hold to smooth his hair.

“Have you been worrying about me, Josh?” she asked gently, seeing him nod reluctantly. “It’s just a flesh wound, baby,” she promised. “I’ll be all right.”

His brown eyes suddenly filled as he looked up. “I only wanted to help,” he sobbed. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, but I thought maybe I could do something.”

Shannon pulled him up gently onto the bed, wriggling over so that he had room to sit and easing down his head so that she could kiss it. His arms wrapped around her neck and his head rested against her chest as she hugged him, his body still shaking with sobs and his white face gleaming in the dimly lit room.

“It’s okay, Josh,” she soothed, feeling his tears soak the front of her t-shirt. “Really, it is. You just wanted to play a part in this one. I realize that. I’m sorry I got mad before, but I was worried about you, and about all of us.”

Joshua snuggled closer to her, sniffing back his tears and nodding.

“I know it’s hard,” she continued. “You’re a lot more mature than other kids your age and I cut you more slack than your friends, so it’s confusing to know what you can do and what’s beyond you. I’m sorry for that, sending out those confusing signals. But it’ll get easier, baby, I promise. As you get older, it all makes more sense.”

“What would’ve happened if you hadn’t come back?” he asked piteously, hiccoughing. “I know about the gun an’ all, an’ how dangerous the Centre is. What would have happened to me?”

She sighed deeply, realizing suddenly how much she had to do for this boy, thinking that the past nine months hadn’t even touched on it. “We never managed to talk about that, did we?” She kissed his hair. “Sit up, sweetie, and we’ll talk about it now.”

He struggled into a sitting position, picking up the pillows from the floor and tucking one of them in behind his back while Shannon piled the others behind her, eventually settling back against them, the sling holding her arm in position. The boy took her other hand, holding it firmly in his lap.

“Things are a little different now that Jarod's here,” she began gently. “Before, it would have been up to you, whether you wanted to go and live with Nat, or maybe Cici, or even the Boss. It would have been a decision you could have made over time, like you did with me.”

Joshua scrubbed his eyes with the tissue she had pushed into his hand. “How come you got me?”

“Because I had more time than the others to spend with you, and because the assignments I got weren’t as dangerous as theirs. There was always less chance that things would go wrong, and we all felt that it was important for your life to become as stable as it could be.”

“So how come it’s different now?” he demanded. “What does Jarod have to do with it?”

She released her hand from his hold and smoothed his ruffled hair. “Remember we talked about the cloning technology and where you came from?”

He nodded reluctantly, and she could still remember the difficulty that conversation had been for them.

“Because of that, your connection with Jarod is stronger than with me. He has more right to say what he wants you to do than I do. Of course, he probably won’t be in a position to make those sorts of decisions right away. It’ll take time before he’s ready to do that. But once he is, I’ll have to step aside and let him do it.”

“He might take me away,” the boy wailed dismally, dissolving into tears again.

“Yes, he might,” Shannon agreed softly. “And if he does, we’ll talk to him and work out if that’s the right thing to do. And you never know, you might like being with him better. Remember all those problems we had when you first came?”

“Uh huh.” He wiped his nose on the tissues. “But you know me now, and you get how I think.”

“And for all we know, Jarod might get how you think too. After all, you’ve had similar experiences. I was at the Centre, sure, but the sims I did were different from yours, as was the environment in which I was trained.”

His face still bore a worried expression and she pulled the eleven-year-old boy into her arms for another kiss. “Josh, I want you to stay, if that’s what you want,” she murmured in his ear. “And it’s not something we need to think about yet. Jarod will still be here for a while. It’s going to take time for him to get used to the outside world. And you never know, he might decide to stay.”

“I hope so,” Joshua stated fervently, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I do, too, baby.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead, kissing it again. “Now, will you go back to bed for a bit? It’s still pretty early.”

“’Kay.” He sniffed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his pajama top and scrambling off the bed. “Are you getting up yet?”

“No, not yet,” she told him. “I’m still a little drained after last night. I want to see if I can get some more sleep.”

“Uh huh.” He turned to the door, but then looked back shyly. “I love you, Shannon.”

“I love you, too, Joshua,” she responded gently. “You’re a very special kid, and I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

He shot her a watery smile and then bolted for his room. She could hear the door slamming and heaved a sigh as she pulled out most of the pillows from behind her head and settled back on the remainder to try to sleep again.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

Jarod heard muffled chattering from somewhere nearby and tensed as he opened his eyes to find himself in a totally unknown environment. His eyes wandered around the room in which he was lying, seeing that he was still dressed in his familiar black attire, as he pulled himself into a sitting position. A blond-haired woman seated on a chair in the corner immediately rose to her feet and approached the bed.

“Good morning, Jarod,” she greeted him gently. “My name’s Cecilia. How are you feeling?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times without sound and she smiled.

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “I know how you feel. We’ve all found ourselves in your situation. There’s a glass of water on the table beside your bed, if you want something to drink, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

She walked with light steps to the door as Jarod looked more closely around the room, struggling to understand what this situation was. He had a hazy recollection of Sydney leaving and an Italian woman giving him an injection of something, wondering now if this was a dream as a result of the contents of that syringe. A bruise was visible on the back of his hand and he wonderingly touched it, feeling a slight pain from it.

When the woman opened the door again, the muffled voices he had heard before became briefly louder and he tried to look past her, out into the hallway, but she closed the door again.

“Where am I?” he demanded. “Is this the Centre?”

“No,” she told him, placing the tray down on a table and picking up several pillows from the floor, tucking them in behind his back. “You’re about three hours’ drive away from the Centre. Two of our people got you out of there last night.”

He shot her a sharp glance as she placed a tray on his knees. “What do you mean, ‘our people’?”

“Eat your breakfast first,” she suggested, “and then all will be revealed.”

“I’m not hungry,” he retorted, pushing it away, despite feeling curious at the appearance of the objects in the bowl with which he had been presented.

“Well, I have to check on someone, so you can either eat it or go hungry,” she told him, grinning. “Your choice, Jarod.”

Before he could ask how she knew his name, she picked up a case from the table and left the room. The door remained open and, after a moment, he heard a groan and, at the same time, a giggle.

“You’re a terrible patient,” Cecilia announced, and another female voice laughed again.

“You said I had to go to bed,” the other woman replied. “You never said I had to stay there.”


“Sit!” Cecilia snapped. “Or that hole in your arm’s going to start bleeding again.”

“Put something waterproof over it, so I can shower and get this fake color off,” the second voice stated. “I want to see myself when I look in the mirror, not some stranger.”

Jarod heard a soft growling and suddenly realized it was coming from his own stomach. Without thinking, he drew the tray back towards him and began to eat the contents of the bowl, stopping after the first mouthful, stunned by the sugary taste. Eagerly, he ate another, delighted by the sweetness, even as a soft hiss from nearby suggested that a shower was being turned on.

A muffled “ow” reached him through the wall, and then a laugh. “Well, if you’re stupid enough to use your arm when I told you not to, what do you expect?”

“You’re a bully, Cici,” the other female voice wailed. “Go away and let me hurt myself in peace.”

“Pieces, you mean,” Cecilia responded. “Keep using that arm and it’ll fall off.”

A shriek pierced the walls, and a moment later Cecilia reappeared in the doorway of his room, her hair wet, and giggling. Her eyes traveled immediately to the empty bowl, but she refrained from commenting, simply returning the tray to the table.

“What was that about?” Jarod asked curiously.

“Just a bit of nonsense,” she told him airily, suddenly smiling warmly at him. “You’ll find that some people outside the Centre are like that. Others are very serious.”

“How do you know so much about the Centre?” he asked suspiciously.

“I was there.” She pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. “Maybe you don’t remember me, Jarod, but I worked in the infirmary. I treated you a couple of times, after sims went wrong, but you were pretty young then, so you might have forgotten.”

Jarod looked at the woman closely and saw small lines around her eyes that betrayed her age, but any gray hairs she might have were almost invisible in the blondness of her hair.

“Why did you leave?” he demanded.

“I didn’t. I was rescued from there. The Boss realized that I’d found out about one of their major projects and they were planning to have me killed, so he got me out of there before they could do it.”

Jarod's brow furrowed. “But they wouldn’t do that. The Centre helps people, it doesn’t hurt them.”

She smiled. “That’s what I thought, too. But I’ve had a chance to learn otherwise. You’ll have that same chance.

“Who are ‘our people’?” he asked again.

“Apart from the Boss, we’ve all been at the Centre, most of us exploited because of the skills we – they – possess. I’m just an ordinary doctor, but other people are as gifted in their own special ways as you are. Several of those people got you out of there last night.”

His eyes widened in realization. “So that Italian woman, Signora Lanzano, she worked for you?”

“With us,” the doctor corrected. “Yes, she does. You’ll see her soon. But she isn’t Italian and she’s a lot younger than she might have seemed to you.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, before deciding to change the subject. “What about the others? Or is it just the two of you?”


“No, there’s quite a lot of us, but, to keep the majority of people safe, we only know a few of the other people each, except for the Boss, who’s the one in charge of everything. Different groups do different things. Some keep track of the Centre’s deals and who buys the sims, also looking at the results of them. Others work for some of the organizations the Centre does business with, like NuGenesis or Donoterase. You’ll see these names quite a lot in the things we’ve got for you to read. And then there’s our group, who does a lot of the rescuing of subjects, like yourself. Finally, there’s a group on the inside, who help us during the rescues. For those we get out, depending on their skills, if they want to, they can elect to work with one of the groups. If they don’t, we give them new identities and they can go and start new lives somewhere else.”

Jarod nodded slowly, finding it difficult to cope with the all the new information with which he was being presented.

“Oh, he’s awake,” another male voice announced from the doorway. “Good morning, Jarod. How are you after last night’s excitement?”

Cecilia half-turned before looking back at the man in the bed. “Jarod, this is Nathan, commonly known as Nat. He’s our technology expert.”

A man in his mid-thirties leant against the doorframe, his eyes twinkling as he brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?” he laughed. “It was like that when they got me out, too. I went to bed after a hard day of trying to improve the Centre’s security and woke up in a strange room, surrounded by strange people who sounded like they were telling me fairytales.”

“Strange, were we?” Cecilia asked indignantly. “You’re the strange one, Nat! At least, your sense of humor sure is!”

“Hey, I’ve never disputed that.” Nat slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a grin.

Cecilia rolled her eyes. “I’m going to check on Prodge. You can keep telling your fairy tales to our newcomer.”

When she was gone, Nat strolled over to sit on the chair she had occupied. “It’s not too long since I was in your position,” he told the older man. “And I was terrified when I woke up to find myself in a room with a whole lot of strangers.”

“I never saw you there,” Jarod suggested warily. “How do I know this is real?”

Nat grinned. “You don’t, or not for sure. But I saw you, or at least your work. I used it to keep the security system up to scratch. After I was rescued, the Centre replaced me with a woman called Sandy, but she didn’t realize that I still had ways and means of getting into the mainframe. We used the information I dug up to work out the best time to get you out of there.”

“I just don’t understand why you do it,” Jarod protested. “The work I did helped people. Why would you want to stop that?”

Nat sighed deeply, the humor fading from his eyes. “You might have thought so. Even Sydney might have believed it. But the men who were really in charge never planned that.” He stood up and walked over to a bookshelf in the corner, taking down a large book and placing it in Jarod's hands. “Here, take a look at this. This is what they really did with your supposedly benevolent sims.”

Jarod accepted the book and opened it to the first page. The top of the page bore the words SIM #118 and the Pretender recalled the details of the Pacific Fleet Simulation, his eyes wandering down the page to see a picture of the remnants of a boat, which had blown up and killed dozens of people. A feeling like a hand slamming into his stomach temporarily bereft him of breath, and he looked up in mute protest at the man sitting nearby.

“I know, Jarod,” Nat stated softly. “I created computer programs, which were later used to expose the financial details of companies that the Centre wanted to take over, and which could be twisted to make it seem like the company was embezzling or acting fraudulently. They twisted my work in every possible way, until the Boss came and got me out. So I understand how you feel. We all do. We’ve all had to face this.”

Wordlessly, Jarod began turning the pages of the book, seeing pictures and reading articles that showed how his work had been manipulated.

“Why… why would they lie?” he murmured brokenly.

“Because you have morals, scruples,” Nat told him. “And because, if you knew what the true purposes of most of your sims was, you wouldn’t have done them.” He smiled sympathetically. “It might be hard for you to believe, but we’re the good guys, Jarod. The victims, just like you. I spent all but the last ten months in that place, my work being used for whatever purposes they thought up, and without anything to show for it now.” He sighed again. “None of us have been people for a lot of years. There’s not even any record that we were ever born. As soon as the Centre found the people they wanted, they cleared the records of their birth certificates, so if any of our families ever went to the police, they wouldn’t bother to look for us because they wouldn’t believe we were even born.”

“It’s a powerful organization, all right,” Cecilia remarked from the doorway, “headed by a powerful, horrible group of people, who’ll do anything for money.”

“How’s Prodge?” Nat asked.

“Trying to rebel,” the doctor laughed. “I can’t convince her to stay in bed. You wanna try it?”

“Gladly.” He walked to the door, raising his voice. “Prodigy, if you’re not between those sheets when I arrive in your room, you’re in trouble.”

“I’m terrified,” the female voice Jarod had heard earlier yelled back, and then there was a thud.

“That would be the window closing,” Cecilia suggested with a grin, as Nat vanished.

“Why ‘Prodigy?’” Jarod asked curiously, his feeling of devastation temporarily retreating. “That’s not her name, surely.”

“No, it’s not,” Cecilia confessed. “Her name’s Shannon, but we had another Shannon on the team when she decided to help us, so we used her project name to tell the difference between them – Prodigy, or Prodge, for short.”

“They called me that, too, sometimes,” the Pretender confessed.

“I know,” she responded. “The team knows as much as it can about all the people we rescue, in case we need to share that information in an effort to make them trust us. That’s how I knew your name, too,” she added, grinning.

“What’s her skill?” he queried curiously. “I mean, you’re a doctor and Nathan’s a tech expert. She must have some use.”

“She’s a Pretender, like yourself,” the woman told him. “You’ll see her in a bit. Usually I’d put my money on Prodge winning a race against Nat, particularly with that much of a head start, but she has a handicap right now.”

Jarod watched the woman get a number of bags out of the closet and his eyes widened when he saw his project name on one of them. She tore it open and began to spread the clothing over the bed.

“What’s this?”

“New attire.” She nodded at his clothing. “We get people out of the Centre’s gear as quickly as we can. It’s a good way of giving them a new perspective, and it also makes them less conspicuous.”

He nodded, recognizing the sense of this, before looking up at her. “So what do I do now?”

She smiled. “That’s going to be one of the hardest habits for you to break: making decisions for yourself rather than waiting for others to tell you what to do. But I’ll make the suggestion now that you have a shower and get into these clothes. The Boss will be here in a few hours and he’ll want to talk to you.”

Jarod threw back the covers and stood up, feeling that the floor of the room was soft under his feet. He wiggled his bare toes luxuriously on the surface.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Cecilia suggested with a grin. “I don’t think there’s a square of carpet anywhere in the whole Centre.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod got out of the shower and picked up the towel, drying himself off. Donning his underpants, he picked up the shirt he had been given and ran a hand over it, feeling that the material was softer than his usual black. He pulled it on, seeing that it was the perfect size, and did up all the buttons to his neck. It was quite tight around his throat, so he undid the first button, resettling the collar in imitation of the way Nat had worn his shirt. The pants were another revelation, being heavier than what he was used to, but he struggled into them.

He turned to the basin and looked at the shiny wall surface. Some part of his mind had told him that this was a mirror, but that hadn’t meant a lot until he realized that the person he could see in it was himself. Then he remembered using a mirror in a sim, although he was watched carefully, possibly to ensure that he didn’t look at himself in it.

Running his fingers through his hair, he turned to look at the door, wondering if he dared to leave the room without permission.

“Jarod, are you dressed?” a voice called from the hallway, and he opened the door to find Cecilia waiting on the other side. “Oh, good,” she stated when she saw him. “I thought I ought to check that you didn’t drown.”

The Pretender risked an awkward smile at what he assumed was a joke, raising an eyebrow as a squeal broke through the house.

“What…?” he began, and the woman grinned.

“I told Nat to keep Prodge in the living room until you appeared. I think he’s using excessive force to do so.”

“Let me go, you bully!” the same voice Jarod had heard earlier that morning yelped. “I’m injured!”

“I notice that didn’t stop you running three blocks,” Nat’s voice teased. “So why should I be nice to you now?”

“Because, if you don’t, I’ll tell the Boss I want a new partner,” the voice proclaimed as Jarod and Cecilia approached the living room door. “No!” she suddenly shrieked. “Don’t tickle me! That’s not fair!”

“Behave yourself, Prodge,” Cecilia said sternly as they entered. “Our guest is here.”

Jarod found himself in a large room containing a sofa and chairs, objects similar to those that had been in his room at the Centre. Nat sat on the sofa, his arms around a dark-haired woman, who was trying to wriggle out of his hold, as she giggled uncontrollably. Her hair was tousled and her left arm was in a sling. With her right, she was trying to force away the man’s hand as the fingers moved on her stomach.

“I’m trying to behave,” the woman gasped breathlessly, before shrieking with laughter again. “But Nat won’t let me!”

“All right, we’re here now, Nat,” Cecilia stated firmly, as Jarod sat down in response to the wave she directed at an armchair. “You can let her go.”

The young man looked disappointed. “But it’s so much fun!”

“For you.” The brunette managed to struggle out of his arms and pouted as she staggered over to the other side of the room. “Just wait ‘till you get an injury. Your life will be officially hell.”

“As you put it so nicely this morning,” he smiled complacently, “I’m terrified.”

“That’s enough,” Cecilia intervened. “Jarod, this is Shannon, better known as Prodge. Shannon, I know you’ve already met.”

“We sure have.” The young woman’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “He speaks very good Italian.”

Jarod's eyes widened in disbelief as he examined her features, trying to compare them to his somewhat vague memory of those of the older woman who had been in the sim lab at the Centre, but with only limited success. Had he not been aware of who she was, he would have found it impossible to identify her.”

“Amazing,” he breathed, and she smiled.

“Thank you,” Shannon responded. “I like to think I’m pretty good in the disguise department.”

Seeing that the older man was speechless, Cecilia turned to Nat. “Did you get the DSAs from Steve?”

“Right here.” The man picked up a case and placed it on the table in front of him. “He said it was just sitting in Sydney's office.”

Jarod's head whipped around from his amazed scrutiny of Shannon’s face at that name. “How do you…?”

Nat grinned. “You’d be surprised how much I know about that place.”

Cecilia turned to Jarod, changing the subject, as Shannon curled up in another armchair. “We’re one of the basic rescue teams. We have a few people inside the Centre, like the sweeper Dan and a couple of others, but the rest come and go, depending on what’s required. We also rotate people a lot, so the Centre never has a chance to get to know any facial features.”

Jarod cast another disbelieving glance at Shannon. “I can’t see it being a problem,” he murmured, and was rewarded with a dimpled grin.

“We won’t ask you to make any decisions about your future yet,” Cecilia went on. “But we’ve got a few more rescues in the near future, so you can sit in on the planning meetings and get a feel for what we do.”

“But in the meantime, there’s a more urgent problem that will need your input,” Shannon stated in serious tones. “It’s tough to throw this at you, your first morning out, but unfortunately we can’t, in all fairness to everyone involved, avoid it.”

Nat slid a DSA into the machine and rolled the trackball to the start before looking up at the other man, his expression sympathetic. “Jarod, do you remember a sim from about 12 years ago? It was number 220.”

The Pretender thought for a moment, before nodding, recalling the difficulty he had had with that simulation. “That was the cloning one, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Nat turned the machine around. “And, as with all the others, they took your work and used it for their own purposes.”

Jarod looked down at the screen, seeing a young boy performing a sim, a boy who looked exactly as he had appeared on the DSAs he had viewed of himself when he was young. Nat had seemed to understand what he was thinking, because the man shook his head.

“That’s not you, Jarod, or not literally. His name’s Joshua. He shares every gene in your body, but he’s only eleven. He was being trained at Donoterase until we got him out, nine months ago.”

Jarod barely heard the words, feeling as if his heart was being squeezed in a clamp as he looked down into the eyes of the boy on the screen. Suddenly he raised his head again, as a thought occurred to him.

“Why did you have to tell me about this now? What’s the urgency?”

Shannon sighed. “Joshua lives here, with me. He’s at school now, but he’ll be back this afternoon and we wanted you to have at least a few hours to get used to the idea that he exists. He knows who you are. One of the first things he asked about when we got him here was his parents, so we had to tell him.”

Jarod felt his eyes fill as he thought of his own long-dead parents and wondered how it might have felt to have them find him now that he was out of the Centre. However, he blinked back the tears, forcing his eyes away from the face of his clone.

“What else is there for me to know?”

“A lot.” Cecilia smiled. “More than you can possibly learn in one day, so don’t expect to know it all by tonight. Apart from the bad stuff that the Centre caused in all our lives, we’ll make sure you know about the good things that are out in the world, too.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod had just finished watching Shannon and Nat make lunch, fascinated by all the new things they had to show him, when the door opened. He saw that the other two people also immediately tensed, as he did, but both smiled when they saw the newcomer.

“Just in time for lunch,” Nat teased. “How surprising.”

The older man, who Jarod estimated was probably about Sydney's age, grinned, his brown eyes dancing. “You watch yourself, Nat, or I’ll send you back to where you came from.”

Something about the man, either his voice or his face, caused a strange feeling in Jarod: one that was almost recognition. He couldn’t remember ever having met this person before, and yet the idea that he knew him wouldn’t go away. Before he could think further about it, however, Cecilia looked up from the table, where she had been writing something.

“Jarod, this is the Boss. Boss, this is Prodigy, or Proteus, depending on what projects he’s done, more humanly called Jarod.”

The man turned with a smile, but there was an expression in his eyes that Jarod found difficult to understand, and continued to turn the memory of it over in his head during the discussion that followed. The stranger offered his right hand and, remembering the etiquette lessons Sydney had given him years earlier, when he had been told that he would be seeing his parents for the first time in years, Jarod returned the handshake. The Boss then turned to Shannon.

“How’s the arm?”

Shannon cast a sly glance at Nat. “Well, it might have been better if certain people hadn’t chased me along the street this morning.”

“Tattletale,” Nat shot back, before looking at the older man. “How’s the next project coming along?”

“Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk about now.” He looked at the plates, on which Shannon was placing the sandwiches she had just finished making. “Is that done?”

“Yup.” She handed the plates to Nat, who carried them over to the table. Cecilia pushed aside the papers and cleared a space for Jarod to sit beside her. The Boss took the seat at the head of the table, taking a folder from under his left arm and spreading the pages out over the flat surface in front of him.

“Okay, we’ve got a 60-hour window with this one, before they hand out the relevant sim. If we can stop this person from doing it, we’ve got a better chance of halting the entire project.”

“There’s nobody else they might hand it on to?” Nat asked, between bites of a sandwich.

“Not now that Jarod's out,” the Boss replied. “Their closest is about two years away from being at the same level.”

“What’s the plan?” Shannon asked.

“We’re going to order a fake transfer to Donoterase and hijack it,” the Boss responded. “We can’t afford to send any of you into the Centre for a while, so the open road is our best bet. It also gives us the best chance of not getting anyone on either side killed.”

“Who’s doing it?” The older woman asked. “And where are they going?”

“We’re using the house in New York for this one,” the Boss told her. “And we’re using the event to pull Dan out. He’s had long enough inside the Centre, and he’ll be number one suspect now that Jarod's missing.”

“He won’t be happy about that,” Nat grinned.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” the older man stated sternly. “There are three new people going in to replace him, over the next month. Besides, he’ll be more valuable out here.”

While the man stopped to eat, Cecilia turned to Jarod. “We have about ten of our own people as sweepers or cleaners at any time. They aren’t past subjects; instead, they go in as non-Centre-related people we’ve grown to know and trust over time.”

Jarod nodded, running his eyes over the sheets closest to him. “Do I know this person?”

“I doubt it.” She handed over a page, to which a photo was clipped. “You tell us.”


The Pretender’s eyes roamed over the young female’s face, and he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” the Boss stated. “You and all the others were kept deliberately isolated, so that you never had a chance to discuss your work.” He handed an envelope to each of the three people. “They’re your directions. Cici, you’ll be in New York, waiting for the arrival; Nat, you’re on tech, as usual, and we’ve already got the site set up. You’ll be close, but not too close. Prodge, I was going to give you an active part in this one, but your injury nixed that idea. You’ll be helping the others to prepare.”

The young woman looked glum, but accepted the task without complaint. She pulled over a sheet on which the details of the hijacking were explained, and Jarod read it upside down, interested to find out how knowledgeable and experienced these people really were. In his mind, he simulated the situation as far as he could understand it from what he had read, and looked up sharply as he spotted a potential flaw.

“There could be a problem,” he began, suddenly realizing that a female voice had said the same words at the same time, and looked across the table to find Shannon smiling slightly as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

The Boss rubbed his ears. “In stereo,” he remarked with a grin. “Okay, you two, what is or are the problems?”

Shannon turned the page and pushed it towards him. “Go ahead,” she suggested. “They know what I’m capable of.”

He nodded, pushing the paper towards the older man and pointing out the possible problems in the set-up, watching out of the corner of his eye as Shannon nodded slightly at each. The Boss took a pen and scribbled down each point, looking up when the male Pretender was done.

“Anything to add, Prodge?”

“No, that was it,” she admitted. “Want me to work on improvements?”

“Please.” He handed the sheet over and then looked from Cecilia to Nat. “People, can you kindly make yourselves scarce? I want to talk with Jarod.”

The older woman sniffed indignantly. “Well, I guess we know when we’re not wanted.”

“Yeah!” Nat rolled his eyes. “After so many years of loyal service…”

The Boss wrapped his arm around Nat’s neck and affectionately scrubbed his hair. “Scram,” he ordered. “And I promise to make it up to you later.”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 3


Jarod

The Boss shut the living room door and sat down in the armchair, waving at the sofa. “Sit down, Jarod. I just want a chat.”

Sitting down, the younger man looked up expectantly but saw, to his surprise, that the other man was hesitant. Finally, however, he spoke.

“Jarod, I’d like you to tell me what you know about your parents.”

Jarod hesitated, about to refuse, but something in the eyes of the man opposite convinced him to speak, swallowing a lump in his throat before he began. “They were killed in a plane crash, but I’m not sure exactly when. I was told that they were coming to visit me and they died.”

The older man nodded slowly, his expression suggesting that this news was unsurprising to him, before producing a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolding it and passing it over the table. “I ran a diagnostic on your blood from a sample I took last night, while you were still unconscious, Jarod, and we’d already done one for the people who lie in the graves marked with your parents’ names. These are the results.”

Jarod looked down at the page, picking out the various notations and seeing almost at once the major contradiction. “Are you sure?” he demanded, eyeing the identification notes. “You might have made a mistake. The drug Shannon gave me could have…”

A black and white photo appeared in his line of vision a second later, showing the image of a boy identical to the picture Jarod had seen earlier of his clone, riding on the shoulders of a man who, Jarod realized with a feeling of shock as he studied the facial features, was a younger version of the man sitting opposite him.

“I’m so sorry, Jarod,” the man stated softly, his voice cracking with emotion. “Sorry it took so long for me to realize who you were, and where you were. Sorry I didn’t get you out first. But most of all, I’m sorry that I didn’t stop them from taking you in the first place.”

Jarod looked up in disbelief to see that tears were pouring down the cheeks of the man opposite. Brown eyes, painfully familiar, suddenly taunting him from his memory, met his, and Jarod could see agony reflected in them.

“My son,” the man whispered. “I’ve waited so long to see you again. You can’t imagine…”

“Dad,” Jarod murmured, knowing now why the man had been familiar to him. It never occurred to him to doubt what he was being told; everything fitted together too perfectly to be wrong. He rose to his feet and felt himself pulled into a warm embrace, returning it with equal vigor and feeling tears running down his own cheeks. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he sobbed, his emotions so confused by the events of the day that he was unable to hold back the tears.

“Neither did I,” his father responded brokenly, pulling back slightly so he could look into his son’s face. “I’ve been trying to find you for so long, Jarod, but they kept the information about you too well hidden.”

“Is that why you started getting people out of the Centre?” his son asked eagerly, as the thought occurred to him. “Were you hoping one of them would know about me?”

“Exactly.” Both men sat down on the sofa, his father’s arm still around Jarod's shoulders. “We first heard about the Centre when a woman called Catherine Parker found your mother and me a safe place to live.”

“Mom!” Jarod's eyes glowed. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know, son,” his father admitted with audible reluctance. “We got separated a few years back. I’ve been looking for her as hard as I was working to find you.” He smiled faintly. “I have to tell you, Jarod, you also have a sister. Emily. She was born five years after you were taken from us.”

“A sister.” Jarod stared blankly at the floor, struggling to take all this in. “I have a sister. A family.”

“And I swear to you, Jarod, we’ll do everything we can to put it back together,” the older man said softly, his voice full of determination.

Jarod looked up. “Why didn’t know about me? I mean, this is my proper name, isn’t it? Didn’t you just have to look it up somewhere?”

“It’s not quite that easy,” the other man confessed. “Yes, Jarod is the name your mother and I gave you, but the Centre kept your details well hidden, and any reference to you came under one of two project names - Prodigy or Proteus. It wasn’t until I overheard the name Raines used when he was talking to Shannon that I thought it might be you.”

“You were listening?”

“We have people wired during rescues,” his father stated, “so that we know what’s going on.” He stood up and walked over to the door, beside which stood a bag. Taking out a folder, he returned to the sofa and sat down, opening it. “We knew you were one of a specific class of subjects, but we couldn’t be sure which, because nothing, like your birth details or any other identifying data, was accessible.”

The man pointed to a sheet of DNA results at the front of the folder and Jarod could see all of the identical genetic markers, before his eyes flicked up to the names printed above the columns of marks, seeing that the word ‘Margaret’ was typed above one and ‘Charles’ above the other. “Is that Mom’s name?” he asked, pointing to the first, and the older man nodded.

“When did you start getting people out of the Centre?” Jarod asked curiously. “It’s obviously been going for a while. You’re pretty organized.”

“I got the first person out about eleven years ago,” Charles told him. “That was Cici - Cecilia,” he corrected, obviously seeing slight confusion on his son’s face. “I was going to focus all my energy on finding you and your brother, but…”

“Brother?” Jarod stared at him in disbelief. “I have a brother, too?”

“You never met Kyle?” The older man sent him a somewhat confused look. “Cici said that you two worked together for a while. She remembered treating a bad burn on Kyle’s hand, which he said you caused during one of the sims you did together.”

Jarod's gaze sank in the direction of the floor as the memory slammed back into his head, before he looked up at his father again. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered painfully. “I didn’t know that was real. I thought it was fake. I didn’t usually work with real things.”

“It’s all right,” his father assured him, sliding an arm around his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I understand, and I don’t blame you for anything you did in that place, just like I’m sure Kyle won’t, whenever we find him.”

“He’s not at the Centre?”

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell. Look at this, Jarod.” Charles produced a sheet of paper and placed it on the table in front of them. “This is a list of subjects I believe need to be rescued as quickly as possible.”

“Going on what criteria?”

“The sims that are planned for them. I try to stop the most damaging, and information about sims is easier to find than details about the subjects.”


Jarod ran his eye down the list of project names and accompanying information, realizing that it was impossible even to tell if they were male or female, and understood his father’s dilemma. He remembered what the older man had been saying and looked up again.

“So what were you concentrating on then, if not just finding us?”

“I looked at the sims they were going to be given when those details were sent to their handlers, and I tried to stop those that might result in killing or injuring other people. Or, if someone’s life was at risk, like with Cici, then I’d try to get them out. When I had a group of about a dozen people who were willing to work with me, I could sort them into groups to look at other things, like deals the Centre planned.”

“What was mine?” Jarod asked curiously. “What was I going to have to do?”

Charles sighed deeply before producing a page from the folder. “Shannon told me just how bad it might have been. That’s why we got you out, son. There were other times when we came close to rescuing you, but other projects or other subjects always seemed to get in the way.”

Jarod only half-heard this, reading through the details of the sim, his eyes widening as he took in the full magnitude of it and, with what he had learnt of the Centre, even in half a day, understanding the many ways in which it could have been misused.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he stated eventually. “It’s too dangerous. I would have had to make the virus so I could create a vaccine to protect against the genetically enhanced smallpox. There’s too many ways it could have gone wrong.”

“You wouldn’t have had a choice,” the older man retorted, giving his son’s shoulders a last gentle squeeze before letting go. “They don’t accept ‘no’ as an answer in that place. If you hadn’t done it, they probably would’ve killed you.”

Nodding slowly, wondering idly if this was true, Jarod ran his eyes over the list of the sims in front of him, not recognizing any of the names but able to guess their contents by the titles. Then his eyes swiveled back to where his father sat beside him. “So what role do I play in all this?”

“Nothing, yet.” Charles gathered the pages together. “Experience has shown me that it takes time for people to recover from the regimented atmosphere of the Centre, so I don’t ask any of those we rescue to make decisions about their future for at least a week or two. And you have a greater number of pressures than the normal subjects, trying to deal with me and the other members of our family, whenever we find them, as well as Josh.”

The Pretender’s thoughts swung back to the boy, to whom he had paid no conscious attention since Nat and Shannon had begun preparing lunch, although he realized that knowledge of his existence had been randomly circling in his head since he had first learnt about him.

“What does he know?” he demanded. “Shannon said he knew about me, but how much?”

“I’m not sure exactly what Prodge told him,” Charles confessed. “Nor in what way Josh thinks of you. He knows you exist, and that you created the technology to make him, but it was when they were using your DNA to make him that they changed your codename, which was why we never realized that it was you. I had my suspicions, of course, but I could never be sure. And then I also thought that there might be two projects – Prodigy and Proteus – which added even more to the confusion.”

“Why does Shannon use the same codename?”

“I don’t know,” the older man admitted. “You’d have to ask Raines that. I believe she might have worked with Sydney for a time, as well, so you might be able to ask him.”

“Sydney!” Jarod's eyes widened in horror. “I hadn’t even thought about him! Won’t he be blamed for my disappearance?”

“I doubt it. Other subjects have disappeared and their handlers weren’t blamed. If Parker or Raines had a personal grudge against him, it might cause more problems, but even at the Centre, death can’t occur without serious consideration. If we think he’s going to be harmed, we’ll get him out.” He placed his hand over those of his son and squeezed gently. “Don’t worry about Sydney, Jarod. I won’t let the person who’s protected my son for so long come to any harm, if I can help it. He’s blocked sims that might have resulted in physical injuries to you. I owe him something for that.”

*~*~*~*~*

Sydney

Sydney's arms were folded across his chest, the phone in his hand, and his little finger beating an irregular tattoo on the hard plastic as he paced the length of his office. As the door opened, he turned to see a sweeper standing there, who offered an envelope.

“This is the DSA you asked for, doctor.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the envelope and eased the silver disk out as he approached his desk, sitting down and putting down the phone.

Sliding the disk into the machine, he rolled the trackball to the start, keeping his eyes fixed on the woman who entered the room with Raines and walked over to the desk where he and Jarod sat. He increased the volume as the woman spoke, mentally comparing her accent with those other native speakers of Italian that he had known, unable to pick a flaw. Her skin tone, too, matched that of other Italians from the south of the country, where such hair and eye coloring as she had, although unusual, were not unknown.

He watched closely as the woman on screen shook his hand, suddenly stretching out a hand to pause and then slowly rewind the DSA, zooming in on her sleeve to see a patch of skin that was lighter in color than the rest of her arm. Zooming in further showed him a line that suggested the application of a fake tanning product, but this information, although it suggested the woman was a fraud, didn’t provide any more information to him, although he guessed that her hair and eyes had also changed from their natural coloring.

Sighing, he returned the view to its original perspective and allowed the disk to continue, seeing as Jarod presented the results of the simulation on which he had worked. His eyes narrowed as the woman removed a case from her pocket and opened it onto the table, extracting the syringe. Reaching out, he pulled over the folder with which he had been provided and which contained the details of the simulation Senora Lanzano planned to have Jarod complete in her presence. In it, there was no indication of a drug, but had there been, the products would have been taken from the woman on her arrival and tested. Only by failing to mention them could she be assured that such a thing wouldn’t happen.

The footage flowed smoothly, the woman standing by the table. She remained there, apparently checking over the objects she had brought with her for the simulation, but Sydney zoomed in on the footage, watching without surprise as her hands, which under normal viewing conditions, appeared to be making minor changes, were actually jumping from one object to the next, before suddenly hovering back over the first one with no obvious sign as to how they got there. So the original supposition from the technical experts working in security had been correct – the system had been infiltrated and footage looped. A small smile curled Sydney's lips as he recalled a sim Jarod had performed in which he had predicted such a capability if the whole system were not redesigned, which it then had been.

This realization brought Sydney's brows together. After the system had been redesigned, or so a young technician had told him after examining Jarod's simulation results, such penetration would be impossible. Sydney racked his brains to remember what he could about that discussion and recalled his initial surprise at seeing one so young in charge of such a highly complex system. But the youth had demonstrated his abilities, and his confidence had been strikingly similar to Jarod’s. Raines’ constant presence in the background also forcibly returned to Sydney's mind, and he rolled his chair back towards the filing cabinet behind him and reached in, flipping through the list of sims in the first file and then extracting the relevant folder.

Opening it on the desk, he read quickly through the results and then looked at the page on which he had noted down the intended source of the results. A project number stared back at him in his own handwriting, and he swallowed hard at the realization, which had never occurred to him until now, that the person with whom he had spoken had not just been another employee. Reaching over to the computer on his desk, he hunted for the project number, his eyes widening in surprise when it failed to provide any results. A check of the list of those released showed that the number was not among them. That left only two possibilities, and Sydney had a strong suspicion that the youth would not have died. Although deaths of employees often passed without notice, those of subjects usually caused more of an uproar. Escapes, however, only seemed to concern those most directly involved, as he could witness from the grilling he had received from Mr. Parker only that morning.

Rumors of escapes were widespread, and he wondered now exactly how many were true. Several groups were already involved in pursuing subjects who, for one reason or another, had either been removed from the Centre and disappeared into the mass of humanity beyond the front door, or had somehow managed, as Jarod had apparently done, to get out, either under their own steam or with assistance.

Mr. Parker had demanded that Sydney provide his own analysis of what had occurred, including any reasons that Jarod might have had for wanting to escape. As yet, he had found nothing, but he hoped that the information he had gathered from the security DSA might be helpful.

The sudden ringing of the phone made him jump, and he reluctantly answered it, expecting it to be one of the members of the Triumvirate.

“This is Sydney.”

There was a moment of silence, with only light, frequent breaths on the other end, before the man spoke again, somewhat impatiently.

“Hello?’

“S… Sydney?”

“Jarod?!” The psychiatrist sat bolt upright, staring blankly at his desk. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I don’t really know,” the Pretender admitted softly. “Where I am, I mean. But, yes, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Yes, of course,” Sydney responded in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I… I thought…” Jarod's voice trailed off, and Sydney raised an eyebrow, surprised at the obvious uncertainty in his tones.

“Jarod, are you sure you’re all right?” he demanded.

“Yes,” the younger man retorted. “I just… never mind.”

“What happened?” Sydney demanded.

“I guess I was sort of kidnapped – again,” Jarod added, after a moment of thought. Then a note of defiance came into his voice. “And I won’t be coming back.”

“But you belong here,” the psychiatrist protested. “You work is here.”

“My family is out here,” the younger man shot back. “And at least, out here, my work won’t be made into something negative that kills people. Did you know that, Sydney?” he demanded. “Did you know what they did with my sims?” There was a soft rustle of paper, as if pages were being turned. ”South Pacific Fleet simulation 118,” Jarod began. “You took my results and blew a ship out of the water. 133 people were on board. My outbreak simulation. You used it in the field. 46 people died from the Ebola virus, Sydney! Simulation 27. Simulation 16. Simulation 42!”

Sydney rose from his chair and began to pace. “Jarod, these were military contracts. I had no way of finding out about their ultimate application.”

“Well, it’s not going to happen again,” Jarod spat furiously. “I’ll do whatever I can to stop my work killing people, and I’ve got people to help me!”

The dial tone sounded abruptly in Sydney's ear, and he replaced the phone on the cradle, feeling himself trembling slightly. In all the years they had worked together, he had never heard Jarod as angry as he had been on that call. The Pretender might have had no choice about being removed from the Centre, but clearly he had been shown proof of the aims of the work he had completed, aims that Sydney himself had never known.

“Sydney?”

He turned to find a man in the doorway. “Mr. Parker.”

“We heard it all.” The man entered the office. “We tried to trace the call, but something blocked us. We’re going to have to change tactics. We can’t afford for the work Jarod did to be undone, by him or anyone else. We’re going to put together a team to find him. I want you on it.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to bring Jarod back where he belongs,” the psychiatrist swore fervently, and saw a smile appear on the other man’s face as he turned.

“Yes,” Mr. Parker agreed. “I thought you would.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

Jarod sat staring blankly at the phone for a moment, before picking up the receiver again to look at the device attached to it, which would prevent the call from being traced. The whole house was scattered with tiny objects like this, intended to make it impossible for the occupants to be found by the Centre using technological means.

“Here,” a voice offered, and Shannon put a glass of dark liquid down on the table in front of him.

He held the glass up to the light and examined it, intrigued by the tiny bubbles that covered the sides. “What is it?”

“It’s an aerated, cola-flavored drink,” she explained. “It’s called Dr. Pepper.”

He arched an eyebrow. “A drink with a medical degree?”

Shannon giggled. “No. I guess they wanted to make it sound a little more intelligent, so they added the ‘doctor.’”

Jarod took a cautious sip, his eyes widening as the drink fizzed in the back of his mouth, and then suddenly sneezed as it ticked his nose.

“Bless you,” the young woman stated, and he looked at her curiously. She explained the tradition of acknowledging sneezes, adding several more details about the niceties of life outside the Centre. When she was finished, he sat back in his chair and looked around.

“There’s a lot to learn out here,” he remarked quietly.

“Yes, there is,” she agreed. “But you’ve got plenty of time, Jarod. We’re all still learning. I don’t think it ever really stops, even if you spend your whole life out in the world.”

He looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess so. But I never even really imagined a world outside where I was. It just didn’t really seem to exist. I mean, I knew there were bridges and large buildings, but it never meant much.”

Shannon reached out for the book on the table and flipped through it, studying the various articles it contained. “One of these is nearby,” she said suddenly. “I can show you, if you want.”

He thought about this for a moment, looking down at the page she had open, remembering the sim and reading how it had been used for negative rather than positive purposes. The article told him that the bridge he had designed had collapsed as a convoy of army vehicles was crossing it, and that a group with connections to Afghanistan had claimed responsibility for it. Apart from the destruction of several new long-range missiles, which had been the group’s aim, it had also killed almost sixty people. He felt something squeeze tightly in his chest as he looked up.

“How many people died because of what you thought up?”

Shannon looked thoughtful, then sad. “A lot,” she admitted. “A lot more than I ever thought about when I was doing the sims. All I ever wanted to do then was to find the right answers, so I could go to my room. When I was there, I could do what I wanted, instead of what he did.”

“Which was?”

She sighed and stared at the surface of the table. “I used to work with another Pretender when I was in the Centre. He hadn’t been there that long, and one day, when I was about seven, Raines was called out of the room. My friend started talking about his family. I’d never even heard of the words ‘mother’ and ‘father’ before that, but he described everything so well that I was really able to see it in my mind – a family sitting around a table together, mom, dad and a couple of kids. So every night, I’d come back to my room, lie on my bed and think about it. Sometimes, I’d dream about it. It was all I wanted, from that moment on. When the Boss got me out,” her eyes sparkled with tears, “the first thing I asked was if he was my dad. I had no idea what it really meant: that he was the person who had helped to make you in the first place.”

“You don’t know who your father is?”

“I was born in the Centre,” Shannon told him. “I was there for every single day of my life, until the Boss rescued me.”

“You all call him that,” Jarod remarked curiously. “Do you know his name?”

“Most people don’t, no,” she confessed. “If any of us are caught on a mission, there have been times when they’ve tortured people as a punishment for escaping in the first place, and in an attempt to stop the torture, the person let slip who they’ve been helping. That’s also the reason we only know the real names of a few people working for him. If all we know is nicknames, the Centre has nothing to search for.” She slid her right hand through her hair before sipping her drink and then putting the glass back on the table. “I know his first name is Charles, but that’s all.”

He nodded slowly before his eyes fell on the sling that supported her left arm. “What happened?” he asked, nodding at it.

“I got shot last night,” she responded succinctly. “Luckily, though, the bullet pierced the door of the car first, and that slowed it down enough that it didn’t do any serious damage.” She grinned. “My car looks like a sieve. We’re lucky that nobody else was hit.”

“So they know I’m missing?”

“And the entire place is running around in circles,” she chuckled. “You were one of their best-kept secrets, Jarod, and the bosses are furious.”

Jarod's tones were full of concern. “What about Sydney?”

“At this stage, he’s okay,” she replied quickly. “He was clearly out of the building by the time you were actually discovered missing.” Shannon dimpled at him. “That’s why we went through the results of that sim first.”

“You really thought that through, didn’t you?”

“It’s kind of like doing a sim,” she responded thoughtfully. “You get the problem and work out the best solution according to the limitations that the Boss sets down - but then you actually get to see your work put into practice and produce a result, which makes it a lot more worthwhile. That’s one of the reasons I decided to work with the Boss.”

Jarod remained silent for a while, before asking something that had been intriguing him for the whole day. “Will you tell me what happened last night?”

She laughed. “You mean before or after that drug took effect?’

He smiled faintly. “After. I think I can remember the ‘before’, or most of it, anyhow.”

“Well, according to the plan of what was supposed to happen to you, after Dan escorted you from the room, you would have passed out just outside the door to your room. As that was happening, the security system was being looped with pre-taped footage, so it looked like you were in your room and I was setting up the sim lab for your return. Then Dan would have been met by another of our sweepers and put you on a trolley, which would have been taken to the northern service elevator and down to the ground floor, where Nat was waiting with the car.”

“And you?”

“I was creeping along the air vents to the southern service elevator. From the southern exit, I got to the car and the plan said we were supposed to creep out of the carpark and disappear, but it didn’t go quite that well.”

Jarod's eyebrows rose. “How come?”

Shannon grinned half-heartedly. “Josh figured out that this was one of our bigger projects, not just going to data storage facilities and helping ourselves to information stored there, which we do on a regular basis. When I wouldn’t let him come and help, he hid in the trunk of the car. While I was inside the Centre, he must have gotten out and tried to find me. It seems that he was still in the parking lot when Dan helped Nat get you into the car, and had just been spotted when I made it back. It kind of went downhill from there.”

“And how’s your car?”

“Well, it’s probably time for a new one,” she suggested. “It’s got a few holes here and there, and the front windows are both smashed. The roof had the paint stripped from it by the boom gate at the entrance, so it’s probably best to clean it of prints, dump it and get another one.”

“Can you afford that?”

She eyed him curiously. “Most people don’t have much idea of money when they first get out.”

He sighed. “Quite a lot of the sims I did recently had to do with finances. I spent a few months on one about the stock market recently.”

Shannon nodded. “Well, to answer your question, I don’t have a lot of my own money, although I do work, but if we need things like cars, or even this house,” with a gesture of demonstration, “ we use money from certain Centre bank accounts that Nat arranged access to, for replacing anything that might be destroyed or damaged during conflicts with the Centre, or buying things we couldn’t afford normally.”

“Isn’t that a little illegal?”

“Not considering that we worked for those people without pay for years. If you look at the sums of money they got for our results, it’s really only fair.”

“Who did you work with?”

“Raines, for a while. That bald man who came in with you last night,” Shannon added in explanation, before sighing, her usually pleasant expression dimming. “I don’t know if you can imagine what a relief it was when I found out that I never had to work with him again. It was hard enough just to have to talk to him yesterday. If he hadn’t left when he did, I think I would have had a screaming fit.”

“That wouldn’t exactly have given them the impression that you were a visiting Italian psychiatrist, would it?” Jarod suggested with a small smile, his confidence building as he became more used to being outside the Centre and not under anyone’s control.

“Well, maybe not.” She shrugged and grinned. “And it’s nice to know that I can even fool another Pretender, especially one of the Centre’s best.”

He turned away in embarrassment, unused to receiving compliments, but looked back when the phone rang. Shannon checked the small screen that showed the number and then grinned.

“Hey, Josh. Let me guess. You got a convenient invite to stay the night at Pete’s house.”

Jarod could faintly hear a voice speaking and saw the expression in Shannon’s eyes become a little tense, the grin slowly fading.

“You’ll have to come home one day,” she argued. “And Jarod won’t be going anywhere. Not yet.”

He saw her roll her eyes. “All right, just for tonight,” she finally agreed. “But promise me that you’ll be home tomorrow.”

Jarod guessed that he agreed, because she said goodbye and disconnected the call, putting the phone down on the table before looking up at him.

“Joshua’s a little nervous about meeting you,” she explained, and he nodded.

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah, I guess you can,” she agreed, smiling. “In the meantime, Nat wants you to go into some details for him about your current sims so that we can check we’ve got everything.”

“And you can get some rest, Prodge,” a female voice from behind Jarod suggested, and he turned to find his father and Cecilia.

“Do I have a new car yet?” Shannon demanded.

“That’s part of what we’ve got to do this afternoon,” Charles explained. “But you’ll have it when you wake up, if you have a nap now.”

“Love to,” she told him. “Can’t. I got another article this morning and the deadline for the editing is tonight.”

“So miss the deadline,” Nat argued, coming up behind the other two people.

“And get fired,” Shannon retorted, standing up as Jarod also rose to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I like eating, and we won’t be doing much of that unless I keep working.”

“We can always borrow more from the Centre’s accounts,” Nat proposed, but Charles shook his head.

“We agreed a long time ago to limit what we took that for, and essentials like food weren’t part of the plan. That’s why we all work outside this, if you’ll remember.” He turned to Shannon. “We’ll be pretty late, but I’ve still got your spare key from last night, so I can let Jarod back in and you can have an early night. Deal?”

“Sure.” She grabbed the phone off the table and disappeared into her room while Jarod turned to his father, Cecilia and Nat, wondering what was going to happen now.

A car stood in the driveway and, at Nat’s invitation, Jarod got into the front passenger seat while his father drove and the others sat in the back.

“I haven’t told them the truth about who you are, Jarod,” the older man murmured as he started the ignition. “I think Prodge was going to tell you about our secrecy procedures.”

“She did,” he agreed in similarly quiet tones.

“It’s not because I don’t want to,” Charles assured him, casting a tender glance at his son that warmed the young man’s heart. “But I can’t risk their safety – or mine, or, more importantly to me, yours.”

“I understand, Boss,” Jarod agreed, careful to use the name the others did and seeing his father smile warmly, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand as they drove through the open gates.

Jarod stared incredulously at the world outside the gates, feeling almost overwhelmed at the variety of colors and shapes surrounding him. Leaning back in the seat, he briefly closed his eyes, wondering whether it would all have disappeared when he opened them again, but immensely relieved when it didn’t. He had never realized how many things there were in the world, and stared around in amazement, wondering if he would ever know the names of all these things he had never seen.

Seeming to understand how he felt, Nat leaned forward from the back seat and began to name some of the things they passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Jarod saw his father nod occasionally, as if in emphasis, and made more careful note of those items. He guessed that his father would make time for them to be alone so that they could talk, and Jarod wanted to ensure that he would know as much as possible of what was being discussed.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon finished the article she was correcting and sent it off before considering whether to make dinner for herself or order take-out. Eventually, she chose pizza and rang up to order something home-delivered, ensuring that she had a half made up almost plain so that Jarod could try it if he was hungry when he got home.

Paying for the pizza when it arrived, she took half of it and a can of Dr. Pepper into the living room and flicked on the TV.

After only two slices, she pushed the rest aside, somewhat surprised at herself, knowing that she could usually eat everything on her plate. Shrugging slightly, she put the slices into a container in the fridge, wrote a note for Jarod with heating directions and left it on the bench, sliding a tray, on which the other half of the pizza had been put, into the cold oven.

Suddenly exhausted, Shannon went into her room and turned back the covers, slipping off her shoes and snuggling in under the covers. She couldn’t understand what was making her so tired, but thought it might be a reaction to the previous night. When her stomach rumbled, she rubbed it with a weary hand, laying her aching head against the pillows, her eyes closing immediately.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

After a drive of several hours, Charles parked the car in front of a large house. It shared a front garden with the house next door, in the front garden of which Jarod could see several children playing. When the four people got out, the youngest girl shrieked and ran towards the gate. As soon as they were inside the property, she grabbed Nat’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the area in which they had been playing.

“Call me when you need me,” the young man directed as he sat down on the grass and four other children tumbled into his lap.

“Kids love Nat,” Cecilia explained, as Charles knocked on the front door. “And he loves them.”

The house, as Jarod looked around the entrance, was different from the apparently very modern building he had just left. This was grand, in a style that gave the feeling of age, and the furniture supported that, being mostly made of wood and looking heavy. Of the three occupants, two were women, one substantially older than the other, and the man was about the same age as the younger woman, with features similar enough to suggest a biological relationship. Jarod had the feeling he had met the younger woman, and, from the smile she sent in his direction, he thought she might have felt the same.

“This is Jarod,” the Boss introduced him. “Jarod, these are Tom, his sister Margaret, otherwise Meg, and their mother Lucy.”

Jarod shook hands all round, quick to note the subconscious possession that Lucy showed to her children and forced to wonder whether his own mother would treat him the same way if -- when they found her. Seeing the way in which Meg reacted to it, however, Jarod realized that neither minded.

“Welcome to the real world,” Tom greeted him. “And long may you be free to enjoy it.”

Flexing a polite smile, unsure of the correct way to respond to this, Jarod followed the others into the living room and through it into a smaller room with no windows. Several large photographs of the Centre interiors were stuck up on the walls, as well as a map of the area Cecilia told him was Blue Cove, where the Centre was located, and its surrounds. The room also contained a sofa, a number of armchairs and a large dining table with chairs. Lucy waved the group towards the comfortable seats and opened a white box that stood in the corner, which Cecilia murmured to him was called a fridge, taking out cans of drink and glasses. Jarod was given a can of drink called 7-Up as he sat down, and watched the others to see how to open it. The cold sweetness was a delight, and he eagerly took a larger mouthful before paying attention to the conversation that had begun.

Charles pulled a roll of paper out of the pocket of his leather jacket and unrolled it onto the table, using several people’s cans to hold it flat. In a corner of the map, Jarod could see a legend that provided symbols for trees, bushes, roads, railway lines and buildings.

“This is the next place,” he told the group. “The Centre is about 45 miles east, so even if they do get a chance to call for help, it’ll be a long time coming and we’ll be gone, with or without our unfortunate target.”

“Where will the person be supposedly sent?” Meg asked.

“Donoterase,” the Boss responded. “The paperwork’s already gone through. The van will leave the Centre the day after tomorrow at about 5am. We’ll be waiting for it.”

Tom groaned. “Couldn’t you have made it in the evening?” he complained.

Jarod saw his father arch an eyebrow and noticed that the sparkle had vanished from his eyes.

“Our last night raid outside the Centre was when we lost Peter,” Charles reminded him coolly. “Do you want those circumstances repeated?”

“Sorry,” the man muttered.

Ignoring this, Charles turned to Meg. “I want those shooting abilities you’ve been honing. I was going to put Shannon on this case, but I told you about what happened the other night, so I want you instead.”

The young woman nodded, glancing at the plan in front of them. “Where?” she asked.

Jarod saw his father point to an area thickly surrounded by bushes, some distance from the road. “The van will be here,” he explained. “The actual ambush site is only a short distance away, but far enough that it’ll be out of sight.”

“And I’ve got a new toy that will help,” Nat announced as he entered the room and sat down on the arm of the chair in which Jarod sat. “I hope it’ll scramble the sweepers’ radio signals. If it works outside the Centre, there’s a chance we might get it to work inside, too. I’m still playing with that part of it.”

“What else did you find out in your usual sweep of the security system last night?” Cici asked as she handed him a can from the small refrigerator.

“Jarod's pursuit team,” the young man announced with a grin, and reached into the pocket of his jacket, extracting three photos.

The Pretender tensed as he saw Sydney's face on the first picture that Nat placed on the table in front of him, eyeing the man’s familiar features.

“This is Mr. Broots,” Nat announced as he put down the second photo. “Married with one child: a ten-year old girl called Debbie. He’s just filed for divorce from his wife. He’s been working at the Centre for eight years, but this is his first break into the big league.” Nat looked up at his boss and grinned. “He’s taking over from Sandy in tech. The PTBs seem to think it was partly Sandy’s fault that we got Jarod out so easily.”

“Dead?” Charles asked tersely.

“She won’t be talking any time soon,” the technician assured him.

“So how good is this Mr. Broots?” Cici asked.

“One of the best in his class,” Nat replied. “I’m surprised they haven’t used him before. I’m going to enjoy matching wits with him. He came close to discovering my back door into the system, but luckily he didn’t.”

“If he gets close, crash the system,” Charles ordered. “We can’t lose that link.”

“We do have a backup plan for that,” the young man reminded him.

“And we can only use it once,” the Boss snapped. “Like I said, Nat, the system comes down if you think we’re going to lose our link.”

“Yes, sir,” Nat murmured, before looking at the last picture. “This is the third person on the team, and she’s probably the best hound-dog they’ve got.” He put the third photo on the table. “Ladies and gentlemen – Miss Parker.”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 4


Jarod

Jarod heard the name with a feeling of shock, and felt his father’s eyes on him immediately as he heard a soft gasp come from his own mouth.

“You know her, Jarod?” Charles asked tensely.

“From a… a long time ago,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the woman’s features.

There was a second of silence before the older man spoke, but Jarod didn’t hear what was said. His mind was full of the few meetings he had had with the woman who now appeared to be the one who would be in charge of hunting for him. He had already heard from Nat and Cici about pursuit teams and the fact that they generally consisted of people known to the former subject. Jarod had guessed that Sydney would be a participant, but that they had gone so far back in his past as to reintroduce Miss Parker to his life in this way was almost unbelievable.

“Jarod!” his father’s voice called sharply, and he awoke from his reverie, feeling his cheeks flush as he looked up.

The map was rolled up in Charles’ hand and the others had already stood up, ready to leave. He hurried to join them as they left the room.

“We’ll be around at eight o’clock tomorrow night,” Charles reminded them as they left the house.

The four people returned to the car, the conversation being about the forthcoming assignment, as Jarod discovered that it was generally called. He contributed little, beyond accepting the invitation to watch them prepare the following evening.

“Just so you know,” Charles suddenly remarked from the driver’s seat, “we don’t usually do more than one rescue in such a short time, but this is pretty important.”

Jarod simply nodded, only hearing part of what was being said, still thinking about Miss Parker and her reintroduction to his life.

Nat and Cici were dropped off outside a tall apartment building, instead of being taken back to Shannon’s house. Charles watched them enter the building before turning to his passenger.

“Who was she, Jarod?” he asked gently.

“Someone I… felt things for… a long time ago,” the Pretender murmured, remembering the way Sydney had phrased it when Jarod had asked questions about what had happened to him during that sim, why his heart rate had increased, and other biological signs had changed.

“That’s how they work,” Charles remarked as he steered the car into traffic. “They take the things that affect your emotions and twist them around so that they can be used against you.”

“They did that to you?” Jarod suggested.

“Many times,” his father responded softly. “More times than I care to remember during the thirty-three years that I’ve been searching for you.”

“It’s over now,” the younger man responded, as much to himself as to the man beside him, feeling relief surge inside himself at that statement.

Jarod’s mind suddenly presented him with the day Sydney had told him that his parents had been killed in a plane crash, remembering the sense of loss, destroyed hope and guilt that had affected his work for days afterwards. He had been punished frequently for that, Jarod remembered. It was strange that the people who had told him the lies had felt that his unsettled emotional state would be more beneficial for them in the long run than continuing to let him hope that one day his parents would come to him.

Then he felt a warm hand on his, pressing firmly, and looking up to see his father smiling at him, his brown eyes shining.

“I’m right here, Jarod,” his father assured him softly, “and we’re never going to lose each other again, I swear.”

“I forgot you,” he whispered harshly.

“They wouldn’t let you remember,” Charles corrected gently. “I know how they work. It’s not your fault. Trust me, Jarod, I would never blame you for something like that.”

The younger man’s eyes misted over and then he felt the car pull to the side of the road and his father’s arm sliding around his shoulders, drawing him close.

“Please, son,” the man’s voice begged, “believe me when I say that nothing you’ve ever done at that place will change the way I feel about you. We lost so many years together because of what they did. I’m not going to waste any more time grieving over it. I want us to move on and create a future together, with your mother, sister and brother, when we find them – and you can be sure we will.”

“I know,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around his father’s back and holding tight. “I missed you, Dad, for so long.”

“I did, too, Jarod,” Charles assured him, without loosening his hold, “so very much.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod quietly let himself into the house, remembering his father’s advice that Shannon could well be asleep, and switched on a light before securing the door, dropping the key on the table and putting his bag on the floor. A note lay on the bench and he saw that it was directions for heating pizza, something to which his father had already introduced him earlier that evening, so he replaced the container in the fridge, as the note requested, and put the empty plate back into the cupboard where it belonged.

Turning, he was about to switch off the light when he saw a boy sitting on the sofa in the living room behind him and jumped violently.

“Who are you?”

The boy’s dark eyes met his steadily. “Apparently,” he offered quietly, “I’m you.”

Jarod froze at this unexpected response. He wasn’t ready to deal with this yet. He wanted someone else there who knew the situation and could give him clues as to the best responses to make. But it seemed like he wouldn’t have that luxury and he sat down opposite the boy, the light from the kitchen streaming over his shoulder and illuminating his clone’s face.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” he proposed.

“I decided not to put this off,” his double replied. “I don’t like leaving things.”

The older man was about to remark that he felt the same when he realized that there was a perfectly natural reason for it and refrained from commenting. An awkward silence continued for a few minutes, before Jarod broke it.

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” came the somewhat surprising reply. “I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see if it was true or just another of their lies.”

“And is it true?”

“I think so.” There was audible pain in the young voice. The dark eyes traveled up and down his body. “So in twenty years, I’ll be you.”

“No,” Jarod said quickly, “no, you won’t. We might share the same genes, but that’s only a part of what makes people what they are. The rest is environment and training. You’re younger. You’ve got time to get over what was done to you there. You’ll be a very different person from me.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” the boy stated. “I don’t know whether it is or not.”

“Josh?” a sleepy voice interrupted, and Jarod turned to find Shannon in the doorway, pushing hair out of her eyes with her right hand.

Joshua jumped off the sofa and ran over to give the young woman a hug. She returned it warmly before drawing back to look at his face.

“I thought you were going to stay the night.”

“I decided not to,” he replied. “Pete’s mom drove me back here.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Uh huh.”

He nodded before turning to the sofa and gathering up the pile of books that lay there. Shannon glanced at Jarod.

“How did it go?”

“It’s a lot of work,” he confessed.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, “but generally worthwhile. Only…”

She broke off the beginning of her next sentence to kiss Joshua, who came trailing up, yawning, to say goodnight. When he had disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door, she turned back to Jarod and gestured in the direction of the hallway that held their rooms.

“It’s going to be a short night tomorrow, if you’re coming,” she reminded him as he picked up his bag.

“The Boss invited me,” he replied carefully, quietly switching off the light before following her into the passage. “I’d like to see how it works – without being the victim, this time.”

Shannon giggled softly. “I know what you mean,” she admitted. “But the process will be different, because the Centre will administer the sedative – standard procedure for moving someone. But you’ll see the result when they get back to New York.”

“Will you be there?”

“I’ll be helping with preparations in New York,” she replied, “although I don’t think there’s a lot of make-up and other disguise work this time. That’s really my specialty.”

“Is that what you had to do at the Centre?” he proposed.

“Sort of, yes.” She leaned against the wall behind her, sliding her right hand into her pocket, the left hanging in the sling. “I designed equipment and disguises for undercover agents. I was told that it was for them to do their job better and help various nations. Of course, it really helped the Centre sweepers to get information that Raines wanted.” Shannon shuddered slightly. “I hated to read about how my results were misused. I still do.”

“I know,” Jarod murmured sympathetically, thinking about the book lying on the table beside his bed.

With one of the sudden changes that seemed to be part of her personality, she smiled and then waved at the bathroom door.

“If you want to clean your teeth, I’ve put a toothbrush and paste in there for you. I think the Boss said you’d buy some clothes and other things you’d need, but let me know if you find yourself lacking something vital.”

She dimpled at him before disappearing into her room, closing the door. A moment later, he heard a faint creak and a slight groan before there was silence.

He moved into the bathroom, putting the bag onto the vanity and opening it, extracting the brush and comb that had been purchased for him and running the fine teeth of the comb through his hair. Suddenly dropping the comb into the sink, he reached into his pocket and took out a series of photos that his father had given him earlier that evening showing the first four years of his life. Holding them up to the mirror, he compared himself to the child he had been before being stolen by the Centre. He now knew the details of that night from his father’s point of view and wondered again that he had believed the lies he had been fed for so many years.

After rescuing the comb and filling the sink with warm water, he splashed it onto his face, thinking that the following morning he would have to shave, before foaming the soap between his hands and rubbing it on his face. Even this had a different feeling, being somehow softer and more pleasant against his skin than the Centre’s soaps, which had always left his skin stinging and raw. Rinsing his face clean, he dried it with the towel on the rack that had been pointed out to him as his before returning his things to the bag and leaving the bathroom.

In his room, he changed into the pajamas his father had chosen for him, wriggling in between the sheets and laying his head against the blissfully soft pillow. But sleep didn’t come immediately. As it had on occasions when a sim had caused him problems or was unfinished, details of what had happened circled in his mind, making him unable to relax. Added to the already overwhelming activities of the day was the appearance of the boy that had been made from him, and Jarod was aware that the problem of their relationship to each other would not be easy to solve.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, he raised himself on his elbows to look around the room. His eyes fell on the book beside his bed, but revulsion made him unwilling to open it. Instead, he got out of bed and padded over to the small bookcase, looking at the various titles. They covered a wide range of subjects, including some that he had covered for various sims, but he felt like learning something knew. Intrigued with one that had a picture of a machine seeming to fly through the sky, he took it off the shelves and got back into bed, tucking another pillow behind his shoulders, settling back against it and opening the book.

But Jarod was more tired than he realized. After only having read a few pages, the lines of print began to blur. Gradually, his head sank forward and the book fell from between his limp fingers as he slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Miss Parker

The three people were called into Mr. Parker’s office and he handed each a thin file.

“This has all the information we know about what happened here,” he told them, nodding at his daughter. “That includes the security reports you wanted, Angel.”

“Good,” she replied tersely, surreptitiously eyeing her companions.

She hadn’t seen Sydney for years, except occasionally in the elevator or the halls. On those rare meetings, she had greeted him with a distant nod and moved on as quickly as possible. She had no idea why she felt uncomfortable around him, only that she did.

Broots was someone she knew slightly better. He had begun work in SIS during her last few days there, but she had had a chance to see his skills and knew that he was probably one of the best technicians the Centre had ever had.

“I want reports about every incident,” Mr. Parker announced. “Any time you’re out of the Centre, following a lead, I want a written report about everything you saw and did.”

“Of course, Daddy,” Miss Parker agreed, before catching Sydney's eye. “Let’s go.”

She swept out of the office, leaving the other two men to follow. They caught up with her at the elevator, and she turned to them with her first orders.

“Broots, I want you to go through the security details and see if there’s any leads that we might be able to work on. Sydney, you’re coming with me.”

“Where?” the psychiatrist asked.

“Jarod's old room,” she replied. “Maybe there’s some clue there that’s been overlooked.”

“I’ve been through Jarod's room a thousand times,” the older man said, as Broots disappeared in the direction of SIS.

“I haven’t,” she reminded him sharply, as the elevator doors opened on the relevant floor and they got out.

“You were such a happy child,” he murmured. “What happened?”

“I grew up, Sydney. So should you,” she snapped. “You’re not in the clear yet about exactly what happened and how Jarod got away, and if the investigation finds that you were in any way responsible, I’ll hand you over to the Triumvirate myself.”

Sydney remained silent while she looked around, occasionally comparing something to a detail in the folder she still held. There was really nothing he could say. If he was found to be involved, as they both knew, he would be quickly and quietly taken care of, and another plot in the graveyard behind the Centre would be filled.

She finished her inspection, which included hearing everything Sydney had to say about the sim Jarod had completed to demonstrate his skills. The faux-Italian woman claimed to be part of a major international organization with whom the Centre had worked in the past, and who had, on more than one occasion, been a profitable client. Now their relationship with that group would come under intense scrutiny, as the Centre tried to locate their missing prize.

Miss Parker dismissed Sydney as she returned to her office and then sat down at her desk to look through the material with which she had been provided. She already knew that Sydney believed it would take time to catch Jarod, but she had more confidence in her own abilities. No matter who was helping him, his lack of knowledge of the outside world would be a handicap, and regardless of his abilities to blend in, his naïveté would be his downfall.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

After lunch the following day, the Boss arrived at Shannon’s house and started to check the final few things they would need for the events of that night. Shannon disappeared into her room, and Joshua began hovering around the living room, clearly waiting for something, although Jarod was unsure what he wanted.

It was made clear to him when Charles sighed deeply, straightened up and met the young man’s gaze. “You want to come tonight, don’t you?”

“Please,” Joshua begged immediately. “Even if it’s just to the meeting place. I want to get a feel for what happens, so that eventually I can help, too.”

Charles thought for a moment, busily checking that guns in a case were loaded, before looking up again. “All right,” he agreed, and had to grin at the enthusiastic cheer that came from Joshua’s mouth. “As long as you keep out of the way, and do whatever you’re told immediately,” he added. “We don’t want to risk your life, or anyone else’s, more than we have to.”

“I promise,” the boy vowed, before adding seriously, “But I do want to help in this. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I know that’s what I want to do.”

The older man smiled and gently ruffled his hair. “I appreciate that, Josh. And if you still feel that way after tonight, I’ll have you trained in whatever area you want to work in.”

At this point, Shannon reappeared, carrying a bag, and suggested they leave. When Charles agreed, the four people left the house, Shannon locking it behind them, and the Boss suggested that Jarod travel with Shannon, who could give him a few driving lessons and tips about the night. Guessing that his father wanted to talk to Joshua, Jarod agreed and was about to get into the passenger seat of the new black convertible that had been purchased the day before when the woman tossed him the keys.

“I’m driving?”

“Cici told me not to, and you need to learn how to drive,” Shannon told him, as he came around to sit in the driver’s seat and she gave him initial directions. “Nat will make you a driving license and put you into the records – with a slightly modified picture, of course, so the Centre can’t trace you – and then, if you want to, you can work with us.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he carefully steered the car out of the driveway. “Have you thought about it?”

“I’ve started to,” he responded carefully. He had already made up his mind to be part of the team, but guessed that few people made that decision so quickly. But he had ulterior motives for his decision and believed that working with him was the best way to stay in contact with his father. A few moments later, when he was more comfortable with driving, he glanced at her. “What’s going to happen tonight? I know some things, but not every step.”

Shannon smiled. “You’re born to be a part of this unit,” she teased, and Jarod, having now spent enough time with her to know that jokes and teasing were part of her nature, smiled in reply. “If you were this curious as a boy,” she went on, “it’s no wonder the Centre wanted you.” She giggled before continuing. “A place will be set up for an ambush about 45 from the Centre. We’ll stage an accident or some disturbance on the road – I think it’s road works this time – and the team will use the chance to grab the victim. There will be a team of about twenty sweepers on this transport, but at least four of them are ours, and we’ll have a team of more than thirty people attacking it, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“But they’re trained,” Jarod reminded her.

“So are our people,” she retorted. “We have a small army of our own, kept for occasions such as this, who are trained in the same way sweepers are. Once we’ve got our target, our people withdraw and leave gas bombs behind, inside the cars, which go off as soon as sweepers try to get into them to chase us.”

“What kind of gas?”

“Tear gas.” She giggled. “There’s no funnier sight than watching a great big sweeper wiping away tears and gasping for breath.”

“I can imagine,” Jarod agreed, picturing the scene in his mind and hard-pressed not to laugh at it himself.

“After that,” she went on, “we’ll drive back to our meeting house, and then come home from there. Oh, and you don’t have to wait for me, if you don’t want to,” she added. “If you want to spend the night at someone else’s house, or get a lift with someone else, you can.”

“I’ll think about it,” he offered cautiously.

The conversation shifted to more general things, and Jarod put to Shannon a few of the questions that had occurred to him over the previous 24 hours, some of which she found difficult to answer.

Nat and Cecilia were already at the house Jarod had visited the previous day when they arrived, the two people poring over the map that was again spread out on the table in the windowless room. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, with plans being double-checked and watches set to the same time. Jarod was amazed at the amount of detail that was examined. It seemed to him that no point had been ignored, but someone always seemed to find something else that needed discussion, and the hours flew by.

Jarod accepted his father’s invitation to accompany the group, agreeing to stay in the van with Nat, who would be controlling proceedings a distance from the action. Joshua was to stay behind with Lucy and Tom, and they would use a radio to keep in contact with the group involved in the assignment.

Those who would stay behind farewelled the group at midnight. It would take three hours to get to the chosen site, and then time to check that everything was still secure enough for the rescue to take place. Jarod and the others piled into the back of a black van, Charles driving and Cici in the passenger seat. Much of the van was taken up with seats, but Nat told Jarod that these could be folded away and replaced with the computer station from which he would work. As everyone would be wearing microphones, and some people would be equipped with tiny cameras, he could view the entire scene and create any necessary diversions, if they were required. He seemed to get a great deal of joy out of describing the diversionary tactics to Jarod, who found it interesting, but not quite as fascinating as Nat obviously did, particularly as he, Jarod, had been responsible for the creation of a number of them, and was now fearful about the way the Centre might have misused the technology.

Finally, as the moon was starting to sink towards the horizon, they pulled off the road along which they had been traveling and Charles steered the van in behind a high clump of bushes that was nearly a complete circle. Several other vans, which had joined theirs at various places along the route, steered in behind trees and other areas, and killed their engines. The silence that followed this was almost stunning, and nobody moved for a moment. Then Nat opened the door of their van and reached up to put something on the roof, while the Boss got out and crossed a stretch of open ground to one of the other vans.

“Heat sensor,” he told Jarod sharply. The lightness of his tones had vanished, and a furrow had appeared in his forehead.

He quickly folded away the chairs and unpacked a series of boxes that revealed various pieces of equipment, including a radio. One box, Jarod saw, was full of what Nat told him were radio headsets, and he directed the Pretender to give one to each man as they came to the van.

Handing them out, Jarod had a chance to look at each man, and saw that they were of a similar build to sweepers, but that there was an intelligent look on their faces, in stark contrast to those people hired as muscle by the Centre.

As each machine was turned on, most emitted light of some kind, until the van was illuminated enough for Jarod to be able to see various things inside it. He sat down on the one remaining seat and watched as Nat began turning switches, until voices could be heard from speakers that Nat had attached to the radio receiver.

“Twenty minutes to go,” Nat said suddenly, and Jarod glanced down at the new watch he had on his wrist. His father had taught him to tell time that afternoon – or rather, taught again, as Charles told his son that one of the last things he had learned before being taken by the Centre had been to read a clock. The Centre had kept the watch he had received for his fourth birthday, along with everything else he had been wearing on the night he was taken, and Jarod had never seen any of it again.

Even as Jarod thought this, the silence was broken by a rumbling sound, which grew louder with every passing second, and an unknown voice spoke over the radio.

“Here they come.”

Suddenly the darkness was broken by the flashing of orange lights and the rumble of machinery. Through the tinted windscreen, Jarod could see men in dark clothes with vests that reflected the oncoming headlights. Through the gloom, made worse by the bright lights that shone on the fake work-site, he could just make out three vehicles, and a voice through the radio confirmed it.

“Three cars – maximum fourteen sweepers and the target.”

“Only fourteen,” Nat muttered in obvious relief. “We’ve got double that.”

The cars were halted by a man who stepped out into the middle of the road with an outstretched hand, and Jarod inhaled sharply as he recognized his father’s features in the bright light.

“What’s the hold-up?” an angry voice demanded.

Only four men had been dressed as ‘workmen’, the others being hidden along the roadway, and they now came out of the shadows and surrounded the cars, ten people to each car, most with guns drawn. The doors were yanked open, and in the background, Jarod could hear a voice over a radio, calling for backup.

“No, you don’t,” Nat murmured, and Jarod saw him press a button on the panel, which was the new device he had created to scramble the Centre’s radio communication.

A violent fight was taking place outside the cars, although it was obvious, even to Jarod, that the sweepers had no chance. They were quickly overpowered, tied up and dumped back into the car. Two figures came towards the van, carrying a limp body between them, and Cici, who had so far remained in the passenger seat, grabbed her bag as she got out, running over to join them.

The resistance lasted less than ten minutes. By the end of that time, the sweepers were tied up and most were apparently unconscious. They were dumped back into the cars, several being left at the side of the road. They wouldn’t be there long. The first part of the radio message would have been received at the Centre, and sweepers would already be on their way, but this gave the rescuers some time to get away. While some people busied themselves with this, others shot their guns into the surrounding trees to make it appear that the situation had been more violent than it really was. This was a ploy they always used in the hope that it would prevent anyone they attacked from trying to fight back, and so far that, with the element of surprise, had achieved the aim.

As the men checked their knots, Charles came back to the van, smiling grimly. “Looks like it was a success,” he told the two men inside. “Nat, do a sweep and check we haven’t missed anyone, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man muttered, and turned on the machine attached to the heat sensor on the van’s room. As Jarod watched over his shoulder, Nat identified the various groups visible on the screen. “Cici, the target and two of our guys,” he said, pointing to a group nearby. “The convoy from the Centre,” circling the area several hundred feet away, which was a hive of activity, as everything was packed away.

“Wait,” Jarod said, as Nat slid the scanner over another area and the Pretender caught sight of something. “What’s that?”

Swiveling the camera back in that direction, Nat raised his eyebrows at the faint light, which was only just visible even to the powerful camera.

“Good job,” he said, before activating the radio. “Boss, check twenty-five feet to the left of the last car. Dig around a bit. There’s something there.”

Immediately, several figures raced over to the indicated spot, and Jarod could see them digging around under the leaves that thickly covered the ground. Then they lifted something and the two men in the van could see a human form on the ground.

“Cici,” the Boss’s voice barked over the radio, and the doctor left the group gathered around the target and raced over. A moment later, Charles’ voice spoke again, so softly that Jarod doubted he had heard properly. “Oh, God. Emily.”

That name was already fixed in Jarod's mind, along with details of his daughter that Charles had spent many hours describing to his son. Without hesitating, and ignoring the call of “Jarod, come back!” that came from behind him, the Pretender yanked open the car door and raced across the ground to where the group was gathered around the motionless young woman. Charles looked up as his son approached and smiled, his eyes glistening in the torchlight.

“It’s her, Jarod,” his father murmured happily, as Cici checked the young woman over. “It’s your sister. At last.”

“Boss,” Nat’s voice suddenly said, and the silence of the area was so complete that Jarod could hear it, even without wearing a headset himself. Charles straightened and pressed a button on a box at his hip.

“What is it, Nat?”

“Teams have just left the Centre, including a helicopter. It’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Everybody scram,” Charles ordered, jumping to his feet, before turning to his son. “Can you carry her to the van, Jarod? I’ll get our target.”

Without bothering to answer, Jarod slid his arms under his sister’s shoulders and knees, lifting her gently. Then he saw, on the ground, something silver reflecting the light, and bent down again to pick it up. It was a key, and he awkwardly managed to slip it into his pants pocket, before turning away to the vehicle in the shadows.

In the van, he gently placed Emily on a pile of blankets in the back of the van, while Charles, having put the other unconscious figure across a bank of seats, came to help Nat and Margaret pack everything away. Through the windscreen, he could see other people racing for the vehicles that were hidden around the area, supplemented by the sweeper who had finished his time inside the Centre and had been replaced by another. Even as they did so, several explosions were heard near the vans, and clouds of something thicker than smoke billowed into the air. Jarod guessed that these were the smoke bombs Shannon had mentioned.

Moments later, even as Nat was closing the last box, the van started, and Jarod looked up to see Cici at the wheel. Charles checked the young girl who lay on the seats and then ordered Nat to stay beside her, before he came over to where Jarod sat, Emily’s head resting against his leg, her eyes closed.

“Oh, Jarod,” his father murmured happily, his voice cracking, “I know I promised we’d be together again, but I never imagined it would be so soon!”

“Neither did I.” The younger man smiled as his father sank to his knees beside them and reached out to brush back a strand of his sister’s hair. Then he looked up at Jarod and managed a watery smile.

“She’s going to be so happy to see you, Jarod. I know she’s been searching for you for as long as I have.”

“She’ll be happy to see both of us,” his son contradicted gently.

“Boss,” Nat’s voice called at this point, and Charles straightened up, moving to the front of the vehicle. Jarod noticed that the tension was now gone from Nat’s voice, and he sounded just as he had during their first meeting.

“What’s up?” the older man asked.

“The helicopter just arrived,” the technician said, and Jarod looked up in time to see him point out something on a box in his lap. “The first cars should be able ten minutes behind them – maybe 15, depending on how quickly they got going.”

“Did our people get away?”

“Well and truly,” Nat replied in satisfied tones. “Two cars arrived at the airstrip, and the guys will be in the air as we speak. The others just crossed the border.”

Charles clapped him on the back. “Great job. Everything went like clockwork. Now, let’s get Freya to her safe-house and then maybe we can get some shut-eye.” He came back to where Jarod sat and lowered himself to the floor of the van beside them, looking down at his daughter. “When we get back to Lucy’s, I want Cici to take another look at her. If she’s been at the Centre, God only knows what they could have done to her.”

“And if she hasn’t been there, how did she know where we were?” Jarod asked suddenly, lifting his head from where it was resting against the van’s rear door. “Dad, she must have been inside the Centre, and even with the transport, or else Nat would have spotted her earlier. Someone must have knocked her out and dragged her away from the convoy. And if it was one of your people, why didn’t they say so? Everyone knew we’d found her.”

Charles stared at his son in horrified realization. “Working for them?” he suggested, flinching back from the unconscious young woman. “Could she be?”

“I don’t know,” Jarod said softly. “And we probably won’t, until she wakes up and can tell us for herself. But I’ve never seen her, if that helps.” His eyes traveled over his sister’s face. “I’m sure I’d remember, if I had.”

“Nat,” Charles snapped, and the young man rose immediately, moving to the back of the van.

“What is it, Boss?”

“I want you to run an ID search on her,” the older man directed, waving a hand at his daughter. “Get a photo and run it through the whole Centre system. I want anyone who even looks vaguely like her, as well as all the details you can find.”

“Yes, sir,” Nat agreed at once. “I’ve got my camera at the house, so that I can start making a pass for Freya, and I’ll run that check as soon as we get there.”

Nat moved back to his seat, and Charles walked over to look at Freya, the twelve-year-old girl who had been the target for the night’s successful operation. As the project name allocated to her implied, she had blond hair, which had been cut short, and a finely boned face. The Centre had exploited her extraordinary memory skills for almost ten years.

Jarod looked down at this sister, pulling the blanket around her slightly closer, so that the draft he felt wouldn’t affect her. He couldn’t feel anything but pity for her, knowing now how the Centre worked and what ruses they might have used to tempt her into working for them. Leaning his head against the back of the van, he imagined the ways in which they could have persuaded her to stay. He could see himself, a prisoner again, responding in exactly the way they wanted to the requests they presented, giving them information, which they could later use in any way they wanted…

A hand gently shaking his shoulder woke Jarod some time later, and he could make out his father’s features in the half-light.

“We’re here, Jarod.”

Stretching, the Pretender found that his leg had gone to sleep, and had to let Nat and his father lift his sister out of the van and carry her into the house, while Tom came out to bring Freya. By the time Jarod got inside, having secured the van, the blond girl was being taken into a bedroom, with Cici following behind, and Emily, still unconscious, had been put down on a sofa in the living room, with Charles beside her.

Jarod sank into an armchair opposite, watching as his father leaned over the woman, who was clearly starting to regain consciousness.

“Cici,” the Boss called in a low voice, and the doctor appeared almost immediately, hurrying to the sofa and picking up Emily’s wrist to time her pulse.

“She’s doing fine.” Cici smiled as she saw the girl’s eyelids flutter.

Charles leaned over his daughter and spoke quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Emily? Are you waking up, honey?”

Even as Cici took a step back, her eyes widening in surprise, Emily opened her eyes, looking up at her father, and a faint smile curled her lips.

“Daddy,” she muttered in a cracking voice, and Lucy immediately hurried forward with a glass of water.

“Yes, baby,” Charles assured her, stroking her cheek. “I’m here.” Then, as she struggled to sit up, he put a hand on her shoulder in gentle restraint. “No, Emily. Stay still and drink this.”

He held the glass to her lips, and she sipped at the contents, her eyes still fixed on her father’s face, opening her mouth to speak again as soon as he moved the glass away.

“How did you know where I was?” she asked, her voice stronger, and Jarod saw Cici’s eyes narrow as she looked at the younger woman.

“It’s a long story,” Charles said, still in that gentle tone. “For the moment, I want our doctor to look you over, and then I’ve got a few things I want you to tell me.”

Cici came forward on the word, and Charles rose from his knees, backing away slightly. The girl lay still while the doctor gave her a cursory examination, and then smiled slightly.

“Thank you, Doctor Simpson.”

Jarod heard a united gasp and saw that everyone in the room was staring, wide-eyed, at Emily, who pulled herself upright and cast a grin at her father.

“Daddy, can I explain now?”

“I think you’d better,” Charles said quietly, but with great meaning in his tones.

“I’d like to ask a question first,” the doctor remarked, looking down at the patient. “What happened to you – do you know? You weren’t knocked out, because there’s no wound, and you’re totally lucid, which I’ve never seen after a hit like you would have needed to knock you out.”

Emily settled back against the cushions and looked thoughtful. “It’s a little hard to know where to begin without saying something that will have you thinking I’ve been working with the Centre. I haven’t,” she exclaimed, looking at her father. “I only went in about two months ago, to try to find Kyle and Jarod.”

Jarod sat bolt upright at this, but his father gestured to him to stay quiet.

“I was working for a corporation that was searching for improvements to one of their ideas,” Emily went on, “and they mentioned something about a think-tank in Delaware that might be able to provide the answers they wanted. It was the first I’d heard about the Centre, but the more research I did, the more it sounded like the kind of place that might have been involved somehow, so I applied for a job as a sweeper two months ago.”

“Nat?” Charles snapped, and the young man, who was bent over his computer, looked up to nod in agreement at what had been said. Jarod could already see a photo of his sister that had clearly been taken while she was still unconscious. When the Boss was reassured, he came over to sit on the edge of the sofa and looked steadily at Emily. “What did you find out, baby?” he asked, and Jarod could hear that the former reserve in his voice was gone.

“I couldn’t find them,” Emily replied, her voice suddenly choky, and she slipped her hands into those of her father as her brown eyes filled. “I wanted to, Daddy, so much! And the more I found out about the Centre, the more I knew I had to try to get them out! It’s so awful, that place…”

“I know,” her father agreed softly. “But tell me, Em, what happened tonight?”

Emily’s head sank and she examined her feet. “I’m a coward,” she confessed in a low voice. “I was so scared of that place, and the more I found about what they’ve done to our family, the more frightened I was. Then I saw that they were planning to transport one of the subjects to one of the Centre’s partner companies, and I thought that, if I went along, I might have a chance to escape.”

“But you didn’t,” Cici put in. “So what happened?”

“Someone grabbed me as I got out of the car and pulled me away,” Emily replied. “She took my gun – the one I got from the Centre – and said that I had no right to be where I was, that my family was worried about me, and that this was the worst place I could be – that I was even lucky to still be alive!” The woman’s eyes were wide as she looked up. “And she was right! But I never knew how bad it was until I was involved, so how did she know?”

“She could have been one of them,” Cici mused. “One of the helpful ones.”

“There aren’t any,” Nat snorted quietly, and Tom nodded in agreement.

“Or one of our guys,” the doctor added.

“They’ve never known about Emily,” Charles contradicted at once. Then he looked back at his daughter. “What happened after that?”

“She produced a bottle of something and told me to drink it. She said that when I woke up, I’d be safe – she’d make sure of it. So I did what she said, and that’s all I remember.” Emily patted the pocket of her jacket, and then her expression became anxious. She patted her other pockets, but clearly failed to find what she wanted. “Oh, Daddy,” she wailed. “I brought all the information I’ve been gathering about the projects I saw working, so that I could expose the place and get it shut down, but it’s gone!”

“What about your ID card?” Nat asked suddenly. The young woman eyed him for a moment before feeling in her shirt pocket.

“That’s gone, too!”

“Why, Nat?” Charles asked in suspicious tones.

“According to this,” the young technician said, “the sweeper with the ID card bearing your daughter’s photo has just swiped in at that Centre.”

“What?!” The Boss leapt to his feet. “Let me see that.”

He was shown the screen and sent a bewildered look at the other people in the room.

“But who is it?” he demanded. “Who would take the card and pretend to be Emily? And why?”

“Pretend?” Jarod, forgetting his father’s direction, spoke, as he looked around at the people in the room – his father, Cecilia, Nat, Tom, Lucy, Margaret, Emily and Joshua. “Where’s Shannon?”

There was an instant of stunned silence before Charles spoke again, shaking his head, his face wearing an expression of horror as he dropped into a vacant chair beside Nat.

“Oh, no,” he begged softly, staring at the floor, as he sank his head into his hands. “Oh, God, no – she’s gone back in to find Peter!”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 5


Jarod

Jarod barely heard the statement, having locked eyes with his sister, and seeing as she stared at him as if unable to believe her eyes. Then she gave a shriek, leapt off the sofa and threw herself at him. Jarod had only a second to prepare for the onslaught, but he wrapped his arms around her, as much to stop her falling as to embrace her.

“Oh, Jarod,” she sobbed, and he could feel tears tricking down the back of his shirt as her hands clutched at him. “It’s really you! At last!”

A moment of silence passed, apart from the sound of sobs in Jarod's ear, and the Pretender saw various people in the room exchange startled glances. Emily’s cry had drawn Charles’ attention from his own thoughts, and he now came over to where his children sat, with a gesture that made the others hurriedly leave the room.

He pulled up another chair nearby and sat in it, gently drawing Emily off her brother’s lap and onto his own, taking a tissue from a nearby box, which he pressed into her hand as she swallowed the last of her sobs, although she smiled happily through her tears.

“So you did get away,” she exclaimed, both his hands held firmly in her lap. “I found out that your project had disappeared from the records, but that could have meant you’d…” She was unable to speak her fears: that her brother had been killed. Instead she looked up at her father. “It was only after that happened that I heard him called ‘Jarod’ by one of the other sweepers, so I went searching and found photos and DSAs of him. That’s when I knew it was our Jarod, and when I found that out – that he was gone – I knew there was no point in me staying any longer.”

“What else did you find, Em?” Charles asked curiously.

“Kyle’s not in the Centre anymore,” his daughter replied. “His projects stopped in 1983. About the only person who might know where he now would be Raines, I guess. He was the one who was responsible for Kyle being out of the Centre.”

“Then we’ll have to start looking other places,” her father said firmly, his face full of determination. “We’ll find him, though. We have to.”

“Boss!” Nat suddenly burst into the room without knocking and thrust a piece of paper into the older man’s hands. “Here she is. I just got that off the security system. She’s down in the archives section.”

“Oh, jeez,” Charles murmured, accepting the sheet, and Jarod looked over his father’s shoulder, able to recognize the figure in the picture as Shannon, despite the fact that she looked years older, with short hair and light hazel eyes, as well as something in her mouth to alter the shape of her face.

“That’s her,” Emily said definitively. “That’s the woman who bailed me up.”

The Boss looked up at Nat. “Can we contact her somehow and arrange to get her out of there?”

“No,” another voice said, and Jarod looked up to see Tom in the doorway, holding a cell phone. “I just found this in the bag she left behind. There’s a note, too, Boss. She says not to worry about her. The worst that can happen is only what’s happened to her already.”

“So she isn’t coming back?” a young voice gasped from behind Tom, who moved aside so that the others could see Joshua, his eyes red, watching them anxiously. Tears rolled down the boy’s face as he waited for a response of some sort, and the longer people remained silent, the more his shoulders heaved.

Jarod felt something inside him melt, remembering how desolate he had felt at a similar age when he had been told that his parents had been killed. This, he could only imagine, would be the way his clone was feeling now, and he got up, gently released his hands from his sister’s grasp, and crossed the room to where the younger version of himself stood. Bending down, he placed his hands on Joshua’s shoulders, drawing the boy close and feeling the small arms wrap around him in a desperate hug.

“What are we going to do?” Cici asked, and Jarod, keeping an arm around Joshua’s shoulders, turned in time to see his father shake his head.

“I don’t know,” Charles said softly. “I don’t think we can do anything. Without being able to contact her, we can’t arrange for a time and place to get her out. And if we told any of our guys what was going on and they tried to protect her, someone would notice.”

Nat dropped onto the sofa, his expression haggard. “She can’t just be looking for Peter,” he said in low tones. “Why go into the archives? There’s only two places he could be – the cells and the cemetery – and the records for both are kept elsewhere.”

Charles looked up at Lucy. “What did she say to you? Did she say anything about where she was going?”

“Home, she told us,” the older woman said. “But I called there while Nat was tracking here, and there’s no answer.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, and Jarod saw tears brim in Joshua’s eyes, the boy’s arm tight around his waist. Suddenly Charles gave Emily a hug and set her on her feet, turning to Nat.

“Let’s keep an eye on what she’s up to. Maybe she’s got another aim in mind. If she’s not going to be there for long, we might be able to arrange for her to be picked up safely.” He turned to his daughter. “And you can tell me what you were researching at the Centre. We might be able to get a hold of that information you were planning to bring with you.”

Cici left the room with them, taking Lucy and Margaret, so that only Tom was left with Jarod and Joshua. Guiding the boy to the sofa, Jarod sat down and drew Joshua down beside him. The boy immediately buried his face in his progenitor’s shoulder, his chest again heaving with sobs. Jarod rocked him gently, unable to think of anything that might be comforting. Tom wandered over to the wall, staring blankly at blueprints of the Centre that were pinned to it, lightly running the index finger of his right hand over the diagrams.

The silence extended for several minutes, and gradually Jarod could feel Joshua’s sobs lessen, until only an occasional gasp for breath and uneven breath revealed his emotional distress. Even as Jarod looked down, the boy’s arms, which had been around Jarod's neck, began to slip down until they hung loosely towards the floor. His breath was warm against Jarod's throat, his head resting on the man’s shoulder, and Jarod felt him snuggle slightly closer. The man could see that Joshua’s eyes were now closed, his lips slightly parted, and in another minute it was clear that he was sound asleep.

Jarod looked up at the other man in the room. “Tom?”

Without turning, Tom spoke. “Hmm?”

“Who’s Peter?”

There was another long pause, during which Jarod began to believe that either Tom hadn’t heard him, or else wasn’t going to answer, but finally the young man turned around and came over to pull up an armchair beside the sofa.

“Did Shannon tell you anything about a person who she worked with when she was at the Centre?”

“She did say that someone once told her about ‘mother’ and ‘father’,” Jarod admitted, suddenly remembering that conversation.

Tom nodded. “That’s Peter. According to the records we found, he was taken from his parents when he was about eight. At least, that was his age when he arrived at the Centre. He was tested for about three weeks, and then brought in to work with Shannon. For some reason, Raines had the idea that their skills would compliment each other.” He sighed and stared at his hands for a moment, before continuing. “I’d been out about a month when we started planning to get Peter out, and then we found that he was working so closely with Shannon that, if we got him, she’d probably have to have done his sim, so we got them both out.”

“What was it?” Jarod asked curiously.

“I honestly don’t remember anymore,” Tom admitted. “I don’t think I ever knew that much about it, really. Just that it was bad, and had to be stopped.”

“So what happened to him? I heard what Dad said about him disappearing, when he was planning this latest.”

Jarod used the term to describe his father without thinking, cursing silently as soon as he finished speaking, but either Tom had already made the connection himself, or else he missed the term, because he answered the question without surprise.

“We were on a night raid, like last night, except that we arranged for the convoy to pass at ten p.m. instead of the early hours of the morning. It was all going well, until we were leaving and did our usual headcount. Peter was missing. Nobody saw him – well, you probably know for yourself now how hard it is to keep track of everyone during raids – but we don’t know whether he was recognized and dragged off, or left of his own accord.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Nobody knows.” Tom sighed. “Nat found footage of him, surrounded by sweepers, walking into the Centre, but then he just disappeared. The entire system went down with a power outage for a full minute, and by the time it started again, he was gone.”

“And so Shannon’s gone in to find him?” Jarod asked softly.

“I guess so.” Tom blinked rapidly, and Jarod guessed that he was fighting to keep his composure. “They were so close,” he explained after another minute. “Like Meg and me. When we first found that he was missing, Shannon wanted to go right back in to find him, but the Boss wouldn’t let her. She begged him to let her – she was almost hysterical – and finally Charles got Cici to give her something to calm her down, so that she wouldn’t escape out of a window or something to go back and try to find him herself, like she kept threatening to do.”

“Why didn’t she go looking for him instead of getting me out?”

“The Boss reminded her that it wasn’t right for us to forget everyone else who was suffering at the Centre’s hands just for one person. She finally agreed that she would play her part in getting you out.” Tom steadily met Jarod's gaze. “I think it helped her a little, too. She’d begun to be more like she was when we first got her out – shy and withdrawn – but after she went through that, Nat told me that she was better.”

“Maybe she was planning this at the time,” Jarod suggested.

“Maybe,” Tom agreed. “She knew about Freya, of course, and that we’d have to use an outside rescue, because we never go into the Centre twice in a row – and certainly not this close together – so maybe she was getting ready for it.” He stared blankly at the floor. “I only hope she planned how she was going to get out, too…”

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon left the infirmary and headed for the bedroom she knew belonged to the woman whose identity she had stolen hours earlier. As she got into the elevator that would take her down to the residence level, she wondered whether anyone had yet noticed that she was missing.

When the doors slid open, she walked down the hallway and let herself into the room in which, she already knew, there were no cameras, so she could sit and plan her next move.

She had begun planning for this the morning after Jarod's rescue, when she had been doing one of her usual searches through the Centre’s mainframe for anything that could lead her to Peter. It was a typical part of every day; she worked through some part of the mainframe for two or three hours, in the hope of finding a project that could be him.

On this day, she had found herself grateful for the lessons Raines had so painstakingly beaten into her of checking every detail. While examining the project records of one candidate, she had opened the file belonging to a particular female sweeper whose name was new to her.

The photo, however, when it finally opened on the screen, was almost sickening familiar.

Shannon had, by chance, one day seen the photos that the Boss carried around in his wallet of his three children. She had once overheard him talking to Cici about them, and had herself asked him about them. Now she found herself gazing into the eyes of a person who looked almost exactly like his daughter, Emily. The name in the sweeper’s file read “Lauren Emerson”, but Shannon knew that details could be easily falsified, and that the Centre ran very few such basic searches to confirm identity.

Her heart was in her throat as she opened the sweeper’s file and began a methodological search. For months, ever since being rescued from the Centre, she had sought a way to repay the Boss for everything he had done for her, and now, with this discovery, she believed she had found it. She could get herself into the Centre and Emily out of it at the same time. But that depended on the young woman’s role. If she were working with the Centre, it would do the group more damage than good to introduce her to it, so background checks had to be done carefully.

However, Nat had once shown her the way he introduced their sweepers into the Centre records and made it appear that they had been working there for years. Each sweeper had a record of all the projects they had overseen, and each project and sim had a list of those sweepers that had overseen them. However, nobody in the Centre ever compared these two lists, and Nat only recorded the names of the projects under the sweepers’ records, without doing the opposite. Now, as Shannon found the list under ‘Lauren’s’ name, she began to compare those names with the project details. Only three matched, and these were all recent, being within the past two months. This gave her a date at which Emily had gone into the Centre, and suggested that she wasn’t working with any of the people there. If she had been, her details would have checked out. Shannon suspected that she had ulterior motives, possibly to do with her family.

Resting her chin in the palm of her right hand, Shannon considered her possible motives, continuing to stare blankly at the photo on her screen. Slowly, the features became more familiar, and something made her open the file of their latest target and scan both into her facial recognition program. Enough features matched for her to be sure that there was a genetic connection. Mentally, Shannon made the same comparison to her memory of the Boss’s face, and then she knew. Jarod and Emily were two of his children, and, judging by his age, Jarod was the elder son, the search for whom had driven Charles to begin getting people out of the Centre.

Even as she thought this, a plan suggested itself to her. She ran it through her usual processes, and although there were potential problems, she had no time to come up with something else that might have a greater likelihood of success. She had to act now.

In the bathroom, she selected a wig of the same length as her own hair and dyed it to match her dark locks. Then, with barely a murmur of compunction, she took out an electric razor from her case and shaved off her hair. As the strands fell around her feet, she mentally shrugged, trying not to remember what Peter used to say about her hair and how much he had loved it when it grew. It would grow back, she reasoned with herself, even as she removed the last of it and put the razor away. By then, the wig was dry, so she fastened it to her remaining hair and packed her colored contact lenses, and the mouth moulds that would change the shape of her face, into her bag, along with makeup that would dye her skin to match Emily’s, as it appeared in the photo she had found.

By the time she was ready, she could hear the others gathering by the door and hurried out to join them. Joshua, Jarod and the Boss were waiting for her, but nobody commented on the bag she carried, although no makeup would be necessary on this occasion.

“You two follow us,” Charles said, and Shannon guessed that he wanted to talk to Joshua about what would happen that evening, so she readily agreed.

Jarod's eyebrows lifted as she threw him the keys and he caught them. “I’m driving?”

“Cici told me not to,” she fibbed. The doctor had never been specific about what Shannon couldn’t do, but she had told her to rest the arm. Besides, Shannon didn’t want anyone to suspect what she had planned, and if she said now that she couldn’t drive, no one would imagine that she would follow the Boss’s van in her car.

So Jarod got into the driver’s seat, and Shannon verbally guided him through the stages to get the car onto the road, but within a few moments she found that he needed no more instruction, other than to identify the meaning of the various road signs.

The trip to the meeting place took surprisingly little time, with Jarod asking more questions about the world outside the Centre, and Shannon endeavoring to answer them. She was surprised by the depth of his requests. It had taken weeks, rather than days, before she began to ask about such indecipherable things as emotions. But he wanted to know about them, and the feelings that accompanied various events and activities. Before long, he had exhausted her limited knowledge, and she was forced to admit that fact, suggesting that he talk to the Boss or Cici instead.

Upon arrival at Lucy’s house, Shannon could feel the tension. As usual on rescue days, everyone remained as silent as possible, as if not wanting to jeopardize the operation by discussing it, or losing focus by talking of something else. Even Joshua seemed to feel it, and any questions he asked were murmured, with responses coming in the same low tone.

Gradually, ever so slowly, time crept on until the group prepared to leave. Shannon waited only ten minutes after they left before announcing that she was going home to get some rest. She was invited to stay there, but declined, expressing a desire for sleep in her own bed. Nobody made a move to stop her, so she got into her car and, instead of heading for her house, followed the path that the assignment van had taken.

When she was still two miles away from the ambush site, she pulled the car into a clearing and got out, taking her bag with her. In the darkness, she hurried along the road, staying behind trees and in ditches as much as possible, eventually approaching the area where everything was being set up. The place was only dimly lit, and she was able to scoot around it, giving the group a wide berth, and get to the place she had picked out on the map. There, she pulled off the long brown wig and stuffed it into a bag, from which she then removed the makeup, contact lenses and dentures she had brought.

Final preparations took about ten minutes, by which time she could hear the faint rumble of cars approaching. She held her breath, waiting for them to pull up, pressed against the tree. As they stopped, she braced herself and then slipped out from behind the tree, searching for her quarry.

Getting Emily to safety had been easy. Like all the other Centre sweepers, she had been caught off guard by the attack, and Shannon had managed to steal the gun from the regulation holster and pull her away. Emily had been frightened, although she hadn’t shown it, but Shannon knew how she would be feeling and kept the interview mercifully short. Although Emily hadn’t wanted to drink the sedative Shannon offered, the younger girl insisted, and only just managed to get Emily around a clump of bushes and away from the main road before she collapsed. It was then a simple matter of removing the cards and papers from her jacket and putting it into the pocket of the uniform that matched that of the real sweepers, before covering Emily with piles of leaves that had begun to fall from the surrounding trees.

Then she had dodged around the site of battle, which was starting to die down, and began to run in the direction of the Centre. She had heard someone call for help on the radio and knew that cars, and probably a helicopter, would be speeding in that direction, and would hopefully stop to pick her up. Her fear was that one of the Boss’s men would see her and come after her, but she managed to get some distance away without anyone seeming to notice her, and she slowed to a jog.

It was probably twenty minutes before she saw the first headlight on the horizon, and Shannon at once clapped her hand to the arm that had been shot two days before. She had removed the bandage Cici had applied and had moved her arm vigorously during her run to make it bleed, so that she could persuade the Centre people that she had been injured in the attack.

A moment later, a van came into view and she waved it down. It pulled up beside her and the door was flung open.

“What happened?” a voice barked from the interior.

“A whole gang of ‘em,” she gasped, still breathless from her frantic run, although she emphasized it for effect. “They stopped us and grabbed the girl. They beat some of our people and tied ‘em up. I only just got away!”

“Get in,” the same voice demanded, and she climbed into the vehicle, which barely gave her time to do so before it took off.

Inside, the van was dimly lit, and she could see the six other grim-faced sweepers, as well as one man who was dressed in a paler suit, and whom she guessed to be a doctor. He glanced at her arm and opened the case that lay on the seat beside him, telling her to take off her jacket and roll up her sleeve.

“Gunshot wound?” he asked as he began to dab the site with antiseptic.

“Yeah,” she panted. “They were all armed.”

As she sat back and let the doctor treat the injury, Shannon was aware of one sweeper watching her keenly. She turned away, recognizing him, having made him up for a rescue not long after she herself had been rescued. Her heart seemed to pound in her ears as she looked out of the window into the darkness, feeling doctor wrap a bandage around the top of her arm. Surely he wouldn’t say anything here and now. To do so would be the death of them both. And if she could just avoid him later…

The van pulled up at the scene of the ambush, the powerful headlights illuminating the three cars, and the sweepers leapt out. The doctor was the last one out and looked back at her.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “We’ll bring the others here, if they’re injured, and get you all back to the Centre so you can be checked over.”

She had been thankful to stay in the seat, watching as people were untied and escorted over to the van. It was also obvious that the Boss had got everyone away safely. She even saw people go over to the place she had hidden Emily, and when nothing was found, Shannon sighed deeply, relieved that Emily was probably now safe with her family.

Within an hour, they were back at the Centre, being treated for their injuries. Those sweepers who had fought against their attackers had been knocked out, but others had simply been tied and gagged. The darkness meant that nobody could describe any identifying features of the people who had ambushed them, and Shannon heard someone saying that they only hoped the cleaners would find something. Then a doctor ordered Shannon to her room to rest, and she realized she had got through the first stage of her plan without being caught.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles

Charles glanced around the living room of Lucy’s home. Nat sat in the corner, his computer open in front of him, tracking Shannon’s movements through the Centre, while Tom watched over his shoulder. Jarod sat on the sofa, Joshua next to him, the boy staring blankly into space while his progenitor spoke softly in his ear. After waking from his nap, Josh had been almost hysterical at the fact that Shannon was gone, but Jarod had managed to calm him. Charles could almost see a relationship developing between them, and he was thankful for the fact. If… if Shannon didn’t come back, Joshua would need someone to help him cope, and Jarod seemed to have taken on that role without prompting.

Cici and Meg were in one of the bedrooms, watching over Freya. The girl had been terrified when she regained consciousness, and, fearful of her injuring herself in a desperate bid to escape, Cici had sedated her again. There could be no hope of moving her to the intended safehouse until she was calmer and able to cope with strangers, and so the group had to remain where it was.

Emily sat in the armchair beside her father, clutching one of his hands in both of hers. He forced a warm smile at her, and saw her smile in response. She had been disconcerted by the panic over Shannon’s disappearance, and Charles had been unable to explain to her his reasons for his anxiety. He had silently cursed himself, in the harshest language he knew, when she had said to him, in a hurt voice, “Daddy, aren’t you glad to see me?”

He was, of course. The shadow of anxiety that had been weighing on him for years had lifted the instant he had laid eyes on her. But first he had been afraid she was working for the organization that had caused such damage to his family, and he had barely had time to get over that when it was realized that Shannon was gone.

Charles hadn’t known how much Shannon meant to him until the moment he knew she had gone back into the man-made hellhole in Delaware. The group had only been back at the house for ten minutes when Charles had received a call from one of the sweepers he had sent into the Centre, reporting that he believed he had seen Shannon, and that she was now avoiding him and all the other sweepers, whether friend or foe.

Now, as he sat silent, staring at the floor, Charles tried to understand why Shannon meant so much to him. There had been that moment, after she regained consciousness, when she had asked, in a tiny, helpless voice, whether he was her father. Briefly, his heart melting in wordless sympathy at her fear, he had considered lying and saying yes, he was. But his heart had smote him with memories of his real daughter, and he had had to admit the truth. Since that moment, however, she had clung to him as if there was a real biological relationship. Her face lit up the moment he appeared, and he had begun increasing his visits to her home without realizing that he was doing so, the delight of being with her driving him to it.

Was he in love with her?

The question seemed ridiculous on the surface. She was in her early twenties and he was sixty-five. But as it occurred to him, he had to wonder. He spent a moment considering it, and then dismissed it as ridiculous. He was still deeply in love with his wife, and what he felt for Shannon was different – similar, however, to what he felt for Emily.

That was it, then. He, having lost his family, had begun to treat her as if she was a member of it, and his emotions supported this idea. He believed it because he wanted to believe it, because he wanted to be a father again. That had been the Centre’s cruelest torment, to deprive him of his dream in life – to have a family. And Shannon had, in some way, begun to represent for him what he had lost.

He had always felt sorry for her, too. Everyone else they rescued had had some memories, no matter how faint, of life outside the Centre, and had managed to adapt relatively quickly to life in the world again. But she had been conceived and born in the Centre. Her nanny had been one of the cold, emotionless women that the Centre seemed to produce in countless numbers. He could still remember the way she had flinched away the first time he had moved the hug her, her fear of his motives obvious. It had taken time for her to trust anyone except Peter, but they had all worked hard to prove themselves to her, and slowly she became braver.

Peter’s disappearance, however, had driven her back into her shell somewhat, and it had only been when Charles decided to actively involve her in the rescues that she had recovered some of her former merriment. With Jarod, Charles noticed, she had been as warm and playful as she had been with Peter, and she had quickly adopted an almost motherly attitude to Joshua: a fact that had comforted Charles, who was inclined to look on Joshua as another son or even a grandson, having guessed his connection to Jarod from the few details they had found and his own memory of his son.

But now she was gone. He had the same feelings of abandonment as were clearly apparent in Joshua, who had early asked Jarod to tell him what he had done wrong that had made Shannon leave. Those questions made Charles question the same things of himself and wonder whether anything he could have done would have prevented her from going.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon opened the door of the archive room and walked in as if she had every right to be in that place. Confidence was expected of sweepers at the Centre, and a confident demeanor was often enough to prevent questions from other employees. Now, as the sweeper at the door barely cast a glance in her direction, she pulled out the short list of project numbers she had found on a sheet of paper in Emily’s pocket and began to hunt for the files in which the data would be stored. She had guessed that the details would have to do with Emily’s family, and if Shannon managed to get out of the Centre alive, she wanted to have that to give them.

She had also memorized a short list of projects that might be Peter. Shannon knew that inside each project folder was a photo, and so she hoped that it wouldn’t take her long to search through the half-dozen files and, hopefully, find what she wanted. Knowing that they would be quicker, she checked them first, glancing at each photo and rejecting it when the features proved to be unfamiliar. It was only when she turned away and began to collect the files Emily had listed that the truth hit her – she had failed to find him.

And yet, successfully fighting back tears, she went on with her methodical hunt.

Massive photocopiers stood against one wall, and when Shannon had found the files she sought, she carried them over to the tables on which the machines stood. Feeding the pages in took very little time, and, she knew, was normal procedure. Files were never taken out of the archives, unless they were to be destroyed, and Shannon found that one file on the list of numbers taken from Emily’s pocket was missing, suggesting that the data inside it had met with just such a fate. But the number was still listed on the massive index that showed the location of the files, and Shannon memorized the project name – Mirage – wondering what it had to do with the Boss and his family.

She should have been nervous and clumsy as she hurried through the process, but here was an unexpected benefit of Raines’ harsh training. Thanks to the frequent beatings and verbal abuse, she had learned to suppress her feelings and act emotionlessly. That skill was driving her now as she quickly copied and sorted the pages, returned the files to their folders, and inserted the information into new folders, each marked with the Centre logo, which lay on another table beside the door for that purpose.

Gathering the folders in her arms, she walked back along the hallway to the elevator and rode it down to the residence level, where she left them on the table in her room and locked the door behind her, aware that nobody could access the room without the key that hung at her waist.

Disappointment tugged at her, realizing that, Peter’s not having been among those files she had looked at, she now had no idea where to look in order to find him. Then a name flashed into her mind, at the mention of whom she was unable to suppress a shudder. For the voice that had spoken the name in her mind was instructing her to go to the one place in the Centre she most feared – Raines’ office.

*~*~*~*~*

Miss Parker

Miss Parker barely suppressed a smirk as she saw Willie, Raines’ personal sweeper, hurrying down the hallway ahead of her. The first piece of news Broots had told her that morning, upon her arrival at the Centre, had been that Raines was called in front of the T-Board regarding the disappearance of one of his projects during the night. Despite not showing it, she had been delighted by the information. It would hopefully keep Raines off her back for some time to come.

It was frustrating, though, that there seemed to be no sign of Jarod. Several apparent sightings had proved to be false, and her frustration was mounting. She had been certain that Jarod would immediately throw himself into the world and play his little games of pretence, and the fact that, so far, nothing supported this theory was frustrating. She hated to be wrong, particularly when other people had disagreed with her, as Sydney had.

Sydney had suggested that, as Jarod was obviously with other people, he wouldn’t immediately get involved in the outside world, but wait until he understood it better. When Miss Parker had dismissed this with a snort, he explained that, had Jarod left the Centre of his own volition, he would have agreed with her idea, but as all evidence led to another conclusion, he couldn’t believe that Jarod would immediately be placed in such a risky situation.

That discussion had only served to raise the tension that already existed between them, and Miss Parker was wishing that Sydney hadn’t been assigned to help them track Jarod, particularly as she believed he no longer genuinely desired the Pretender’s return.

“Angel!” a voice suddenly boomed, and she turned to see her father coming up behind her.

“Daddy,” she greeted him with a smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Well, and how’s it going?” he demanded, his gaze suddenly critical. “I’ve heard that you haven’t found much to go on yet.”

“It’s only been a few days, Daddy,” she reminded him coolly. “You have to give me time. This is a big country, and he could be anywhere. We do have some strong leads that we’re chasing up, though. We’ll get there.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll succeed eventually,” he said lightly, but there was a deeper meaning in his voice that she could just detect and wondered at. Then he leant in towards her, and she found herself backing away. “You will succeed, Angel,” he murmured, “because you have no choice.”

Turning on his heel, he strolled away, leaving his daughter staring after him.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon glanced around a corner and then pressed herself against the wall, not daring to breath, listening to the two Parkers talking. She had recognized Miss Parker from a photo Nat had shown her, being the person who was leading the hunt for Jarod. And Mr. Parker was a face and a name drilled into her memory. She hated him. Not as much as she hated Raines, because this man had never directly hurt her, but Mr. Parker had been responsible for the sale of her sims, which had resulted in the deaths of so many innocent people. Every time he put his signature to a form, it seemed, people died as a result.

It was difficult for her to suppress a sigh of relief when she saw them part, and when neither of them came in her direction. A moment later, the hallway was clear, and she took the first of many hesitant steps in the direction of Raines’ office. Despite the fact that she knew he was down in one of the lowest levels, being subjected to a T-Board by the Triumvirate, she was still terrified of him coming and finding her now. But a persistent voice in her head drove her onwards, into the darkened room.

The handle was cold under her fingers, and her pulse thrummed in her ears so fast that she was unable to detect the individual beats. She thought she would be sick as she turned the handle, the key on her belt having allowed her access to the locked room. As she closed and locked the door behind her, Shannon wondered idly where Emily had found an all-access pass. Then she drew a deep breath and looked around the room.

It was as sterile, impersonal and sparsely furnished as Shannon had always imagined it to be. A massive window took up almost an entire wall and looked out onto the bay, the calm water reflecting the gray sky above it. Another wall contained only the usual massive air vent cover, and an ornate clock, the ticking of which seemed to fill the room with sound. Shannon was startled to discover that it was already after three o’clock in the afternoon, and even as she looked around at the rest of the room, she had to wonder where the hours that had passed since her arrival at the Centre had gone.

The third wall, to the right of the person entering the office, was lined with filing cabinets, which were all three drawers high. Against the opposite wall stood a sofa, facing which were two lounge chairs, with a coffee table in the middle. Raines’ desk stood in lonely grandeur in the middle of the room. It held only a plain lamp, a penholder and two folders bearing the Centre’s logo. The cord of the lamp hung down to the marble floor and then seemed to vanish into it. When Shannon moved around the desk, however, she saw that it was plugged into a socket that had been built into the table leg.

Her point of interest now was the great row of filing cabinets, and Shannon was breathless with anxiety as she approached it.

Go on, a voice in her head seemed to urge, and she ran her eyes over the labels, seeing that the drawers were organized by date. This would make things easier, and she opened the drawer bearing the month in which Peter had disappeared, finding herself confronted with files that bore project names. So she would have to go through each in the hope of finding Peter’s photo. With a sigh that was almost a groan, and which the great room threw back as an echo that caused her to flinch, she began her hunt.

There were four drawers of files from the date of Peter’s disappearance, and she quickly found that Raines used the same process as that in the archives, so all that was required as a quick glance to determine the usefulness of the files. Thus was she quickly able to discount the first drawer of files, and then the second. She had a second of hope during her search of the third, but this quickly turned to bitter disappoint when she pulled out the file and took a second look at the photo. It wasn’t him, and nor was he to be found in the remainder of that drawer or the one below it. So it was with a sense of frustration and defeat that she shoved the fourth drawer closed.

It squeaked on its runners, and gave a loud thud as it slid back into place. Shannon, who had already begun to walk towards the door, was terrified by the noises, which were exacerbated in that massive, empty room, and sounded to her like an enormous crash of thunder. She cringed against the great solid door, waiting for it to be flung open and for her to be hurled across the room. Then many pairs of hands would drag her to her feet and, with the familiar shackles on her wrists and ankles, she would be dragged down to one of the cells. She had been shackled every day for the short journey between her room and the lab in which she had done her work. She had no idea why Raines had taken this precaution, only that it had been one of the most hated parts of her life.

But the silence returned, apart from the pounding of her heart in her ears. Her senses, which fear had temporarily driven away, began to return, and the silence of the office bore down on her as it had when she first entered. She found herself staring blankly at the smooth wooden door, her nose only inches from it, and wondered how she had managed to cross the massive space in such a short time. She could again smell the dry, musty scent that, to her, always signified that the man who continued to haunt her dreams was either nearby or had only recently left. And her fingers were clutched tightly around each other, with the sharp nails leaving marks on the skin, although they failed to draw blood.

Then a hand lightly touched her arm…

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 6


Shannon

Shannon let out a faint cry of protest and flung herself bodily against door, as if wanting to pass through the wood and come out the other side into the relative safety of the hallway. The sound of her action echoed around the room, but before it could die away, the hand gently stroked her arm again, and a voice mewled in her ear.

“Shannon.”

She started violently at this, before slowly turning and looking up into a pair of bright blue eyes that were on a level with her own. Angelo was crouched on the floor beside her, continuing to lightly stroke her arm with the backs of his fingers. She stared at him blankly for a second, before tears filled her eyes, which she impatiently blinked away.

“Oh, Angelo,” she breathed in relief, clutching his free hand in hers and repeating one of the Boss’s favorite phrases, which she had unconsciously picked up. “Oh, thank God.”

He cast a crooked smile in her direction. “Miss you,” he muttered, then turned away, glancing back over his shoulder to add, “Come.”

She willingly followed him towards the large air vent, which now stood open: a gaping black hole into which the empath vanished. As soon as she climbed into the darkness, he closed the cover behind them both and turned to her.

“Help me,” she began, before he could speak. “Please. Help me find Peter.”

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she could see his face quite clearly in the light that came from Raines’ office. As she said Peter’s name, his expression took on such a miserable appearance that she thought she had missed Peter’s name in the lists she had already studied from the Centre cemetery, in which the ashes of projects and employees alike were scattered.

But Angelo only shook his head, as if denying the thoughts he had detected in her, and turned to a ladder that led down to a lower level in the ventilation system.

“Come,” he said for the second time, and she went with him through the dimly lit passageways, along dusty vents and down numerous ladders, until she had no idea what level they were on. Of the numerous offices they passed, some were occupied and others weren’t. Once, they passed a row of simulation labs, the familiarity of which made Shannon shudder as she glimpsed people working busily, while sweepers and overseers watched in silence.

Some time later, they stopped at the bottom of a ladder and Angelo pulled her to one side, into an alcove formed by the intersection of two vent passages.

“SL-25,” he told her in muted tones.

She was immediately puzzled. Nat had told her that this was the level that housed the massive security system that kept an eye on everyone and everything inside the Centre, and that there were no subjects kept here. So she had no idea why Angelo had brought her here.

“Peter,” he said, pointing down the longer of the two passages.

For a second, she considered arguing the matter with him, but the inner voice that had been silent for the journey into the bowels of the building suddenly spoke again in a single word. Yes.

Obeying both instinctively, she walked down the passage, which was high enough for her to stand upright in it. The air down here was dusty and seemed to choke her, but she couldn’t cough for fear of being overheard by someone working in one of the rooms. So she ignored the tickle in her throat and continued past the first few covers that let the limited light into the dark space.

Through them, she could see the great machines that took in and recorded the footage from the hundreds of cameras in the Centre. Another room held the massive electronic stores of data that comprised the mainframe, and in which, somewhere, Nat had that tiny chip that allowed him to get any of that information whenever he wanted it.

She was approaching the final cover, and had so far failed to find any room that would be suitable for a subject, who would never be permitted to work with the equipment that was kept down here, for fear of sabotage. But, as she drew closer to the final room, various sounds greeted her and encouraged her onwards.

A high-pitched, regular beeping was the first sound that reached her ears, followed quickly by a softer sighing that was somehow too mechanical to be human. Scratching of pen on paper made her hesitate before coming up to the cover and, finally, peering through it into the room beyond.

The walls were lined with machines, many of which spewed out sheets of paper on which data had clearly been recorded. This was strange enough in itself to warrant a second look, for almost as far back as she could remember, everything had been done electronically and recorded on disks. That paper could contain records was strange and somehow frightening.

The room was filled with a massive ‘T’ shaped bed, on which a figure was strapped. Metal clasps bound his legs at the ankles and knees, securing them with massive bolts to the table. Another covered his waist, and yet another on his chest, allowing only room to breathe. A narrower band of metal covered his throat; still more on his elbows and wrists held his arms out at right angles to the rest of his body. His head had been shaved, and small knobs were glued on, the wires from which ran to one of the machines that spat out numerous sheets of paper every moment. He was dressed in the usual black garb of subjects, although the sleeves had been cut short. His feet were bare.

Shannon remained frozen, her fingers clutching the sharp edges of the vent cover, her breath stuck in her throat, her mouth open, but unable to utter a sound. For this was worse than anything her many nightmares had presented to her. She had still fondly imagined him working in their old sim lab, perhaps occasionally thinking of her even as he struggled to please a man whom neither of them had ever satisfied in their two decades of working together. But this…

Without realizing what she did, she pushed on the cover and, when it moved, swung it open far enough that she could slide into the room, which seemed massive – even more so than Raines’ office – when she regained her balance and looked around.

The first things that caught her eye were the numerous red lines, some faded, but other still bright and new, that marked Peter’s arms, feet, and disappeared beneath the black cloth that covered his legs. The scars suggested major operations that had been performed for unknown reasons, and Shannon felt something rip painfully in her chest at the thought.

She had forgotten where she was and the danger that threatened her at every moment. She had even forgotten Raines’ predilection for security, and only one desire burned in her mind – to get close to Peter, to touch him and to see if there was anything in him that would remember her. With this aim at the forefront of her being, she moved forward, her hands already stretching out to the motionless figure on the bed.

Her eye caught a glimpse of the shimmering red line at the same instant as Angelo’s warning cry rang out from the darkness inside the vent, and Shannon managed to bring herself up short just a hair’s breadth away from the laser line that was doubtless connected to an alarm. Angelo’s hand came out of the vent and grabbed her sleeve, dragging her towards him. She scrambled up into the vent behind him, and the cover closed only an instant before the door opened and a man in a white coat, carrying a clipboard, flicked a switch on the wall beside the door. A faint whining noise faded to silence, and Shannon saw the laser line disappear, even as the doctor moved over to one of the machines and looked over the printed results.

Angelo nudged her and tugged at her sleeve in the direction of the ladder at the far end of the long passage, but Shannon couldn’t bear to leave, her eyes fixed on Peter’s face, seeing for the first time the scar near his right ear that disappeared into his hair and the dark rings around his eyes, into which his pale eyelashes seemed to disappear.

Once more, and more firmly this time, Angelo pushed against her with his body, forcing her along the dark tunnel and away from the well-lit room. Briefly, with no idea what she did, because she seemed to have lost the ability to think upon recognizing Peter’s beloved features on that bed, she fought against him, silently struggling to get back to the place where she could see him, but Angelo was stronger, and managed to get her even beyond the sounds made by those machines.

When they stood together in the dark silence, he placed one hand on each of her shoulders and, forcing her against the wall of the vent, gave her a single, firm shake. She blinked, stared blankly again for another second, and then tears filled her eyes. Slowly, she slid down the wall, until she was huddled on the ground, sobbing bitterly but silently, the tears dripping between her fingers and soaking the dust-covered black pants in which she was still clad. Angelo lowered himself to the floor beside her and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her as if she was nothing more than a child, muttering incomprehensible words that were somehow comforting.

It took a long time before she managed to regain any control over herself, being overwrought not only by what she had just discovered, but also by exhaustion and fear. So it was many minutes before the tears ceased and she recovered her breath. However, finally, she lifted her head from her knees and, with Angelo’s help, got somewhat unsteadily to her feet.

“Must go,” he whimpered, and although it hurt, he knew she was right. What good would it do if she stayed? It would endanger the whole operation that the Boss had worked for years to put into place. Peter was obviously in no state to know her, and she was unable to get close to him. Her own situation was also a perilous one, and when Raines was once more free to roam the halls, it was more than likely that he would recognize her, no matter what she did or how she looked.

She followed Angelo almost blindly along the tunnels, with no idea where he was going, until she glimpsed a sweeper changing in his room and realized that he was taking her back to the room in which she had put the papers about the Boss’s family. A moment later, he stopped in front of the vent that looked into the room and opened the cover.

“Go now,” he pleaded in a whisper. “Go friends. Go safe.”

“Come with me,” she begged, holding his hands in hers so that he couldn’t escape. “Please come with me, Angelo, so that you’ll be safe, too.”

“Can’t,” he retorted, and gently pulled his hands away. “Friends here. Keep safe.”

His hands pushed her out of the vent, the cover of which was then swung closed and locked so that she couldn’t grab him, and when she turned to speak to him again, she couldn’t see his eyes glinting in the darkness and guessed that he was gone.

She once more briefly fought for control of herself, this time gaining it quickly and putting to use the training that had been part of her life for more than twenty years. She didn’t forget the horrors of the room in SL-25, but they were detached from the intensifying urge to leave the Centre as quickly as possible.

Her eyes fell on the folders and she pulled the sheets out of the red covers, uncaring that they were mixed up. She couldn’t simply carry them out of the Centre, of course, because nothing was ever taken home by the sweepers except personal things, and bags were always checked. But Shannon recalled a conversation she had overheard between Nat, the Boss and two men who had just finished their time as sweepers inside the Centre. They had both smuggled useful information out, tied to their bodies under their clothes, and had got away with it, as only a metal detector checked Centre staff who left empty-handed.

But she needed some way to tie the pages to herself, and there was, naturally enough, no rope or string in the room. Not willing to be beaten by something so basic, Shannon visually examined each object in her room, her gaze finally falling on the bedclothes. For subjects, the sheets and blankets were new and strong, perhaps to prevent them trying to hang themselves in their rooms, but judging by the appearance of those on the bed here, the sweepers used the covers that had been considered too tatty for that chore. Shannon could see the worn edges and, yanking off the top sheet, she soon found a rip that could be extended along the entire length of the cotton fabric.

Shannon sorted the pages so that they made up two even piles and then split those into two more piles, placing so that the topmost sheets faced each other. Her reasoning was that she would have to walk some distance to her car, and that, if she perspired, the ink of the photocopy might run. Likewise, if she somehow got wet, the outer sheets might also be damaged and illegible.

Then, when the preliminary steps had been taken, she placed one pile against her back and, with her other hand, managed to secure the sheet strip around it, before doing the same with the other pile against her stomach. Her knots were as flat as she could make them, and then she once more donned the white shirt, black tie and black jacket.

Once that was complete, she moved to the door, taking a deep breath and forcing her hands to stop shaking, before she opened it and stepped out into the silent hallway. It was important here for her to display a sense of nonchalance. That had never been harder, with the voice in her head urging her to hurry, and every nerve in her body on edge. But she knew that to give in to such feelings would be fatal, and even as the blood throbbed in her temples, seeming to say ‘hurry’ with every beat, she calmly walked down the hallway and pressed the button for the elevator.

*~*~*~*~*

Nathan

Nat’s computer, which was on a table beside the easy chair in which he had been having a nap, beeped sharply, rousing him and drawing the attention of the others in the room. Even Josh, who had finally fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace, close to where Jarod sat, was roused by it and sleepily lifted his head to look at the young technician. Nat leaned forward and ran his eyes over the data on the screen before sitting back and looking up to meet the Boss’s gaze with a sigh of relief.

“She’s out.”

Only two words, but the tension that had been the room drained almost visibly away. The Boss got up and left the room, pulling out his cell phone as he did so. He would phone the ‘sweepers’ from their team who lived outside the Centre and get them to try to find her, as well as to tell Cici and Lucy. The others smiled at the news and, for the first time, allowed themselves to discuss other things, including the successful ambush of the previous night. This had previously been a taboo topic, the potential result having been too awful to be discussed.

Nat, his former weariness now forgotten, drew the computer onto his lap and propped his feet on a convenient footstool that Joshua pushed over to him, before the boy got up and curled into the corner of the sofa closest to Jarod, who slid an arm around his shoulders before continuing the conversation he had been having with Meg. Nat’s first act was to call up on screen the details of the sweeper created by Emily and continued by Shannon. It was the work of only a moment to wipe all trace of the woman from the Centre’s records. He deleted the name from the three sims that Emily had watched, replacing them with other sweepers put in by the Boss, and adding those same project names and details to the relevant sweepers’ identification notes.

The last time Nat had seen Shannon on the system had been when she went into the archives. He had eventually fallen asleep, waiting for her to come out, and the daily transfer of data to the massive back-up computers in SL-25 meant that he hadn’t been able to check anything until that was complete.

Now he logged into the camera archives and brought up that which showed the door leading into the archives. He saw her enter, and then the door closed. There was no camera inside the room, the constant presence of a sweeper considered sufficient security, but it was a fact that Nat now cursed as he waited for her to emerge. It was some time before she finally came out, a small pile of folders in her arms, but tension in her eyes, suggesting to Nat that she had failed to find details about Peter.

Zooming in, Nat was able to make out the figures on a corner of paper that protruded from the top folder, and he looked up at the newcomer to their midst.

“Emily?”

She glanced at him from the chair opposite her brother. “Yes?”

“Do you remember any of the numbers that were on that list you said was taken from you, the ones you planned to research later?”

Emily thought for a moment, then her shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It was quite a long list, and I got them together in a hurry…”

“How about this one?” he interrupted, and then read from the screen. “D862 S947 F142.”

She thought for a moment, before nodding. “I’m pretty sure that was one of them,” she agreed. “I think it had to do with Dad. Something about a transfer from one of the storage places.”

Nat smiled. “You’ll be able to check as soon as Shannon gets back here. She’s got a copy of the file you found the number for.”

He turned back to the computer and electronically followed her to the elevators, watching as one of the cars went down to the residential level and stopped there. Several minutes later, while the other elevator remained unused, the first one traveled from the level on which the sweepers slept to the level on which the high-level officials had their offices. Nat felt his stomach clench in fear, an unreasonable fear considering that he knew she had just left the Centre, but he was so afraid that it took him a full minute to type in the six-digit code for the camera system on that level.

Nat could almost feel her fear as she glanced around the corner to see the two Parkers talking in front of Raines’ office. He watched her press herself against the wall, waiting with visible impatience for them to leave, and he sighed with her when they parted company. So far, Nat had failed to understand Shannon’s target, but now, as she moved down the hall, her eyes fixed on a certain door, he barely restrained a cry of horror. His lips formed a silent protest as she swiped a key hanging from her belt through the electronic lock, and he found himself holding his breath as she closed the door behind her and the lock engaged once more, this time from the inside.

At once, he brought up the entry records from that office and deleted all sign that she had ever gone inside. It was with a sense of panic that he saw the record contained no sign of an exit for the next four hours, until Raines’ code showed up on the list of entries. Terror building up inside him, Nat opened the footage for the camera that, by chance, was directly opposite the door and set it on fast-forward, watching eagerly for any sign that she would come out. What on earth was she doing in there?

After the door remained closed for almost an hour, Nat opened another window and found the link to the camera in the Centre’s lobby. Finding the footage of Shannon leaving, he rewound it to the point where the woman came out of the elevator, seeing that she appeared calm and composed. It had to be fake, he thought, certain that her every nerve would be on edge. But the whole group had had discussions about behaviour within the Centre, and looking and sounding confident was the most important thing about being there.

He had to grin as he watched her approaching the main desk, seeing her look directly at the high camera and wink distinctly at it. Even as he vainly tried to suppress the urge to wink back, Nat wondered what any security guard who might have been watching at that moment would have thought. He, Nat, knew that it was a wordless message that she was safe, and would be back as soon as she could manage it. Then he saw her scan her fake ID card through the machine that recorded the comings and goings of staff, and, as if she did it every day, confidently walk out of the door.

Cameras in the car park recorded her quick exit, and then, as the darkness began to swallow her up, Nat believed that he saw her break into a run, something that he could certainly understand.

But this wasn’t helping him to discover what she had done after going into Raines’ office, and, it would seem, not coming out again. He rewound the footage of her in the lobby and watched the numbers on the elevator. It stopped at three levels within a space of about two minutes: SL-16, SL-4 and SL-1. He checked the camera on SL-1 that was trained on the space in front of the elevator and saw another sweeper get out. A check of the SL-4 camera saw the same sweeper enter the car, and Nat could see Shannon move to one side as the doors opened fully and the unknown sweeper got in.

So that left SL-16, which was the level on which the sweepers lived. He checked the camera that looked the length of the hallway and, watching the footage backwards, saw her leave the lift and go into the room that records told him had been assigned to ‘Lauren’. He left the two screens, that from outside Raines’ office and the one in the residential hallway, running simultaneously, until they came to the time when Shannon had entered Raines’ office, when he stopped the footage and closed the screens, thinking hard as he sat back in the chair. So she had somehow got from Raines’ office to her own room, with about four hours unaccounted for.

However, Nat had not spent so long examining the Centre’s security without learning about the air vents that rang the entire length of the building, and extending right down to the lowest sub-level. That was the most likely explanation, and Nat sighed with relief when this occurred to him. He wondered what she had done that had taken such a long time, but perhaps she had used the complicated system to tunnels and passages to try to find Peter.

He had only got this far when the door opened again and Charles reappeared. One look at his face and the conversation in the room stopped dead.

“Dad?” Jarod asked hesitantly. “What is it?”

“They haven’t seen her,” Charles replied. “It’s been an hour now, and nobody’s seen her leave the Centre.”

“I have,” Nat volunteered. “She left via the main exit and through the western parking lot. Then, as soon as she was out of sight of the guards, she took off down the road towards the highway.”

“Two of our guys were waiting at vantage points along that road for her,” the Boss told him. “But they haven’t seen her. Nobody knows whether someone got suspicious and chased after her…”

“Or if she cut through the trees to avoid everyone,” Meg suggested. “After all, if they were in a car, how could she know whether they were our people or Centre people?”

“She wouldn’t,” Charles admitted, sitting down heavily on the sofa. “But in that case, she’s going to have to make her own way back here, and with no money, how on earth will she manage it?”

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Terror had gripped Shannon as soon as she was out of the parking lot, and she instinctively took to her heels and fled between the trees, running blindly, her hands outstretched in front of her to stop her running into anything. Her face and hands were scratched by various low-hanging twigs and branches. A stitch soon tugged at her side, and her arm throbbed under the bandage that had been wrapped around it so many hours earlier. Finally, her legs starting to ache, she dropped back to a jog, and then a walk, and at last she stopped, staring around at the trees.

It had been twilight when she emerged from the building, but now, and particularly among the closely grown trees, it was almost oppressively dark. She had studied the map of the grounds for Jarod's rescue and knew the direction in which she had run: heading for the least well-patrolled exit, scooting around the roads that cut through the thick woods in order to avoid any car that might have been sent out to find her.

Her single controlling thought now was to avoid capture. To that end, when she came closer to a road and spotted a car that was parked behind a clump of bushes, as if waiting to ambush anyone coming from the massive building that loomed behind it, she veered once more into the trees and increased her speed to a pace she could continue for some time without exhausting herself.

Although the park was large, fear drove Shannon on at such a rate that it was a surprise to her how quickly she came upon the exit for which she had headed. A sweeper stood on guard, as she had anticipated, but she now showed proof of the training to which Raines had subjected her as she crept up behind the man and, with a powerful knock from her right elbow to the correct place on his brachial plexus origin, she watched him slump soundlessly to her feet. Shannon could almost hear Raines’ voice – the only time she could remember him every commenting positively on her work – in the back of her mind, as she dodged the security camera and headed for the safety of the trees, some thirty feet away.

Raines had taught her those ‘self-defense skills’, as he had called them, when she was in her late teens. Documents found by Nat showed that the plan had been for her to be sent with a team of sweepers around the world to sneak in to various organizations and steal data required by the Centre. Eventually, however, it was apparently felt that she would be unsuccessful outside the Centre, and the plan was scrapped. Reading those details had made her almost as ill as she had been on the day she had first been called on to use her newly-developed skills to injure the men who had been brought in to act in a sim of a possible scenario. What had horrified her most, however, had been the fact that she had carried out the necessary violent actions without needing to consciously plan them, the training having made them automatic.

“How ironic,” she murmured to herself as she reached the sanctuary of he trees, glancing back over her shoulder to see that the sweeper had just regained consciousness. Ironic, indeed, that the only time outside the Centre she had used those skills had been on Centre employees.

She increased her pace to a lazy jog, heading deeper into the trees, which eventually came to the water of the bay. By now, if her recollection of the map was correct, she would almost be on the far side of the bay from the Centre, and she kept an eye on the moon to ensure that she went in as straight a line as possible.

The only sound she could hear was her breath and the rapid thud of her heartbeat in her ears, but she was waiting for another sound – the wail of sirens that would alert the sweepers to the fact that an intruder had been or was still in the Centre’s grounds. It was important that Shannon was as far away as possible before they began and the voice in her head ordered her onwards: Hurry, hurry, hurry!

Finally, and just as she had begun to believe she was going the wrong way, she heard the first gentle sounds of waves breaking on the sand. Sighing with relief, she continued on her chosen path, finally coming out of the trees onto the sand, seeing moonlight reflected off the calm waters and stars sparkling in the inky blackness. She sank to her knees on the sand and cupped the cool water in her hands, splashing it onto her face and scrubbing away the makeup. Thankfully, she took out the contact lenses and let them wash away, before dunking her shorn head and hot face right under the water.

Coming up for air, she shook the droplets off her short hair and removed her black tie, thankfully undoing the top button on her white shirt. With the other hand, she removed the dentures that had so changed the shape of her face. Rolling up the tie, she shoved it into her pocket, rose to her feet – and then stopped short.

Her hands frantically patted the pockets of her pants, and then her jacket, including the concealed pockets within the sleeves, which were designed to hold fake ID cards and other passes that might be necessary within the Centre. The only unexpected thing she found was the all-access card, which she had, probably on instinct, shoved into that hidden pouch once she was inside Raines’ office. But a vital important thing was missing – her car key.

Panic filled her, and she hurriedly emptied her pockets onto the sand – her fake ID, a tissue she had taken from her room at the Centre in case she needed it, an extra bullet for her gun, but no car key. Had she left it somewhere in the Centre? Had it fallen out of her pocket somewhere in the woods? No, suddenly she remembered. It had caught on Emily’s jacket when Shannon was lowering her to the ground after the sedative had taken effect, and had probably been among the piles of leaves that she had dumped on top of Emily’s body to stop her from getting too cold, as the drug stopped her body from being able to control its temperature. No doubt, someone would already have found it – either one of the Boss’s team, or one of the cleaners who had almost certainly been checking the site ever since they arrived there. Shannon knew how thorough they had been trained to be.

There was nothing she could do about it now. Gloomily, she returned her things to her pockets and got up from her position on the sand. Looking across the water, she could see the massive bulk of the Centre, crouching beside the water as if waiting to spring. Yellow light was reflected in the water that was spread out between Shannon and her former prison, and she shuddered as she turned back to the trees and drew her jacket more closely around her to block out the cool wind.

She couldn’t risk hitchhiking – it was impossible to know who might pick her up or on whose side they would be. Instead, she would have to walk, at least to one of the closest safe-houses, and the first of those was in Maryland. Although the Centre was relatively close to the border with that state, it would still be hours of walking before she arrived. Weariness seemed to pull her down, but she forced it away, once more putting to use the lessons Raines had taught her. With a sigh that was almost a groan, she got her bearings by the position of the moon, worked out the direction in which she needed to travel, and began the long night of walking.

*~*~*~*~*

The moon was sinking towards the horizon as Shannon watched yet another car pass from her position in a ditch beside the road. She watched the shimmering silver disc, which had seemed to grow in size as it approached the horizon, slowly and inexorably slide down the sky to disappear behind a thick bank of clouds. From now, she guessed it was probably about two hours until the sun began to rise.

It was hours since she had left the Centre. She had skirted around Blue Cove, knowing that it was as dangerous as the Centre itself, being full of employees who might recognize her, particularly as she was no longer disguised. The land around Blue Cove was mostly used for farming, with houses dotted between the towns and larger cities. Shannon had decided that she would travel through these less populated areas, rather than risking recognition in one of the cities. It would make little difference to the length of time the journey would take, and she couldn’t believe that it would matter, being certain that nobody would be worrying about her. Why should they? They had Emily to replace her, who had the additional advantage of being the Boss’s daughter.

Shannon had no idea when these bitter ideas had begun creeping into her mind, but they seemed to have been there ever since she had left the Centre. At one point, she had even wondered if she wouldn’t have been better staying there, but she had managed to summon enough energy to quash this thought, and it had so far failed to suggest itself again.

But, as she stumbled out of the ditch and continued to follow the road, she was so tired that she had no way of fighting against the depressing thoughts that rose in her mind and refused to be quelled.

They don’t really want you, a poisonous voice seemed to hiss in her mind. They’ve all forgotten you. If you do manage to get back, there won’t be anyone waiting for you. They won’t want to see you or talk to you ever again.

Such ideas had been circling in her head for the past hour, and although she had denied them for some of that time, now it seemed futile to do so. She hadn’t yet reached the point of agreeing with them, but she was helpless to stop the tears that continually seeped from her eyes and slid down her cheeks to soak the black jacket she had done up against the cold night air.

A house appeared along the road ahead of her. Those she had passed had all been shrouded in darkness, but light shone from the windows of this one. Unable to help herself, she crept up to it and peered in through the window. A family was gathered around the television in the corner, their backs to her, but she could tell that a man and woman sat in comfortable armchairs, while young children sat or reclined on the floor around them. Shannon pressed a hand longingly to the windowpane and wished suddenly that one of them would turn and see her, and maybe invite her in to get warm.

It was a stupid idea, of course, and she knew it as soon as the wish waltzed through her mind, but it wasn’t enough to stop her heart aching as she finally turned away and continued to trudge up the road. The scene had reminded her of something she had once asked Raines. It was about a week after Peter had first described the idea of family to her, and she had just finished a sim when she turned to him.

“If I left here,” she had asked tremulously, not daring to look up into his watery blue eyes, “would anyone want me?”

There had been an instant of silence, and then he had attacked her, beating her with his clenched fists until he was breathless, and then calling on the sweepers to continue doing it for him. She had lost consciousness, and came around in the infirmary 24 hours later with two black eyes, a split lip, a cracked collarbone and two broken ribs. She’d only had a day to get over the worst of these, however, before Raines came rampaging up to the infirmary and had her taken back to her room, to continue with her work from her bed, until she was able to get up. But the question had stuck in her mind ever since, and now she seemed to have her answer: no.

Shannon continued to put one foot in front of the other, stumbling now and again over a hole or a stone on the unmade roadside. She seemed to have gone beyond the stage of exhaustion, and it was a conscious effort for her to breathe. Briefly, she tried to block out of the vicious voice in her head by reminding herself to inhale and exhale, but she knew that the voice was still there, ready to speak again as soon as she let her guard down.

Time passed without her being aware of it. The road seemed to stretch in front of her forever, and it had been so long since the last car had forced her behind the trees and bushes that lined the roadside that she had forgotten any might come and no longer listened for the tell-tale purr of an engine.

Then, suddenly, her foot caught on another rock, her knees gave, and she dropped to the side of the road, her hands landing hard on the asphalt surface. She gasped as the sharp rocks cut into her palms, the pain rousing her from the numbness that had taken over some time before. For a moment, she considered staying where she was, curling up beneath one of the trees and letting herself sleep, although she had got beyond the stage of feeling tired.

Why not? the voice hissed in her ear. It won’t matter what time you get back, will it? It’s not like anyone will be waiting for you.

Shannon listened willingly now to the voice that seemed to be the only link to reality in the world, and her only support.

“Yes,” she said aloud, her voice sounding strangely hoarse and cracked. “I can sleep here.”

No, another voice suddenly said in her head, and this seemed the same as that which had been so encouraging in the air vent outside Peter’s room. Had that all really happened only a few hours earlier? It felt like another lifetime.

No, the voice said again, more softly, and Shannon waited for the cruel tones that had brought her to such a level of depression to speak again, as they had when she had initially tried to fight against what they had been telling her. Strangely, the vindictive voice was silent. Only the warm and comforting tones were evident now, encouraging her to her feet, to continue along the road.

“I can’t,” she whimpered aloud. “I can’t.”

You can, the gentle voice insisted. I know you can, Shannon. I’ll help you. They’re waiting for you.

She never knew how she managed to get to her feet again, but suddenly she was once more walking along the road. The sky around her was no longer dark, but was brightening with every passing moment, fingers of pink stretching across the sky, and the clouds were disappearing, blown away by a brisk, cool wind that gently caressed Shannon’s face and roused her from her numbness.

As her feet carried her along the road, the voice continued to speak softly in her mind, reminding her of things that contradicted the black imagines she had been shown by the other voice, and presenting a more positive future, perhaps even one free forever of the fear caused by the Centre, blocking out all other thoughts as it spoke.

And a family, it continued, almost hypnotic in its gentleness. One day, Shannon. I promise.

Then it fell silent, replaced by the sound of a car motor, and Shannon’s shadow was thrown out in front of her with startling suddenness by powerful headlights that came over the hill. Awakened from the half-dream into which she had fallen, Shannon frantically threw herself over the hedge that here ran along the side of the road, furious at herself for having missed the earlier signs of an approaching car, as she scrambled along on hands and knees behind the bushes.

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 7


Shannon

The car stopped with a squeal of brakes and Shannon heard the door thrown open and feet land on the asphalt with a loud crunch. In terror, she forced herself to go faster, looking ahead to see if anywhere could lend her a form of escape, but there was nothing except the bushes, which could offer no real protection from the driver, who must have seen her, or else why had he stopped?

She could hear him searching, the snapping of twigs as he brushed aside the thick hedges, and the crunch of his feet on the gravel. Knowing that she could never escape, Shannon pushed her body back into the hedge, ignoring the twigs that scratched her and dug into her back, and took her gun out of its holster. It seemed heavy in her hand and she stared blankly at it for a moment, before releasing the safety.

“Shannon!”

A man’s voice called her, and she stiffened, leaning back into the hedge, her breath stuck in her throat. She felt suddenly sick, and idly wondered what operations Raines would perform on her when she was dragged back into the Centre. She wasn’t even sure whether she should fight or not. Mightn’t things go better for her if she just gave in? Logic seemed to suggest so, but logic was useless at the Centre.

“Prodge!” the same voice called, and she gasped aloud, wondering which of the people in her team was a spy, working for the Centre, and had given away her nickname to them.

Then a large, familiar form loomed into her line of vision. Dan hesitated for a moment, before he lowered himself to the ground beside her and gently reached out to slide the gun from between her unresisting fingers, flicking the safety back on and pocketing the weapon.

“Oh, Prodge,” he said in tones that revealed his relief. “Thank God I’ve found you. Everyone’s been worried sick about you. I’ve spent half the night on the phone to the Boss trying to organize a team to find you without the Centre finding out.”

Her eyes rolled up to look at him, but he was evidently concerned about her silence, because he leaned forward to look more closely at her.

“Shannon? Can you hear me, honey?”

She managed a jerky nod, and he moved closer, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“I can imagine,” he said softly. “You must have walking all night to get this far, and you’ve been in that place for so long, it’s enough to have anyone on edge.” He moved his arm down so that his hand tucked in under her armpit, providing support to lift her. “Come on, Prodigy. Let’s get out of here and get you somewhere safe.”

Suddenly, she clung to him, too overwhelmed, for a moment, to do anything. Dan gently stroked her short hair, then slid a finger under her chin and raised her face so that he could look into her eyes.

“I know, Shannon,” he said, with sudden determination in his voice. “But my cell phone is dead and I can’t recharge it, so I can’t tell anyone I’ve found you. The only thing I can do is take you there as quickly as possible. That means we need to get going.”

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself as much as Dan, her voice cracking as she managed to get to her feet, swaying slightly as the man slipped his arm around her waist for support.

The car was only forty feet away, but to Shannon, that short distance felt like a lifetime and more before she was being helped into the passenger seat. Almost as soon as she sat down, her feet and legs began to throb so painfully that she gasped. Looking down, she saw that her shoes were caked in dirt. Grass, moss and dry leaves were caught in her black socks, and she could now feel pebbles in her shoes, pressing against agonizing places on her feet that would later prove to be massive blisters.

An instant later, Dan was in the driver’s seat and the car was speeding down the road.

“I don’t know how you did it, Prodge,” he told her, shaking his head in amazement. The state line is twenty miles behind us, and we’re about to come up to Helen’s house on the right there.” He pointed out a somewhat ramshackle building as they drove past. “You must have been walking the soles off of your shoes to get this far!”

“I had to get away,” she explained, running a swollen tongue over her cracked lips and wincing at the pain it caused.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You did.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked slowly, only just now becoming aware of things outside of herself. “You were supposed to get away in the raid.”

“Bob took my place,” the man explained. “The Boss has decided to swap people instead of taking one out and replacing them later. It makes it easier for our resident techno genius this way. So I went back to my house to get the last of my stuff. I got a call from him just as I was leaving, and I said I’d keep an eye out for you. Because I was nearby, he asked me to arrange things. I was in my car, close to the main exit, when the alarms went off. I got out of there like a shot.” He cast a sideways glance in her direction. “What’d you do, Prodge?”

“I knocked one of their people out,” she admitted. “It was the only way I could get out. I think I saw your car,” she added, suddenly remembering the vehicle from which she had fled at the beginning of the nightmarish evening. “I thought it was Raines, waiting for me.”

“We figured that,” Dan said. “That’s why we organized people to drive the roads in Blue Cove and the surrounds. I’d just given up and was heading for safety when I saw you.”

“And… where are we going now?” she asked hesitantly, almost able to believe that she recognized their surroundings.

“Lucy’s place,” came the reply. “They’re still there. The Boss was hoping you’d think to come there when you got close.”

“I thought I’d go home,” she offered tentatively.

The man cast a stern glance in her direction, and Shannon felt her resentment rise immediately. She had a childish tendency to dislike being told off, perhaps because verbal scoldings had so rarely happened during her first twenty-two years of life, and her face took on a mulish expression as Dan spoke grimly.

“They’ve all been going crazy about the fact that you just up and vanished like that, Shannon. If only for that reason, they deserve to see that you’re okay. After all, it was a pretty selfish stunt to just go like that for your own private reasons, not taking into consideration the way everyone else might have felt. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

She turned to stare out of the window, sulkily refusing to respond, but then common sense reasserted itself and she remembered that, as the person who found her, Dan had earned the right to tell her off. Turning back to the windscreen, she cast a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He reached across and put his hand on hers. “It’s okay, Prodge. Just, next time, think before you jump in, okay? It’ll save a lot of hassle.”

She nodded, placing her free hand on top of his and watching silently as the buildings that made up the outskirts of the city in which Lucy lived flew past. The car turned several corners, and then Dan pulled up in front of the familiar house. He sighed, a combination of relief and tiredness, and then turned to her.

“Come on, Prodge. Let’s get this over with. You’re not the only one who needs to get to bed.”

He walked ahead of her up the path, and she was glad to let him lead the way, having glimpsed the Boss through the large living room windows. The man was pacing, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression a combination of fear and anxiety. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and it was with an effort that she stopped herself from wheeling around and making a dash for the relative safety car.

Dan rapped on the door, and Shannon heard it open almost immediately, before Lucy’s voice spoke, revealing her disappointment.

“Oh, Dan. Come in.”

“I won’t stay long,” the man said apologetically. “I know you’re busy.”

Shannon, suddenly unable to speak, followed Dan down the short hallway and into the living room. She heard the conversation stop, and she guessed that all eyes had turned to the tall man, who was shielding her completely.

“Well, Dan?” The Boss’s voice was sharp. “Any news? I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour.”

Without uttering a word, Dan simply stepped aside to reveal the dirty miserable figure behind him. Shannon found herself unable to lift her eyes from the study she had begun of her shoes, unable to utter the apologies she knew were deserved.

There was a moment of silence, and Shannon was at the point of feeling that she must scream if it went on for much longer, when Joshua threw himself at her, sobbing almost hysterically. She was almost knocked off her feet, saved only by Dan’s arm, which grabbed her shoulder just in time to hold her up. Then the others came swarming around her, all wanting to touch her and speak to her.

After a moment of pandemonium, Charles stepped back from the group. Shannon looked up in time to catch his eye, and whatever he saw there made him take charge.

“All right, people, give her some space,” he ordered, with the devastating common sense that was one of his most valuable attributes. Then, as the group gradually backed off, “Cici, will you give her a checkup while I call off the hunt? Lucy, have you got any spare nightthings floating around? She’ll probably need something more comfortable to sleep in.”

“Meg, heat up that soup I saved,” Cici ordered as she eased off the black jacket, letting Nat unlace and slide off the black shoes and socks to reveal Shannon’s red, swollen, bleeding feet. “And,” the doctor added, “get a glass of water. No ice. Nat, a cool, damp cloth.”

Shannon let herself be put back against the sofa cushions, letting out an almost hysterical giggle as the paper tied around her waist crackled and she saw the expression on Cici’s face at the sound.

“You brought them back?” Nat asked eagerly, his face lightly up at the sound as he returned with the cloth Cici had requested. “Prodge, you’re just amazing!”

“Turn around, Nat,” the doctor ordered sternly, although she couldn’t suppress a grin. “I’ll give them to you just as soon as I get them from Shannon, but you’re going to avert your eyes until we get them off her.” She shot a look at the other man in the room. “You, too, Jarod. And Josh.”

Shannon’s fingers began fumbling with the buttons on her shirt as Lucy reappeared with a warm nightgown, but Cici gently moved her hands away

“I’ll do it, honey,” she murmured gently. “Give yourself a break. You must have been walking all night.”

“Uh huh.” Shannon couldn’t stifle a yawn as she let her hands fall to her sides and Cici undid her shirt, pulling it back to reveal the papers and makeshift tie.

With gentle fingers, the woman unbound the sheet strip and lifted off the pages. Shannon leaned forward so that those against her back could be removed, and her shirt and bra taken off. Then the soft material was gently pulled down over her head and down to her hips, before the two older women supported her back against the sofa cushions. It was less easy to remove her pants and pull the cotton nightgown down to cover her decently, moving having suddenly become so much of an effort, but it was done at last.

As Cici handed the pages over to Nat, who was waiting eagerly for them, his laptop already open, Lucy spooned some of the hot soup into Shannon’s mouth. She accepted it thankfully, having had no idea how hungry she was until she smelt the rich vegetable scent. After the first mouthful, however, her stomach clenched, and she thought briefly that she was going to be sick, but Lucy was ready with the water, and would only let her sip it. The nausea faded, and Shannon willingly accepted more of the soup.

She was going to lift a hand to take the bowl when, for the first time, she felt the fingers entwined with hers, and looked down to see Joshua on the floor beside the sofa, clutching her right hand in both of his. His eyes were still red and swollen, and even as she watched, he laid his face down on her hand, his lips lightly kissing her fingers, as if unable to believe that she was really there.

At this juncture, Charles came back into the room, the worried expression having vanished from his face, and his brow was now smooth, the frown lines gone.

“Dan’s gone home,” he announced. “He wanted to take a nap. And we’ve called off the search.”

“Nobody seems to have thought to look further than the gates,” Nat put in from his seat in front of his laptop. “Raines is just getting out of his T-Board now, and most people were too busy with their own concerns to notice anything out of the ordinary except for the teams that were called out when the alarms went off. But they’re still all within the limits of the property, searching every inch.”

“Thank God for that,” the Boss sighed, running a hand through his hair. Then he turned to the doctor. “Cici, I think Freya could be coming around again. Do you want to see what you can do?”

“Sure.” The doctor rose to her feet. “Shannon needs some sleep, though, and she’d do better in a bed than on the sofa.”

“I just made up the bed in my room,” Meg announced. “Prodge can sleep there. I’ll nap out here if I need to.”

“Thanks.” Charles cast a grateful smile in her direction and then turned to his son. “Jarod, will you carry her in?”

“Sure.” Jarod got up from his seat beside Nat and approached the sofa.

The words were blurry and unclear to Shannon, who was finding that things were rapidly taking on a dreamy appearance. She felt arms slide in under her shoulders and knees, and her head rolled onto Jarod's shoulder before she could prevent it. Then she felt Joshua release his hold on her hand as Jarod carried her through the doorway. Shannon’s eyes closed, but, just as she began to fall into the darkness, she felt the small fingers once more entwine with hers, as if he was determined never to let her go again.

*~*~*~*~*

Cecilia

Charles was waiting when Cici came out of the room in which Freya was still sedated, raising an eyebrow as the doctor closed the door behind her.

“Well?”

“She’s still almost hysterical,” Cici replied. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. She’s too upset to listen to a word, and gets upset as soon as she starts to wake up. We’re going to have to do something, but I have no idea what.”

He nodded, obviously unsurprised. “We’ll work something out as soon as we can,” he said, before glancing into the other bedroom, smiling at the sight of Joshua lying across the foot of the bed in which Shannon lay. Then the smile faded, and he looked back at the woman. “I’d like you to run the same tests on Prodge that you did on Emily. Although, as far as we know, she didn’t eat or drink anything, we don’t know what else she might have been exposed to.”

“Of course.” Cici fetched her bag from the other room, checking on Freya once more, and then took it into the other room.

Joshua looked up as she came in, and she smiled at him.

“Glad she’s back, Josh?”

Seemingly speechless, the boy only nodded and squeezed the hand he still held, his head resting against the sleeping woman’s knee. Cici smiled at him again and then opened her bag, taking out a syringe and a sample tube. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see Josh watching her warily, and felt obliged to explain.

“We have to make sure that she didn’t pick up anything while she was at the Centre. I’m sure you can imagine the implications if she’s caught one of the diseases they were testing.”

It wasn’t the complete truth, but she couldn’t bear to suggest to this child that anything serious could have happened to the woman he loved so much. Cici placed a hand on Shannon’s shoulder and gently shook her. She couldn’t just insert the syringe, in case Shannon moved suddenly and broke it or caused serious damage. It took some prompting, but finally Shannon woke, her eyes still drowsy as they opened.

“I need to take some blood for a test, Prodge,” the doctor said immediately. “Just hold still for me, and I’ll make it quick.”

Cici went to work, finding a vein immediately and attaching the vacuum test tube, which would extract the blood sample as rapidly as possible. After removing the needle and covering the tiny wound with cotton and tape, she looked up to see that Shannon was already asleep again and capped the tube, before putting the needle into the sharps container she carried with her for just such occurrences.

Joshua grudgingly agreed to wait on the other side of the room while Cici performed a quick physical examination, as if afraid that someone was going to whisk Shannon away while he was out of the room. Sympathetic to his feelings, Cici ensured that her examination was quick, and called him back as soon as she had covered the sleeping woman again.

Taking the samples out of the room, she carried them into the living room and over to the corner in which she had earlier set up her microscope to test Emily’s blood. Now she once more took out the various chemicals that would, by changing the color or consistency of the samples, reveal any drugs that might be in Shannon’s system.

A few moments later, she had finished measuring the drops into the last small vial, and placed it into the rack. This was a standard thing they did for every person who had been in the Centre for longer than a few hours, and Cici carried the kit around with her, now quite expert at carrying out the various tests.

She replaced the lid on the last bottle and put it into the rack, letting her eyes wander over the neat row of small vials. About to pack the testing liquids away, the doctor suddenly took a second look at the first vial, eventually picking it up and holding it up to the light. The contents had turned a faint lilac, which, even as she watched, strengthened to violet. Staring in disbelief, Cici capped the vial and shook it vigorously, before replacing it. The color darkened still more.

Had she made a mistake? Confused her chemicals? Was there something in the vial that had somehow reacted with the blood and test drug? Please, anything but what she dreaded…

Feeling her tension rising, Cici took out one of her brand new vials, removed the plastic wrapping, and used a clean pipette to put a small amount of blood into it. Then, checking the label on the bottle, she put in the required amount of chemical, put the vial into the stand and capped it before replacing the top on the bottle. She did everything with almost painstaking slowness, even looking at the other vials and thankfully recording a negative reaction. Then she looked at the repeated test again.

The vial’s contents were dark violent.

Sunlight shone through the window onto the vials, and a faint purple light was refracted through the specimens onto the table behind it. There could be no doubting the accuracy of the test now.

“Cici?” asked a voice in her ear, and she turned to find the Boss standing behind her. “What is it?”

She glanced around the room in a hunted manner and then slipped out of the closest door, which led into the kitchen. Charles followed immediately, his eyes expectant as he faced her.

“What is it? What did you find? Did any of the results come back positive?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted reluctantly. Then she looked up at him frankly. “Boss, it’s a personal matter. I’d probably need to talk about it with Shannon first.”

Charles’ hands suddenly curled around her biceps, his grip surprisingly strong. “Cici,” he said in a firm tone that was clearly not going to allow for any argument, “I’m as close to a father as that girl has. You know I’m not going to tell anyone else about it if it’s really that personal, but if it’s really as serious as your expression is telling me it is, I think it’s very important that I know what’s wrong with her.”

The doctor sighed and, knowing that he was right, yielded. “All right,” she admitted. “Shannon’s pregnant.”

For a moment, the man was silent, staring at her in shock. “Pregnant?” he finally whispered.

“Probably more than eight months along,” she said crisply. “But I don’t know whether she knows it yet.”

“But… how?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t make me have to answer that.”

“Are you sure?” he demanded.

“One hundred per cent sure,” she replied, leaning against a nearby bench and meeting his gaze. “When I was working with those chemicals at the Centre to create that detector kit, one of the samples we tested that drug on went a very pale purple. When we questioned the subject, she admitted that she had just fallen pregnant. We did more tests and found that, the further along a woman was, the darker the color. Shannon’s sample is the darkest I’ve ever seen, which gives me an idea of how far along she is. And yes,” she added, answering the question she could see in his eyes, “it’s proved to be infallible.”

“Would she know?” Charles asked.

“I doubt it,” Cici responded thoughtfully. “Even if she ever did a sim on reproduction, I doubt if she was told the details about what pregnancy would be like. She probably has no idea. She certainly hasn’t shown any outward signs of it, so my guess is that she has no idea.”

Charles exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Are we going to tell her?” he asked, not lifting his eyes.

“How on earth can we not?” Cici asked impatiently. “For God’s sake, Charles, in a few weeks, at most, she’s going to have a baby! What would you rather we did: act all surprised when she goes into labor?”

“I’m sorry, Cecilia,” he apologized immediately. “I wasn’t really thinking.” He sighed. “So who’s the father?”

“There’s really only one person it could be,” the doctor replied knowingly. “Peter.”

“Oh, Christ, I was afraid you’d say that,” Charles muttered, sinking his face into his hands.

“We don’t know what Shannon found out when she was inside the Centre.” Cici tried to put an optimistic spin on things. “He could still be alive.”

“Well, we won’t know anything until she’s able to tell us,” the man said. “And from the way she looks, that could be some time away.”

“A few hours, at the very least,” the doctor agreed. “And even then, I don’t think she’ll be ready to be told this.” She placed her hand on the man’s arm. “Let me handle it, Boss, okay? I’ll tell her.”

He studied her for a moment, before nodded. “All right, Cici. And I suppose we’re also keeping this from everyone else, huh?”

“I think it’d be best,” she agreed. “I don’t really know how Shannon will take it, but I don’t think she’d want everyone to know before she did.”

“Probably not.” He nodded again. Then, as Nat’s voice called him from the living room, he turned and went through the door, leaving Cici in the kitchen, trying to work out how to tell Shannon that, in a few weeks’ time, she would be giving birth.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

Jarod quietly entered the room in which Shannon slept, holding the door for Nat, who had been there for the previous few hours. The sun was setting, and the room was tinted pink as a result. Joshua was still lying across Shannon’s feet, asleep again, having spent much of the day there. He woke at the sound of the door closing behind Nat, and Jarod came over to hug him. The boy returned the embrace and then slid gently off the bed, padding over to the bathroom that led off the bedroom.

A chair and table stood on the opposite side of the room from the bed, and Jarod looked at them for a moment before walking over to the bed and looking down at its occupant.

So far, he had had no real chance to look at Shannon. Every time he had turned his eyes in her direction, he had found her visually studying him, and he hadn’t felt comfortable about returning that direct look. He had always been punished in the Centre for meeting someone’s gaze, and it was taking time for him to shake those habits.

He looked down at the young woman lying against the pillow, her dark eyelashes forming two half-circles against her cheeks. The black shadows he had noticed when she had first appeared had faded to faint discoloration, and the lines around her mouth had smoothed themselves out so that she looked much younger.

Even as he watched, she stirred, a stifled yawn parting her lips, before her eyelids fluttered and she looked up at him, smiling drowsily as she focused on his face.

“Morning.”

Remembering the discussion they had had about polite conversation, he grinned. “Not quite. It’s actually almost eight o’clock this evening.”

She stretched lazily, yawning again, and wincing as she settled back into place. “I guess it wasn’t all a really bad dream?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” a new voice said from the doorway, and Jarod looked over his shoulder to see his father standing there, one hand still on the doorknob. “I’m afraid not, Prodge.”

At this point, Joshua came out of the bathroom and hurled himself onto the bed, flinging his arms around Shannon’s neck. The woman returned the embrace, and Jarod could hear Joshua’s voice, despite the boy’s face being buried in Shannon’s neck.

“Never, ever, ever go anywhere without me ever again!”

Shannon pulled back slightly to kiss Josh’s forehead. “I promise,” she vowed softly.

He snuffled and wiped his sleeve across his nose as he sat up, clutching her hand in both of his, his back against the wall.

“Josh,” Charles said softly. “I need to talk to Shannon for a few minutes.”

The boy looked up at once, his expression pleading, and Jarod saw his father raise an eyebrow expectantly. After a moment, Shannon squeezed Josh’s hand and spoke.

“Go on, honey. I promise I’m not going anywhere for a while yet. You go get something to eat and then you can come back. Okay?”

Joshua nodded with visible reluctance, planted a kiss on her cheek and scrambled off the bed. At the doorway, he looked back briefly, before leaving the room. Jarod moved back from the bedside as his father approached it, and wondered whether he, too, should go, but Charles hadn’t said anything that seemed to suggest he ought to.

Charles, meanwhile, pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat in it, taking Shannon’s hand and gently stroking the back of it.

“Shannon,” he began softly, but with a tone in his voice that Jarod couldn’t remember ever having heard before, “I’m not going to lecture you about this, but I do want you to know that every one of us here have been worried sick about you since we first realized you were missing.”

Jarod saw the woman tense, her eyes flashing. Then she wilted visibly, and tears filled her eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” she whispered in a harsh tone.

Charles moved forward on the seat and gently stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Why, Prodge?” he asked gently.

“Well…” She muffled a sob, her breath shaky, before trying again. “You have Jarod now, and Emily, too. I’m sure she’s your daughter. She has to be. I thought that maybe, when you had them, you wouldn’t need us anymore. That you’d go off with them and make a home for your f… family somewhere safe and f… forget about us.”

Shannon visibly struggled over the word ‘family’, and it came out in strangled tones. The tears in her eyes escaped and began to flow down her cheeks in steady streams, which, as she was reclining against a pile of pillows, dripped onto the borrowed nightdress. Charles moved to sit on the edge of the bed, drawing Shannon gently into his arms and rocking her, much as Jarod had held his sister during the journey back from the ambush site to this house.

“No, honey,” he murmured soothingly, as she began to sob. “No, Shannon, never, I promise. That will never, ever happen.”

“They… they are your family?” she asked, gulping audibly.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “They are my children. But that doesn’t mean I’d abandon all of you, just because I’ve found them. If it wasn’t for you all, I would never have managed to find them, so how fair would it be if I did that?”

“Since when does… fair matter?” she demanded brokenly.

“Since you left the Centre and came out into the real world,” Charles replied. “I know the Centre’s not fair, and life there is anything but fair, but here, fairness is important, and I would always try to be as fair to all of you as I could.”

She clung to his shirt, sobbing bitterly, and Charles stroked the short ends of her hair, murmuring in her ear. Several minutes passed in this way before he pulled back to look down into her face, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Better?” he asked gently, and she nodded, her head still resting against his chest. Then he bent his head to murmur words in her ear that Jarod was unable to hear, although, from the way the last lines smoothed away from her face, Jarod guessed that Shannon found them comforting.

Charles drew back, his hands gently lowering Shannon to the pile of pillows behind her. Again, he brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek and then leaned over the bed to lightly kiss her forehead.

“Take another nap,” he advised softly. “We can talk more when you’re feeling better. Okay?”

Shannon nodded, her eyes still fixed on his face. Jarod sought to find the word for the expression in her eyes from his limited knowledge of such things, and suddenly found something he thought would fit. Happy. He had only a vague memory of this, having never felt it or heard about it during his many years at the Centre. He thought that, even after finding his father, he hadn’t felt that way himself, being too confused to feel anything clearly. But happiness, and even peace, seemed to shine from Shannon’s eyes as she nestled slightly against the pillow.

Charles turned away from the bed, ushering his son out of the room. Joshua was waiting out in the hallway and dodged past them into the room, climbing onto the bed again and settled down in his usual spot on Shannon’s feet. After closing the door, Charles put his hand on his son’s arm and turned to face him.

“Don’t tell anyone about that,” he said quietly. “I know Shannon wouldn’t want people to know. She doesn’t like showing too much emotion.”

“Sure,” Jarod agreed, before following his father into the living room.

The coffee table was covered with pizza boxes and half-empty bottles of drink. People were sitting around on the sofa, the armchairs and even the floor, chatting in a way that Jarod guessed was normal, and which he somehow found incredibly relaxing. Then he saw Nat in the corner, looking at the papers that Jarod guessed were those Shannon had brought back with her, and the Pretender crossed the room, pulling up a stool to sit next to him to read them over his shoulder.

Even in only the few days they had known each other, Jarod found Nat to be someone with whom he got on well. They had many similarities that seemed to allow them to understand each other with only the minimal use of words. Jarod could also comprehend even Nat’s most technological discussions, and that was more than most people had so far managed. Although neither had yet come across the term ‘friend’, the definition seemed almost to have been made for their situation.

Now, Nat moved over slightly so that Jarod could see the screen and showed him the paper that he was looking over.

“Passwords,” he groaned, and Jarod grinned understandingly.

“How far have you got?”

Nat opened several screens that he had minimized and allowed Jarod the seconds he needed to skim through the information they contained.

“Dad!” Jarod exclaimed in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. “Why were they testing him? Still testing him, I mean. This was five years after I was taken. What did they want?”

“I don’t know,” Nat admitted. “I’m hoping these other files might help, but I can’t get into them yet. I will,” he added, his tones full of determination. “But it’ll take time.”

Jarod nodded, not offering to help, as he had already realized that Nat preferred to do those sorts of things himself. Instead, he looked through the pile of paper, picking it up to move it onto his lap. As he did so, a torn sheet, encased in a clear plastic envelope, fluttered out of the pile to land on his shoe. Jarod replaced the other pages on the table and seized the envelope, looking at the contents closely.

“What’s this?”


Nat glanced carelessly at it. “Haven’t got that far yet. I’m still working down to it.” He looked back at the computer screen for a moment before shooting another look at the page. “What is it?”

“Maybe project numbers,” Jarod suggested, handing it over. “But they seem to be too long for the archives.”

“Two digits to many,” Nat agreed. “But they could be store files.”

Jarod raised an eyebrow. “What’s the difference?”

Nat leaned back in his chair. “Archives are records of sims, projects, researched data, even stuff about people and projects. Store files are records of phone calls, emails, internal memos, letters – communication, basically. I haven’t had much reason to look through there, but I think the codes are ten digits, like these, not eight, like archives.”

“Could you look?” Jarod asked.

“Why?”

The older man shrugged. “Instinct.”

“Sure, why not?”

Nat opened up a new screen on the computer and activated the Centre store records. Not being password-protected, it only took him a moment to bring up the requested files, and by that time, Charles had become interested enough to wander over and find out what they were looking at.

“Letters,” Nat announced as he opened the first file. “A whole series of them from more than forty years ago. Between Mr. Parker and someone at the Centre in Africa.” He eyed the man beside him. “What does your instinct say now?”

“That we should read them,” Jarod said seriously, although he had realized that Nat was teasing him.

There was silence while the three men read through the dozen letters, and the fact that the silence continued for several minutes afterwards drew the attention of the others in the room.

“What is it?” Cici called.

Charles sighed and then looked up. “When you were at the Centre, did you ever hear anyone say anything about scrolls?”

The various people shook their heads, and then Charles stood up. “It seems,” he began, “that the Centre has had, or may still have, scrolls in their possession that spell out the whole history of the place in detail – past and future.”

“How could they?” Lucy asked skeptically.

“I don’t know,” the Boss admitted. “But there are documents here from Mr. Parker, written in the late 1950s and early 1960s, that talk about the future of the Centre, as determined by what the scrolls say. But I’ve never heard of them before.”

There was a brief moment of silence, while people considered this. Then Meg looked up. “What else does it say?”

Charles glanced down at the screen again. “The messages mention a boy, specifically that the boy and the scrolls can’t be at the Centre at the same time.”

“Why?” Tom asked curiously.

“Apparently it will be too dangerous,” Nat offered, running his gray eyes over the lines.

“And that’s all it says? That’d be right,” Emily put in dismissively. “Typical of the Centre not to give us anything really useful to work with.”

“There’s nothing we can use to work out who this boy is?” Lucy asked, glancing at her son. “Not even any dates or anything?”

“Well,” Cici mused from her seat on the sofa, “if we’re going by dates and assume that the letters won’t have been written too far into the future, we’re looking at someone in their forties.”

Nat pulled up the last letter. “The final communication is about the scrolls having left the Centre. It says that it’s just in time, as the boy will arrive in the morning. It’s dated the first of February, 1963.”

Even while the others were making mental calculations about who it might be, Charles turned to his son with a gasp. “Jarod,” he exclaimed. “It’s you!”


Jarod looked up instantly, seeing that everyone in the room was staring at him. “You don’t know that for sure,” he protested immediately.

“No,” Charles agreed, his face falling somewhat. “Not for sure.”

“Pretty likely to be, though,” Nat put in. “We already know Jarod was the first child that the Centre actually kidnapped, and these letters suggest that they were going to the trouble of doing that because of these scrolls.”

“But if Jarod's the important person,” Cici asked, “then why go on doing it? Why not just stop with him?”

“Maybe,” Charles said, “when we find those scrolls, we’ll find out.”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 8


Charles

It had been two hours since they had first found the letters, and Charles was still coming to terms with the fact that his son was seemingly so important to the Centre that they would begin the program of ruining so many people’s lives to fulfill some prophesy. Nat was searching through the stores to see if there were any other hints that might provide them with any further information, but so far he hadn’t found anything. The stores were easier to search than the archives, as everything was filed in chronological order. Jarod still sat beside him, occasionally glancing at the things Nat found, but mostly staring blankly at the floor. Maybe he was finding it hard to deal with, too.

“You know,” Nat said suddenly, “I’m surprised anyone left that piece of paper in a folder in the archives. It’s a bit of a giveaway when you come to look at it.”

“Which one?” Cici asked curiously. Then, as Nat waved it at her, “Oh, that wasn’t among the pile Prodge got from the archives. I found that in the secret pocket of her jacket and added it to that bundle later. I have no idea where she got it. You’ll have to ask her.” She stood up and wandered over to the table, pulling the sheet over towards her and looking at it. Then she looked up again. “What was in the other file?”

“I haven’t looked,” Nat admitted, with the honesty that was characteristic of him. The file opened on the screen, and he sat back in his chair. “A photo. It’s big, though. It’ll be a few seconds…”

Then he turned the screen around so that Cici could see it. Charles looked, too, and gasped, the breath escaping before he had a chance to realize. He saw Jarod shoot him a sharp glance and then look at the photo himself. From the expression on his son’s face, Charles knew that Jarod had recognized his mother.

“Catherine Parker!” Cici exclaimed in astonished tones. Then, even as Charles felt something clench in his stomach, he saw her eyes travel over Margaret’s face and then up to his own with something like curiosity in them.

“Yes,” he agreed before she could speak. “That’s my wife.”

“They knew each other?”

He shrugged, sitting down heavily in a chair on the other side of the table. “Apparently,” he said in nonchalant tones. Then, seeing the look in her eye, he sighed and tried again. “Not intimately. This was taken after we split up to find Jarod and Kyle. Catherine was responsible for us finding a safe place to live with Harriet Tashman. Harriet once told me that Catherine had come to her to see if we could stay at her farm. It was just after Kyle was taken.”

Nat had moved the laptop back and was hunting through the records of the two files he had just opened and looked up after the silence had continued following Charles’ final words.

“Boss? Apparently nobody’s touched these files since they were created.”

Charles looked up sharply. “When was that? No, wait,” he said quickly, before Nat could speak, as an idea developed in his mind. “Let me guess. It was in the early hours of Monday, April 13, 1970.”

He could feel that people were staring at him, and, even as he stared blankly at the floor, reliving that day and night over in his mind, he heard Nat’s voice agreeing.

“That’s Catherine’s code,” Cici’s voice said over his head, and Charles looked up to find that she had moved behind the desk to look at the screen.

She was pointing at the details Nat had found of the document’s history, and particularly at the code of the author. A new feeling slipped in around the pain of remembering his betrayal, and he inhaled shakily. So she had kept her word after all.

“That,” Cici suddenly said, “was the day Catherine died. I heard a rumor she died down on the sim lab level. Shot herself in the elevator or something.”

“Was shot,” Charles corrected, looking up. “By me. And,” as he saw Cici recoil, “it was ironic that it should have been on that level. It was the only sim I was ever involved in.”

The horror in the doctor’s eyes faded to wariness. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had never expected to have to explain this to anyone, and for a moment, it was hard to know where to begin. He looked at his daughter and, with his eyes, summoned her over to hear the story. Meg and her children had left the room hours before.

“Raines started the rumor about Catherine killing herself before it even happened,” he said softly. “I came onto the scene by accident. I got a note from Harriet, which she said came from Catherine, telling me that my sons were inside the Centre, and how I could get in. There used to be a vent cover that led out to a thickly wooded area out back,” he added. “When I got there, the cover was open and so I went in. I had the gun I’d been given when I joined the Circle of Fire flying unit and I knew so little about the Centre then that I felt pretty safe with it. But there was only one vent unlocked and when I got into the room, Raines was already waiting for me.”

Nat’s eyes widened at this, but Charles turned his eyes away from the boy’s face, determined not to be distracted from his story.

“Raines said that he should kill me, but instead I could be very useful to him. If I did what he said, I could leave when it was over and no one would ever need know I was there.”

“Did you do it?” Cici asked, and he looked up at her.

“What would you have done?”

She only nodded, and he continued.

“I was given blanks for my gun and fake identification papers, and was told that my target would be in the elevator at a certain hallway. He ushered me up there and pointed me in the direction of the elevator, with a photo of Catherine, although he didn’t tell me who it was. I thought about using the ID to get around the Centre and find my children, but he said he’d be watching me all the time, and the first move I made that wasn’t what he’d told me to do was have me killed. So I went to the elevator and waited. Finally, it arrived, the doors opened and Catherine was standing there. I lifted the gun and fired twice. Then I heard a voice – a child’s voice – screaming. It shook me so that I ended up putting a hole in the wall of the elevator with my third bullet, which turned out to be real. I suppose Raines really wanted Catherine dead, but didn’t want the blood on his own hands.”

“Why would he?” Cici demanded.

“I don’t know,” Charles shot back. “Would you hang around asking questions of Raines if he was threatening to have you killed?”

“What about sweepers?” Nat asked.

“There were plenty,” Charles replied. “They jumped on me – not before I had the chance to see Catherine’s daughter, of course. I suppose that’s what she was, anyway. She was screaming for her mother. That’s all I saw before they dragged me away.”

“But they didn’t kill you,” Jarod said in a strangled voice, and Charles wondered at the expression in his eyes. It was almost understanding.

“They dragged me into a room where Raines was waiting,” his father replied. “It was the same one I’d snuck into earlier. He sent the sweepers away – all but one, anyway – and when they were gone, opened the cover. He told me to get out and I took off. Then he fired his gun in my direction, down the vent. It’s still in my back,” he added after a moment of horrified silence. “I’ve never wanted to limit myself by having it removed, and apparently it’s not causing any problems.”

The silence continued for a moment before he spoke again, and as he did so, he leaned over the desk and picked up the plastic envelope containing the sheet of paper.

“This was lying inside the vent itself, in front of the cover that led to the room where Raines was waiting,” he said. “I thought I’d pick it up when I left, so that I wouldn’t have anything on me if I was found while I was inside the Centre. I never got the chance to do it.” He looked down at it wonderingly. “I wonder what happened to it.”

“Did Catherine tell you it’d be there?” Cici asked.

“Yes.” Charles nodded. “She said that, in case I couldn’t find my boys inside the Centre, she’d leave me something that would help me to locate them.”

“It would have, too,” Nat said, having examined the documents he had found in the stores more closely. “The code it was filed under is the same as the code all of Jarod's details are filed under, with two letters in front. MC.”

“I doubted her for years,” the older man admitted. “I thought she’d set me up, told Raines that I’d be there. I don’t know how he found out – I probably never will – or why I had to pretend to kill her. But I’m glad she, at least, didn’t betray me. I was afraid she had,” he went on in the deathly silence that had filled the room. “As soon as I got back to the farm, I made Margaret pack up and we left immediately. Emily was only six months old,” he added, smiling tenderly at her, and then he continued with a rueful sigh. “But I was terrified they’d have found out where we were, so we left what was probably the only really safe spot in the whole world.”

*~*~*~*~*

Cecilia

Cici watched Shannon scoop the last of the fruit of the bowl, spoon it into her mouth and then sit back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh.

“I needed that.”

“I’ll bet.” The doctor took the bowl away with a grin. “Walking for twelve hours, sleeping for a further twelve, and with only one small bowl of soup in between. But then, you always did try to do the impossible, Prodge.”

Shannon giggled and snuggled down in bed. The doctor thought that, particularly with her hair cut short and in an oversized nightdress, the girl looked younger and more innocent than Cici could ever remember seeing her. Even the obviously fearful state in which Shannon had spent the first few months of her freedom hadn’t resulted in the same sense of innocence that seemed to shine from her eyes now.

And that only made it harder to tell her the truth about her condition.

Cici was, for the first time in her life, procrastinating. It made her feel uncomfortable and she was alarmed at how many ways she had found of doing it. She had come into the room two hours ago with the intention of telling Shannon what they had discovered, and was still no closer to doing so than she had been then. Now, however, seemed like the most opportune moment. She paused to gather her thoughts, and then opened her mouth to speak.

Someone knocked on the door.

Profound relief washed through her, even as she called ‘come in’ and turned in her seat to see Charles in the doorway.

“Cici, we’ve got a problem with Freya.”

The doctor leapt to her feet, even as Shannon spoke from the bed. “Sofia. Her name’s Sofia.”

Charles and Cici immediately stared at her. “How,” the Boss asked slowly, “do you know?”

“We worked together once,” Shannon said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know when it was, but I know we did a sim together. It was probably a few years ago now, though. She looked quite a bit older in the photo I saw when we were planning.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cici demanded, feeling that, considering the problems they had had with the girl, frustration was a reasonable emotion.

“You never asked.” Shannon shrugged and then looked at Charles. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Charles crossed the room to the bedside and picked up the gown that was draped over a chair near the bed before offering his hand. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

A few moments later, Cici followed Shannon and Charles, who was supporting her, into the room next door, in which Sofia had been put. The girl was cowering in the corner, her hands over her face, while Nat knelt in front of her, trying to talk to her. He looked up as the three people came in, and Cici could tell from his expression that Sofia hadn’t been responding.

Shannon released her hold on the Boss’s arm and slowly crossed the room, gesturing to Nat to move away. The young man shot an enquiring glace at Cici as he did so, and the doctor nodded very slightly. This might be their only chance to get through to this girl, and they couldn’t afford to ruin it.

When she was still several paces away, Shannon spoke several words in a language Cici didn’t recognize. She glanced at Charles, her eyebrows raised, but he merely shrugged and turned his attention back to the corner.

“Norwegian,” Jarod's voice said softly from behind her, and Cici eyed him.

“How do you know?”

“I had to learn it for a sim,” came the curt response, and then Jarod nodded at the two girls on the far side of the room.

Cici looked back in time to see Sofia hesitantly creep closer to Shannon, who put an arm around her and drew her into her lap.

“Mor,” the girl murmured.

“Ja, Sofia,” Shannon responded gently, cradling the twelve-year-old girl, who rested her head again Shannon’s shoulder.

“Sofia called her ‘mother’,” Jarod translated softly, and then Cici caught the questioning glance he shot at her. “Why would Shannon agree with her saying that?”

“Ask her,” the doctor replied, her own common sense telling her that a biological relationship was impossible.

Sofia murmured several almost inaudible words, and Shannon smiled.

“Of course you have to speak English,” she scolded lightly, brushing the long, blond hair out of the girl’s face. “But it doesn’t matter if you make mistakes.”

“R… Raines?” stammered the girl.

“You’re safe from Raines,” Shannon soothed. “These people here have been trying to tell you that for days, but you haven’t listened.”

Sofia’s cheeks flushed red and her head sank. The brunette laughed and leaned forward to lightly brush the young girl’s forehead with her lips.

“It’s all right, Sofia. They aren’t angry. But you mustn’t be afraid of them. They’re the people who took you away from Raines.”

The girl looked up at the group in the doorway, her eyes still anxious, but the sheer terror that had earlier filled them had faded, from which Cici was grateful. Then the doctor realized that Shannon was staring at her and gesturing her to come into the room. She slipped past the Boss and slowly approached the two girls, crouching down on the floor in front of them.

“This is Cici,” Shannon explained, and Sofia gave a tiny smile. “She’s a doctor.”

Sofia nodded, but seemed unsure what to do next. Cici was equally uncertain and so remained silent. It was up to Shannon to offer a suggestion.

“Are you hungry, Sofia? Do you want something to eat?”

The girl’s eyes were childishly eager. “Sjokolade?”

Shannon laughed. “Not chocolate for dinner, but maybe after dinner, if you eat everything. Will you go with Cici and see what you’d like?”

Another unintelligible question was immediately poured out in concerned tones, but Shannon was quick to reassure the frightened girl.

“You can come and see me after dinner. I have to go back bed now, but once you’ve had dinner, then you can come and see me. All right?”

After a brief hesitation, Sofia nodded, gingerly holding out a hand to the doctor, who took it and then straightened up, gently drawing the girl with her. Jarod stepped further into the room and to one side of the door as his father backed into the hallway to get out of their way. As she headed for the door with the anxious child, Cici saw Jarod come over to help Shannon up and heard him say, “You speak Norwegian?”

Shannon grinned, her eyes dancing, as he helped her to her feet. “Doesn’t everyone?”

*~*~*~*~*

Two hours later, with Sofia peacefully sleeping on a spare mattress on the floor in Meg’s room, the doctor entered Shannon’s room to find her sitting up in bed, reading a book, which she put to one side as Cici closed the door behind her.

“Why,” Cici asked as she pulled a chair up to the bedside, “did Sofia call you ‘mother’?”

Shannon shot her a look of mock-respect. “I had no idea you spoke Norwegian.”

Cici grinned. “You know full well I don’t. Jarod told me what you were saying. Why did she call you that? And you agreed.”

“That was when we met,” the younger woman explained. “I was simming the role of a mother and she was chosen to be the child. I suppose she might have been about six or seven.” Shannon gave a faint shudder. “It wasn’t a nice sim.”

“Few of them are,” Cici remarked.

Shannon smiled in acknowledgement of the truth of that. Then she looked more closely at Cici and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong?”

The doctor sighed, knowing that the moment had come and was inescapable. Still, she found herself procrastinating again.

“What makes you think anything is?”

“Experience,” Shannon said drily. Then she looked concerned. “Did you find out about something that happened to me while I was at the Centre that’s caused a problem?”

“Not exactly,” Cici replied reluctantly.

“Well, what then?”

Cici sighed again, deeply, her eyes on her hands, before she slowly raised them to meet the blue eyes opposite. For an instant, she wished that Shannon was like normal people, so that she need only give a hint for her to understand the true nature of the situation. Instead, she would have to go into greater detail. Leaning forward, she took Shannon’s right hand in both of hers and held it.

“Something did show up on one of the tests,” she began hesitantly, and saw wariness appear in Shannon’s eyes, “but it wasn’t something that happened as a result of you going to the Centre.”

“Well, what then? Is it serious?”

“It has… long-term repercussions, yes.”

Incomprehension showed on Shannon’s face, but Cici saved her the difficulty of having to say that she didn’t understand by getting out the hard words.

“Prodge, honey, in a few weeks, you’re going to have a baby.”

A long, difficult silence stretched out between them. Finally Shannon spoke, her lips trembling.

“Is… is this like… a joke? Punishment for me going off like that?”


Cecilia moved onto the bed and gently took Shannon’s hand into her lap. “No, Prodge. You know I wouldn’t do something like that. Not something this serious.”

“A… a baby?”

Shannon’s free hand moved to her stomach, and Cici was relieved. It meant that Shannon knew something about reproduction, which would hopefully make the explanations shorter. But then Shannon’s face crumpled and tears swam in her eyes. Cici moved closer and drew the girl into her arms, rocking her as if she was a baby herself.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie,” she promised softly. “We’ll help you. We’ll teach you everything you need to know, and we’ll always be here to help. All of us.”

“I don’t want it,” Shannon sobbed in muffled tones.

Cici paused for a moment before speaking. “You don’t want Peter’s baby?”

Shannon froze, and then Cici felt fresh tears soaking her shirt. Charles had told her everything Shannon had said about Peter’s situation, so the doctor knew that he was at least still alive. Nat was trying to find more about what they had done to him, but so far he had had no luck.

“It was just… just playing around,” Shannon gasped. “It didn’t… seem that serious.”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Cici agreed, stroking the short, dark hair. “And you have more excuse than any other girl your age for not realizing the full implications of what you did. Nobody blames you, honey. It happened, though, and now we need to deal with the consequences of it.” She pulled back and looked into Shannon’s bright blue eyes, still flooded with unshed tears. “I’m afraid it’s too late to get rid of it, but if you really think it’s going to be too hard, we could adopt it out.”

“Peter’s,” Shannon mumbled, her right hand still touching her belly.

“It is, isn’t it?” Cici prompted, and the younger girl nodded dumbly, fixing her eyes on a point directly in front of her.

“Family,” Shannon added after another long silence. Then she looked up at the doctor again. “Just like she promised.”

“Who, honey?”

“The voice. When I was walking. She said I’d have a family one day. She promised.”

Cici could make nothing of this and knew that Shannon was in no state for coherent explanations, so she didn’t press for any, only sliding an arm around the girl’s shoulders and sitting next to her on the bed in silence.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon stared out of the window at where the moon shone in through the window, casting its silvery light into the room. Her hand still rested on her belly and her mind fought to come to terms with what she had been told.

A baby.

It explained a lot of things, of course. She had become slightly fatter recently, her pants and skirts not fitting as well as they had before, which she had attributed to an increased desire for certain foods, usually those she was aware were higher in fat and fiber. Occasionally she’d had feelings of slight discomfort in her stomach, which Cici told her might have been the baby moving. She remembered her lack of appetite the night after Jarod had been rescued and wondered if that had also had something to do with it.

But none of that made it more real.

Cici had left a book showing the development of a baby in her stomach, but Shannon had found it difficult to believe that something like that could be growing inside her. The doctor had said that most women felt the same way when they found out they were pregnant. The only real difference was that they had longer to come to terms with the fact than she did.

Two weeks. It was no time at all, really. One day of that time was already over, and, realizing that fact, she felt her eyes fill with tears again, but she resolutely drove them away. She had done enough crying, and besides, the behaviour was so foreign to her that it only made her feel worse.

Something moved inside her, and she felt herself smile mistily, through half-swallowed tears. It was a familiar feeling, but now, for the first time, she knew what it was.

The pressure terrified her. She had never had the chance to be a child. What would it feel like to have a child of her own? Would she know what to do? Could she be a good mother? These and other questions whirled around in her mind and pressure throbbed across her forehead.

The door opening was a relief, providing something that would turn her thoughts away from her current predicament, and she recognized Jarod's form silhouetted in the doorway, even as she reached over to turn on the lights.

“Don’t let me disturb you.”

Shannon smiled as she settled back against the pillows. “I’m glad to have something else to think about, to be honest.” She watched as he brought a chair up to the bedside. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” he admitted.

“Nightmares,” she said knowingly, watching as he nodded.

“You have them, too?”

“They get better, eventually. It takes time, though. The guilt and anger lasts for a long time, longer than really seems fair.”

“It’s not our fault.”

“That’s why it’s not fair.” She smiled slightly. “And we can’t even take our feelings out on those who really are to blame. It’s pretty frustrating, actually.”

A faint smile flexed the dimples on his cheeks. “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t think I’ve got to that stage yet.”

“Have you called Sydney again?”

Jarod's head tilted slightly to one side. “Were you listening, or do you just know everything that happens in this place, even when you’re asleep?”

She chuckled. “I remember, Jarod, that’s why. It was only about a year ago that I got out. And, although I never had the urge to call up Raines and ask how the ghoul was doing, I can see how you might have felt that way.” Shannon resettled herself in the bed and then looked up at him expectantly. “So what did you come in to talk to me about? It must have been something important, ‘cause most people are asleep at this hour.”

“Actually,” he paused before continuing, “this is going to sound strange.”

“I’m fully expecting it to,” she teased. “Don’t forget that I’ve had six months with Josh, and that was pretty good preparation for meeting you.”

He grinned. “Training, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

“Tell me about him later,” Jarod pleaded. “But for now, can I tell you why I came in?”

“Go for it.”

Jarod sighed. “I’m used to talking sims over with Sydney once I think I’ve got answers, but I’m a little nervous about asking anyone else to listen and I – there’s not a lot here.”

“Whatever it is, Jarod, it’s real life, not a sim. You don’t get all the answers in life. You have to find them for yourself.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But… will you just listen?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” He flashed her another grin and quickly left the room.

Shannon barely had time to shuffle over to the far side of the bed so that he had space on which to put things before he returned with a pile of papers and Nat’s laptop.

“Nat’s not going to be happy about that,” she said, tapping the machine.

“He said I could use it whenever he wasn’t.”

Shannon’s eyebrows shot up. “How much are you paying him, Jarod? I’ve never heard him say that to anyone!”

Jarod merely shrugged and looked back at the papers he had brought in. Shannon guessed that he had slipped, perhaps inadvertently, into his working mode, and fell silent so as to let him get on with what he wanted to tell her.

He pulled out the plastic envelope containing the sheet of paper and held it up. “Cici told us that she found this in your pocket, instead of in the bundle of papers. Where did you find it? In the archives?”

“No.” Her tone was as serious as his. “When I got back to my room, I was packing stuff up to get out of there. I’d just about finished when I saw it on the floor in front of the air vent cover. I’m sure it hadn’t been there a moment before, so I’m guessing Angelo shoved it through the cover for me.” She looked up to meet his eye. “It was important?”


“I think so.”

He gave her a brief run-down of the details found in the first file, and she furrowed her brow at the mention of the scrolls, trying to remember whether she had ever heard them mentioned. When he was finished, he asked her directly about them, but she was forced to shake her head.

“I’m sorry, Jarod, but I really don’t think I’ve ever heard of them before.”

His face fell slightly, but she guessed that he had doubted whether she really knew anything, so it probably wasn’t a massive disappointment.

“Can you turn on the overhead light?” she asked, squinting at the papers beside her. “I can’t see things well enough with just the lamp.”

Jarod obligingly jumped up from his chair to do so, and Shannon pulled the closest pile of papers over to her, flipping through them. As the light went on, a photo caught her eye, and she halted in her search, going back to find the relevant sheet.

Pulling it out, she placed it flat on her lap, gazing down at the faces in it. She recognized the first from a photo Charles carried in his wallet, and had once shown her. She looked up at Jarod, who had just returned to his chair, and smiled.

“This is your mother?”

“Yes,” he agreed, and she saw his expression soften.

“She’s very pretty.”

He nodded. “Mmm.”

Shannon switched her attention from Margaret to the other woman in the photo, and something like recognition tugged at her. She seemed to have locked eyes with the woman and felt warmth flow through her, similar to the way she had felt while being comforted by Charles earlier that day. With an effort, she pulled her eyes away and looked up at Jarod, her voice soft.

“What else was there?”

“Nothing,” he admitted. “That’s the problem. I can’t figure it out.”

Understanding something of his feelings of frustration, she reached out and placed a hand on his. “Jarod, you’re allowed not to know the answers sometimes. You don’t have enough to work with here, that’s all. This isn’t a sim. The answers aren’t necessarily here.”

“I could have done with you sometimes at the Centre,” he replied, half-smiling.

She returned the smile and then looked down once more at the papers, putting the photo to one side and flipping through the pile again. Then she picked up the torn sheet and settled against the pillows to have another look at the numbers.

Something caught her eye, and she held the sheet up to the light. Then she saw the image in the background, somehow printed on the paper beneath the typing.

“What’s this?”

Jarod looked up sharply. “What’s what?”

“This drawing.” She turned around and held the page up in front of the light cast by the lamp. “It’s – I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it!”

“Skulls,” he offered, taking the paper from her and holding it at an angle that allowed him to see it properly. “An octagonal symbol, with eight skulls and this triangle thing.” He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I thought you said the answers weren’t there.”

“Necessarily,” she added quickly. “Not necessarily there.”

“Maybe they are,” he murmured, gazing at the symbol. “I’ve seen something like this, or at least a part of it. But where?”

Silence extended for several minutes, while Shannon watched Jarod think. Strangely, she, too, had the idea that she had seen something similar quite recently. He met her gaze and suddenly both lunged for the photo, which was lying on the bedclothes.

“Nat’s case,” Shannon burst out excitedly. “He always takes a magnifying glass around with him.”

Jarod was out of the room a bare moment and returned with the object in his hand, which he held over the photo. They could both see the symbol, hidden by ivy, and Jarod left Shannon staring at it while he opened the computer and brought up the photo. Within a few minutes, he had isolated and enlarged the image so that it was more visible. Then he was able to remove the green ivy strands, which left them with several skulls and part of the central triangle. As a final step, he uploaded the picture to a program Nat had designed that searched the Centre’s mainframe.

The search took a minute – one of the longest minutes, Shannon guessed, of Jarod's life. He was clearly obsessed by the idea that there was a grand plan of which nobody here had, as yet, any idea. She could understand that. It might explain why her life had been created in the first place, and that was something she wanted to know. Had she been intended to be someone’s child, to be loved, or had she been created simply to work for the Centre? It was an agonizing question.

When the computer beeped, they were both already leaning over it. Only one file appeared on the list of results, and Jarod glanced at Shannon before moving the mouse over it and clicking on the file name.

The machine gave a loud, high-pitched beep that seemed to echo through the entire house. Then the screen was filled with lines of data that quickly scrolled upwards. Something passed over them and the words instantly became meaningless gibberish.

“Jarod?” Charles’ voice demanded from the doorway. “Shannon? What’s going on?”

“Encrypted,” Jarod said in disappointment, before meeting Shannon’s eye. “Did you get anything? Anything at all?”

“Only one word, and I’m not even sure of it,” she admitted. “I thought it said Carthis. You?”

“Vespusian, whatever that might be.”

“Jarod?” Charles asked again, his voice firm as he stepped into the room. “Shannon? Will one of you tell us what’s going on?”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 9


Jarod

They were only ten minutes away from landing on Carthis, and the atmosphere on the boat was tense.

“Do we really know what we’re looking for?” Emily demanded in soft tones.

“The Vespusians,” her brother replied, similarly quietly. “Catherine Parker used the paper with the watermark to show that there was a connection between them and the scrolls.”

“And we have to beat the Centre to them,” Nat added grimly.

“We’ve been outrunning the Centre for years,” Cici reminded him gently. “We can do it again.”

Jarod felt that Joshua, squashed in between him and the side of the boat, was trembling, his eyes on the small amount of water at their feet, and placed his hand over that of his clone, squeezing gently. It had taken quite a lot of persuasion to convince Nat to leave Shannon, but Jarod felt that it was important for the boy to be there, so eventually they had taken Shannon and Sofia back to Shannon’s house, chartered a plane and headed for Carthis.

A moment later, the boat pulled into a protected harbor and the guide they had hired managed to toss a mooring rope over one of the few anchoring joists.

“Good luck, folks,” he said meaningfully. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes for the world.”

Charles tucked a folded monetary note into the pilot’s hand as he jumped off the boat and accepted the bag that Nat handed him before the young technician leapt ashore, the others following. Jarod hauled the rope off the mooring point and tossed it back onto the boat, where the man received it with thanks and then started his engine again.

“So what now?” Nat asked.

“One thing we don’t do,” Charles replied authoritatively, “is mention the Vespusians, the scrolls or the Centre. To anyone. Clear?”

The group nodded and then headed for the old-fashioned town, with its cobblestone streets and horse-drawn carriages.

“We know the Ves – they are a religious sect,” Nat offered in a low voice, “so let’s try churches or religious centers of some description.”

“Like the monks,” Emily remarked, nodding at the cowled figures walking through the streets.

“If we seek help from them, we’ll probably have to tell them why we’re looking,” Jarod suggested. He had no idea why he so desperately wanted to keep their hunt as secret as possible, only that it seemed urgent for it to happened that way.

“Then we’ll look for ourselves first,” his father replied. He nodded at a nearby signpost. “There’s a chapel. We might as well start there as anywhere.”

Further signs directed them to a ‘footpath to the Chapel’. Silence had fallen over the entire group and they hurried along, single file.

Then Charles, who was leading, stopped abruptly.

The others gathered around to find him looking down at a stone column, which stood about waist-high. Climbing plants had obviously once covered it, but these had been cleaned off. Jarod saw his father’s mouth move, but no sounds came out as he dumbly waved a hand at it.

The image on the marker was the octagon with the eight skulls.

A combination of hope and fear gripped Jarod's heart. He reached out to touch the engraving, quickly realizing that the stone was solid, and nothing could have been hidden inside the column. He looked up at those around him, glanced at the chapel and spoke only one word.

“Inside.”

Nat opened his bag and pulled out two guns, handing one to Jarod and flicking the safety off the other, before slipping it into the holster hanging at his side. “It’s loaded,” he warned the Pretender. “So be careful.”

The building loomed in front of them, and in the twilight, the name of the chapel, was difficult to read. They only glanced briefly at it before hurrying inside.

Movement in one corner drew Jarod's eye there, and he hurried towards it, the gun held out in front of him, safety off, even as the others entered and fanned out around the room.

Jarod stopped in front of a door, hesitated for a moment, and then reached out to open it.

A figure cringed inside, then looked up at him, and he gasped. The woman tried to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm in a crushing grip.

“M… Mom?”


She stopped fighting, looked up at him, and then stared wildly around at the others in the chapel, who had ceased to search and had turned to see what was going on. Out of the corner of his eye, Jarod saw his father bound forward, beside them in an instant.

“Margaret!”

The woman stared blankly at him for an instant, before a sound like a suppressed sob escaped from her mouth and she pulled herself away from Jarod's grasp to fall into her husband’s arms. Emily, Jarod suddenly realized, was standing beside him, and Margaret released an arm from her husband’s hold to stroke the girl’s face. Her daughter clutched her hand and held it tight.

“Oh, Emily.”

Charles looked down at his wife, his brown eyes glowing. “Don’t you recognize our boy, Meg?”

Margaret looked up at the man standing beside them, and then tears filled her blue eyes. “Jarod,” she whispered. “Oh, my baby Jarod.”

She stepped away from her husband and into his arms, reaching up to stroke his face and hair, planting kisses on his forehead and cheeks. His arms wrapped around her, feeling her heart beating in her chest under her cape. Her red hair, containing strands of gray, was pulled back in a tight knot, and lines creased her face, but otherwise she looked little different from the way she had in photos Charles had shown him. Jarod felt as if his heart would burst at the knowledge that he had found her at last, and tears pricked his eyes as he tried to speak but found himself unable to do so.

Suddenly, a dull roar that Jarod realized he had heard in the background for the past few minutes became louder. Nat dashed to the entrance of the chapel and then looked back, his loud cry full of panic.

“The Centre!”

Abandoning the reunion, the group raced to the door, looking up to see a helicopter hovering over the island. It gradually came in to land, some distance from the chapel.

“Now what?” Charles yelled over the noise.

“The crypt,” Margaret exclaimed. “We have to get there before they do!”

Panic urged everyone to instant flight, and Margaret led them through the grounds and across to a door hidden by ivy, which she swept aside, ushering them in. They all hurried after her.

No, not all.

Jarod, missing something, turned back to see Joshua stumble along the path and fall. He dashed towards the door, only to find his way blocked by a monk in a dark brown cowl.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man snarled. “What do you want? This is sacred ground.”

A feeling of power surged through Jarod, and he stood straighter, meeting the man’s gaze. He recalled a snippet of information that Nat had found about the Vespusians: that many monks were strong believers in magic. Over the monk’s shoulder, he met his clone’s eyes. Joshua had found his feet again and was only a few feet behind the two people, hesitating.

“I am here to guard the tomb,” Jarod proclaimed, thankful that he had slid the gun into his pocket, having flicked the safety off, before embracing his mother. “I have the power to protect those within. You must leave.”

“What power?” the monk snapped, taking a step closer.

“I can alter my form at will,” Jarod intoned, feeling like he was involved in a complicated sim. He waved a hand behind the monk to where Joshua stood, and saw understanding flash in the boy’s eyes. Joshua straightened and, being dressed in a black outfit similar to Jarod's, the two looked remarkably alike. “Behold.”

The monk glanced over his shoulder and gasped at the sight of the boy behind him. Jarod took instant advantage of the moment to slam the butt of his gun against the man’s head. Even as the limp body slumped at his feet and Jarod returned his gun to his pocket with one hand, Jarod held out his other hand to his clone and together they ran into the crypt.

“Here!” Margaret’s voice exclaimed aloud, and the whole group ran over to her.

She had cleared the dust off a stone coffin that stood in the middle of a circle of others and now the seven people leaned over to read the inscription.

“I tego arcane dei,” Jarod pronounced. “Be gone, for I conceal the secrets of God.”

“Perfect for the Centre,” his mother declared. “This would be the ideal place for the scrolls to be hidden.”

Somehow it didn’t seem strange to Jarod that Margaret, too, would be hunting for the scrolls. That she was here seemed like pure fate, and he wasn’t going to argue. Instead, he put all his weight behind the stone lid and, aided by Josh, Nat and Charles, got it to move aside.

Inside, lying on the bones, were two bundles. Margaret grabbed them with a sigh of relief. “I was so afraid the Centre would get here first.”


“Who says we didn’t?” a new voice demanded, and the group spun around as one.

Mr. Parker stood in the doorway of the chapel, half a dozen sweepers behind him, all of whom were armed and pointing their guns at the fugitives.

“Put the scrolls back,” Mr. Parker ordered, “and move away from the coffin.”

Jarod felt something sharp poking into his back and, partly hidden, as he was, behind his father and Emily, he risked putting his hands behind him to feel the scrolls loaded into them. Then Margaret took a step towards the coffin and placed two large, wrapped parcels onto the skeleton, before moving back to rejoin the group. Then, as they shuffled around the room, Jarod managed to slip one of the scrolls into Nat’s bag and the other into the bag his mother carried, from which she had apparently taken the parcels that she had put into the coffin.

When they were halfway between the door and the coffin, Mr. Parker stepped forward to the ring of stone coffins. The sweepers spread out, still training their guns on the seven people. Jarod felt he could barely breathe, and reached out to take his mother’s hand. Even if they were all going to die here, together, at least he would know what it felt like to touch her. Her fingers slid between his and held tightly.

Mr. Parker lifted the two bundles out of the coffin and sighed, “Long live the Centre.” Then a grin crossed his face. “And as soon as we destroy this garbage, we’ll never have to worry about any stupid prophesies ever again.”

A sudden burst of sound from outside the crypt made him look up quickly to see a large group of monks running towards the underground room. Before anyone could move, the first of them burst in at the door, shouting protests. It was then, and for the first time, that Jarod noticed the absence of the monk he had knocked out, and guessed that he had gone for help.

“The tombs!” one of the monks cried. “They have desecrated the tombs.”


“And they have the scrolls,” another screamed in protest. “The sacred scrolls. No one may take them. They belong here.”

The sweepers were instantly distracted from their duties, being confronted by a group whom they had no orders to kill. The scrolls were torn violently from Mr. Parker’s hands, and a group of men in dark cowls surrounded him. A group of angry men.

Jarod poked his father’s back and nodded in the direction of the door, which was now clear for them to get out. Silently, unseen by the furious monks and fearful Centre employees, the group slipped out of the crypt.

“How do we get away?” Emily begged.

“Their helicopter,” Nat suggested with a grin. Then, nodding in the direction of the crypt, “They won’t be needing it again.”

“Can you fly it, Jarod?” Charles begged as they ran through the empty streets to the place where the machine had landed.

“We’ll soon find out,” his son replied grimly, and put on an extra burst of speed.

He had found time to finish the book he had begun reading on his first night of freedom, and now only hoped that this helicopter would be the same as the one he had read about then. He sighed with relief when the instrument panel looked familiar, and barely waited for the others to climb in before he pressed the button that started the rotors spinning, putting on his headphones with his other hand.

Thankfully for his interest in new things, Jarod felt the helicopter lift off the ground and checked the level of fuel in the tank, hoping it would be enough to get them to Glasgow airport, where their plane was waiting. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his parents and Emily sitting on the bench that ran along one side of the interior, Margaret in the middle, in her husband’s arms and with her arms around Emily. Nat and Cici sat opposite, and Joshua was in the seat beside Jarod. As the helicopter turned towards Glasgow, Josh gave his progenitor a grin.

“We sure tricked that monk,” the boy gurgled, his voice coming clearly through the headphones, and Jarod grinned in response.

“Yes, we did,” he agreed. “Great job, Josh.”

The boy gazed out through the Perspex for a moment, before looking up again. “What do you think will happen to them?”

Jarod didn’t answer that. He couldn’t bring himself to tell the boy that, from what Nat had found, those who were discovered with the scrolls by the monks were often found dead in the woods, several days later. Jarod doubted they would be able to return to the Centre to tell people there what had happened, and, briefly, he wondered how Miss Parker would feel about her father’s disappearance.

The sun was setting now, the sky streaked with red, and Jarod saw Josh settle back against the co-pilot’s seat, staring blankly out at the hazy horizon ahead of them. Jarod understood how he felt, as the adrenalin faded and he also began to tire. He hoped that, for the flight home, he could get a few hours’ sleep before taking over from his father as pilot.

*~*~*~*~*

They were flying over the Atlantic, the east coast of America a vague blur on the horizon, when Jarod woke. He and Charles had alternated the flying between them, in two hours shifts, but as they were so close to landing, Charles had told his son to sleep for the rest of the flight. Now, however, at the end of a two-hour nap, Jarod was awake again.

He looked lazily around himself at the plane’s interior. The seats could be folded down into beds, which sufficed for five of them, Jarod and Charles alternating the use of a pile of pillows in one corner of the plane.

Jarod lifted his head from the pillows, and then felt that someone was sitting on the floor beside him. Looking up, he found his mother next to him, her eyes fixed on his face, and smiled, moving over to rest his head on her lap. Immediately, she began stroking his hair.

“Oh, Jarod.” The whisper was full of longing. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

He rolled over to look up into her blue eyes, which, only just visible in the dim light, were shining with happiness and unshed tears.

“I missed you,” he told her softly, before honesty forced him to add, “for as long as they’d let me remember you.”

“I know, baby,” she crooned. “I know what they do. I know what they’re like.”

“Did Catherine tell you?”

“Yes.” Margaret sighed. “She told me what they would do to you.”

“Why, Mom?” He captured her free hand and held it against his chest. “Why did they take me away from you? What did they really want?”

She looked up, and Jarod followed her gaze to the two bags that lay on the floor of the plane. “I don’t know, Jarod. I suppose we’ll find out when we read them. Catherine said that, whenever I found the scrolls, then I’d know everything.”

“How did you meet? What did she tell you?”

Margaret smiled tenderly at him. “She told me what a beautiful, intelligent, wonderful son I had. I knew it already, of course,” she added, in a teasing tone, “but it was nice to have it confirmed by someone else.”

He grinned, glad that the darkness hid the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. “Was that all?”

Her smile faded. “No, baby. It wasn’t. She told me about some of your sims. Some of hard ones.” Margaret’s voice filled with pain. “All I’ve wanted to do, ever since you were born, was protect you, Jarod, but I couldn’t.”

Jarod pulled himself into a sitting position, putting his arm around his mother and holding her close. There were no words he could offer that would comfort her, but he hoped that the simple act of holding her would persuade her that he was really there and that now she could protect him as much as she wanted.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles

The apartment block that housed Cici and Nat’s homes was closest to the airport, so the group went there. Charles, his wife in the seat beside him, and able to see his son and daughter in the rearview mirror, sighed in satisfaction. This was the way his life should always have been, with his children teasing each other, and his wife laughing at them, but with the love they felt for each other almost palpable. Margaret placed her hand on his knee, squeezing gently, and he knew that she felt the same. He never imagined that he would find her on Carthis, and was yet to find out why she had gone in search of the scrolls, but that could wait. Everything could wait while he relished this moment.

All too soon, however, he pulled up in front of the nondescript building in which Nat and Cici lived and got out. As always, the Centre, in one form or another, ruined the few special moments that he managed to spend with his family.

“Soon, Dad,” Jarod murmured. “We’ll be able to have that time again soon.”

Charles looked up at his son with a smile “Are you always going to do that to me?”

Jarod chuckled softly. “Only if you always make it that easy for me.”

Nat unlocked the door as the others approached and they hurried inside, as if suddenly urgent to get a proper look at the scrolls inside the two bags. Nobody bothered about drinks or food; they quickly gathered around the low coffee table and the large bundles were carefully extracted from the bags.

Suddenly Cici looked at Margaret. “Obviously you brought fake scrolls with you. Why?”

The redhead smiled. “From what I knew of the scrolls, I guessed that nobody had read them, so I thought, if I replaced them with gibberish that at least looked like them, no one would ever need to know I’d done it.”

“Did Catherine tell you what they looked like?” the doctor asked.

“She did describe them to me once, yes,” Margaret agreed, glancing at her daughter. “She was taking Em and me to another place she hoped was safe when she first mentioned them to me, but she couldn’t give me many details about where they were because she was still trying to find them herself. She’d seen them once, though, and knew what they looked like.”

“Why now?” Charles asked, watching his son gently undo the tie around the rolls, which suddenly fell apart between his fingers. “What made you go and look for them now?”

“I don’t know, really.” His wife shrugged. “It just seemed right, somehow. Everything fell into place – the weather, having the money to pay for the journey, it having been so long since the Centre caught up with me.”

Nobody responded to this, as Jarod had begun to unroll the first of the scrolls and they all leaned over eagerly to read what it said.

“The Centre shall rise,” Jarod read aloud, his eyes widening. “The Chosen will be found, a boy named…”

He broke off, sitting back on his heels and staring at the scroll.

“Go on, son,” Charles said, his voice cracking.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

It took a nudge from Nat before Jarod seemed to hear. He cleared his throat, nodded slightly, and leaned over the table to continue. “The Chosen will be found, a boy named Jarod. He shall rule the Centre and shall be reborn with many names but always the same face.” Jarod shot a glance at Joshua, who was listening in silence, his mouth open. “He shall lead the greatest minds in the world, to the benefit of many, and the detriment of few. His wisdom and knowledge shall guide them along the proper path. On this scroll, his best and brightest acts shall be recorded for all time.”

He sat back again with a sigh that hissed from between his clenched teeth and seemed to echo around the room.

“That’s it?” Nat asked, leaning over to roll the scroll out further, but it moved only an inch or two, and it was obvious that the rest was blank, leaving space for the predicted acts.

“What about this?” Emily asked, holding up the second scroll.

Jarod held out his hand for the wrapped parcel and Joshua moved the first scroll off the table, beginning to roll it up, as Jarod opened the second, the tie disintegrating, as it had on the first scroll. The group groaned when they saw that the majority of the scroll was blank.

“This scroll shall record the names of those who work with the Chosen to overcome the struggles that shall be presented to him. It shall be a roll of honor for those who come after.”

“But there’s no names on it,” Joshua complained.

“It’s for our names,” Cici told the boy gently. “And for all those who help Jarod – and you.”

“You see, son,” Charles said suddenly. “I said it was you.”

A moment of silence passed while the group stared at Jarod, waiting for him to respond, but the Pretender seemed unable to move, staring blankly at the carpet. But when, finally, he lifted his head, his eyes were burning with a determined light.

“You know what this means,” he said softly. “For anyone who believes in these scrolls, we would be seen as the rightful leaders of the Centre.”

“We are,” Cici corrected. “You are.”

“But only to those who believe in the prophecy,” Jarod told her. “Think about it. Remember what Mr. Parker said. He called them garbage. He wouldn’t have said that if he really believed in them. If other people feel the same way and we march up there one day, demanding to be recognized as leaders of the Centre based on what these say, we’ll be locked up, or gunned down, before we can say another word.”

Another long silence followed this, before Charles nodded.

“You’re right, son. To do that would be suicide.”

“But how do we find people who believe in it?”

Emily’s question remained unanswered, being the verbalization of what they were all pondering.

“You know what I wonder,” Charles said eventually. “I wonder why the Centre left them unharmed for so long, only to go after them now.”

“We must have alerted them to the fact that someone was searching for them, when Jarod and Shannon opened that document,” Nat suggested. “Don’t forget, we took a few hours to arrange for the plane and everything, and then we had to wait until someone was willing to take us over to Carthis on the boat. And remember how the guy who took us went into the shed? And when he came out, he didn’t say anything, so I’ll bet…”

“Nat,” Charles interrupted sternly, “will you explain yourself properly?”

The young technician sighed with obvious impatience and resettled himself in the armchair in which he was now sitting. “Okay, I’ll start at the beginning and set the scene. It’s three o’clock on Friday morning when the alarm goes off in the Centre’s mainframe, telling them that somebody tripped a wire on a file about the scrolls. They don’t know who it is, but they do know that the scrolls are on Carthis somewhere. It’s a big island, and they haven’t wanted the monks to know they’re hunting for it, so they’ve never instigated a full-scale search before. But maybe, every time someone gets close to the scrolls, Mr. Parker and a team fly over to Glasgow to wait.”

“We know they hired the helicopter from Glasgow,” Charles agreed. “So it sounds good so far. Go on, Nat.”

Nodding, the young man continued. “So they fly over while we’re still arranging for the plane and working out exactly where we’re going. We take off at about six o’clock and it’s an eight-hour flight. I’d guess the Centre has a two-hour start on us. Maybe more, depending how powerful their jet is. So they sit around in a cushy hotel room in Glasgow until we get there and try to get a boat. Maybe they’ve paid or threatened the people who hired the boats to contact them as soon as we asked about going to Carthis. And so we’re being taken over there, while they give us an hour or so to arrive and start looking, and then take off in their helicopter from Glasgow. They figure, if we don’t find the scrolls, no harm done. They’ll catch us and take care of us so that we don’t go looking again.”

“So you’re suggesting it’s not the monks who were responsible for people dying,” Cici interrupted in her turn. “You’re saying its sweepers?”

“It’d hardly be the first time they’ve killed people,” Nat said drily, before picking up where he left off. “And if we do find them – as we did – then they’ve got them at last.”

Charles pulled himself up onto the sofa, his expression thoughtful. “I can’t believe anyone’s read these for years – maybe decades.”

“Because of the fact that the things tying them together just fell apart?” Josh suggested from his place on the floor beside Jarod, leaning against his progenitor’s shoulder, and the Boss nodded.

“So,” he continued, ”if that’s the case, how did Mr. Parker know what they really said?”

“Why would he have?” his wife asked curiously.

“Well, he knew they had something to do with Jarod,” he replied, even as Nat fished around in his bag for the copies of the letters he had found and printed out, handing them to the older woman. “The question,” Charles went on, seemingly oblivious to this, “is how might he have found out?”

“Catherine thought she knew what they said,” Margaret offered. “She told me they had something to do with my family, but she didn’t want to tell me what it was, in case it put me in danger.”

“And how did she find out?” her husband prompted. “I can only imagine that there’s someone who does or did know what they say – apart from us, I mean – and believes in it, too. Otherwise, why would the prophesy on the scrolls seem so powerful to a man like Mr. Parker, who doesn’t believe in it?”

“I… I don’t understand,” Cici offered hesitantly. “Can you make it clearer?”

Charles sighed impatiently, but Jarod, who had begun to recover from his shock enough to listen to what was being said, jumped in ahead of his father.

“From what he said, Mr. Parker obviously thinks the scrolls and the prophecy are worthless,” he explained to the blond woman. “But, if they’re really unimportant, why would he waste so much time and energy trying to find them? The only reason he’d do that was if someone was urging him to do so – someone more important than he is. If they had less power, he wouldn’t bother. The fact that he had bothered suggests that the person wanting them must be pretty important.”

“Oh, I see.” The doctor sat back in her chair. “So what was he going to do with them?”

“Remember what one of the sweepers was holding?” Josh remarked. “A roll of paper. Old-looking paper, too. Maybe he was going to make his own scrolls.”

“And I’ll bet they were probably going to put Mr. Parker at the top of the power tree,” Nat burst out eagerly. “It’d look pretty good for him if he presented the scrolls to those who wanted them, and then they have to turn around and worship him. Worth the time and energy.”

“But the only people more important than Mr. Parker are the Triumvirate,” Cici said thoughtfully. “I remember hearing him say that to Raines once.”

“The Triumvirate,” Charles breathed. “Oh, Lord. I’ve never come up against them directly before.”

“You might not have to,” Margaret pointed out. “If they believe in the scrolls, they’ll work with us, not against us.”

“What was on your scrolls?” Cici asked the older woman curiously.

“Nonsense,” the redhead smiled. “I made up my own little silly language and wrote a whole lot of meaningless drivel on that. If they do manage to decipher it, the last line tells them that I took the scrolls.”

Jarod smiled appreciatively at his mother. It was exactly the sort of thing he would have done in the same situation, and he could see from the sparkle of her eyes that she had enjoyed it as much as he would have.

“So what do we do now?” Emily asked wearily. “Waltz up during a Triumvirate meeting one day and hope for the best?”

“Not if I have any say in it,” her father said firmly. “We only go back to the Centre again when we can be fairly sure of the outcome, and I wouldn’t be, without knowing more about the situation.”

“Why don’t we take some time to think it over?” Jarod suggested, remembering the time when he had asked Sydney for the favor of some thinking time and been summarily refused. Now that he thought about that time, he remembered that the man he now knew to be Raines had been hovering in the background, which might have explained it.

“We could probably all do with a break,” Charles agreed. “And we can keep an eye on the Centre to see if they’ve heard anything about Mr. Parker and the others yet.”

Nat got out of his chair, urging Josh with him into the kitchen, where sounds suggested that they were getting food and drink. Charles leaned over the low table and rolled up the scrolls, taking out a cloth bag and gently placing them inside. Emily moved up onto the sofa beside her mother, who put her arm around her and held her close, whispering in her ear.

Jarod watched as Nat and Josh carried in a tray of food and another of glasses and a large jug of something pink and cold, judging by the beads on the outer side of the glass, as well as a pile of small plates, which Nat handed around. Most of the food was strange to Jarod, but he had a taste of everything and privately rejoiced in the new flavors: the sweeter, the better.

The group settled down around the table and, by unspoken consent, avoided anything to do with the Centre. Josh, Nat and Charles attempted to explain baseball to Jarod, with, admittedly, only limited success. The Pretender’s mind, in contradiction of his father’s orders, was engaged with the information he had just discovered, and he was unable to fully concentrate on what they were telling him. Cici gave Margaret and Emily some idea of the people who had been rescued by the Boss, particularly Shannon.

Suddenly, a ringing sound caused everyone to jump, but it took Jarod a moment to realize that it was a phone on a table in the corner.

“Let the machine get it,” Nat said carelessly. “It won’t be important.”

The answering machine, as Nat told Jarod it was called, beeped several time and a pre-recorded message announced that Nat was out but would call back later. Jarod eyed the device with some suspicion. It seemed strangely familiar to him. However, he forgot his surprise at finding one of his inventions being put to a positive use when he heard the voice on the message.

“Hi, Nat. It’s Prodge. I guess you’re still busy, but if you can grab a spare second from saving the world, would you mind coming around to visit? There’s something here I’d like to show you.”

The machine let out another cheerful beep, even as Nat leapt from his chair lunged for the phone, getting there a second too late. When he tried Shannon’s number, he listened for a second before putting the receiver back on the cradle.

“Busy.”

“Probably calling the rest of us,” Charles suggested, before draining his glass and then getting to his feet. “Who else is coming?”

“Me!”

The word was a chorus from everyone in the room, and they grabbed the bags that had earlier been dumped in the doorway as they entered. Within sixty seconds, the house was deserted and two cars were pulling away from the curb.

Jarod found himself in a car with Joshua, Cici and Nat, the young technician driving and Josh in the passenger seat. Glancing at the doctor, the Pretender spoke in a low voice.

“What do you think it is?”

She half-smiled. “I think I can guess, Jarod, but I won’t tell you. It can be a surprise.”

Turning to the window, she hummed softly as her fingers tapped on the glass, her green eyes gazing out at the lights that flashed past the car.

“Nat,” she said suddenly. “Slow down. You don’t need to hurry.”

The driver eyed her in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

She nodded, and Jarod felt the car slow immediately until it was going at the posted speed limit. A quick look over his shoulder showed Jarod his parents and sister in the car behind them, and he saw them also slow down to the same speed.

Jarod wondered at the anxiety he felt about Shannon. Logic told him that he hadn’t spent enough time with her to feel worried about her, but he knew that what he felt now was the same anxiety he had had about Sydney during his first discussion about his father, when it occurred to him that Sydney might be punished for his, Jarod's, disappearance. From everything he had read about relationships, it took time to build emotional connections between people. Yet, here he was, only a week after meeting these people and feeling as strongly about them as he had about anyone at the Centre.

Suddenly he felt Cici’s hand on his and turned his head to look at her. She smiled reassuringly at him.

“Don’t worry, Jarod. I’m sure she’s fine.”

He smiled in response, feeling his concern abate somewhat at her calm tone. “Surprises usually aren’t positive, in my experience,” he explained, feeling unable to put the truth of the matter into words that wouldn’t sound strange, and so taking refuge in a thought that had fleetingly crossed his mind when she had spoken earlier.

“Centre surprises,” she snorted, then, “There’s a big difference between in there and out here. I’d have expected you to have realized that by now.”

“It’s only been a few days,” he protested mildly.

“It shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes to see it,” she retorted, grinning, raising her hands, palm up, to shoulder height. “The Centre,” she said, lifting one briefly, “and the rest of the world,” she added, raising the other. “Apples and oranges. Chalk and cheese. Any fool should be able to tell that.”

Jarod grinned. “Guess I’m more than a fool, then.”

“I hope not,” she said, suddenly somber, “or else what’s going to happen to the rest of us?”

The meaningful tone of her voice caused him to stop short, his gaze sliding down to his feet, and his mind was suddenly crowded with images of his time at the Centre. Fear blossomed with terrifying suddenness and his hands tightened around the edge of the car seat. His heart fluttered in his chest and he felt strangely light-headed. Could he really bear to go back to that place now that he had experienced this brief and wonderful taste of freedom? At the mere idea, his mind seemed to go blank and thought became suddenly and horrifyingly impossible.

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 10


Jarod

“Jarod? Jarod!”

The voice was persistent, and then he realized that a hand was gently shaking his shoulder. He blinked and struggled to focus on Cici’s face, only faintly able to note the concerned tone in her voice.

“You okay?”

He inhaled shakily, his vision too blurred to make sight possible. She put her hand over his arm and closed her fingers firmly around it. The pain that flashed up to his shoulder made him gasp and instantly dissolved the fear that seemed to lurk inside him.

“Breathe, Jarod,” her voice reminded him. “You’re having a panic attack. Deep breaths.”

For an immeasurable length of time, which felt like forever, but which was probably only a few seconds, Jarod felt as if he was frozen inside his own body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and his senses seemed to have shut down. Only terror seemed to fill him, this time not about the Centre but his inability to move.

Then he once more felt a tight grasp on his arm that shot pain up to his shoulder, which seemed to break the ice that surrounded him, and suddenly he could breathe again, gasping for air as his vision finally cleared and his brain clicked back into motion.

“It’s all right, Jarod,” Cici said gently, her hand lightly rubbing the place on his arm where she had gripped him so tightly and pinched the nerve. “Relax. Breathe.”

He finally managed to lift his eyes to her face, feeling himself trembling. She entwined her fingers with his, her eyes holding his gaze. There was something so wonderfully comforting and knowing in her eyes that he felt himself inwardly responding.

“It’s okay,” she reiterated softly. “Relax, Jarod. It’s over.”

Still unable to speak, he tried to ask her mutely, through his eyes, what had just happened to him, and she seemed to understand, her voice still gentle as she spoke.

“It’s called a panic attack. Something triggers a response in your brain and your nervous system goes into overdrive. You’re so afraid of whatever it was that your instincts even shut down, so you forget to breathe. In some people, they get so bad that the person passes out. We’ll keep an eye on things and help you in case they happen again.”

“Thanks,” he croaked.

She smiled. “Let’s take your mind off things. Can you walk on your own, or do you want a hand?”

Jarod found, to his surprise, that the car was stopped in front of Shannon’s house, and that Josh and Nat were gone, presumably inside. Charles’ car was parked in front of theirs and it, too, was empty.

“I… I think I can walk,” he replied weakly, and, releasing his hand from Cici’s hold, managed to find the door handle.

By the time he reached the pavement, he felt better. His hands had stopped shaking and his mind was functioning properly again. Cici moved beside him, watchful, Jarod guessed, for any sign that he might be going to have another attack, and he asked the question himself, unsure whether he really wanted to know the answer.

“Is that going to happen again?”

“Possibly,” she responded. “Some people do. Others only have one. We won’t know, unless it does happen again, but we’ll know what’s happening next time.”

It wasn’t particularly comforting, but Jarod guessed that Cici was preparing him for the fact that he could have that happen again, and appreciated her honesty. Then they were at Shannon’s front door, and Nat was waving them inside with a finger on his lips and an expression of delight in his eyes.

Jarod followed Cici inside, stopping short in the doorway to the living room and seeing his father sitting on the sofa, a bundle in his arms. It was, however, the expression on his face that Jarod found most arresting. It was a look of love, of tenderness, almost of adoration. A faint recollection flickered in Jarod’s mind and suddenly strengthened until it was a vivid memory.

He was young, perhaps about four years old. Mommy, the center of his world, had been gone for six whole days. Daddy had promised that, when she came back, she would bring a very special surprise. And today was that day. He was trying to read a new book Daddy had brought for him when he heard sounds at the front of the house that he usually heard when someone was coming to visit. Abandoning the book, he ran through the house, arriving at the front door just in time to see Mommy coming through it, another woman helping her inside.

He was about to throw himself at her when Daddy appeared, a wrapped bundle in his arms, and held Jarod back until Mommy was sitting on the sofa. Then she opened her arms to him and he ran to her, scrambling up onto her lap and kissing her, telling her, between kisses, how much he’d missed her. Then Daddy sat on the sofa beside them and turned back a corner of the blanket.

“Jarod,” he said gently, his expression full of love as he exchanged glances with Mommy, the way he always did when he was really happy, “there’s someone here for you to meet.”

“This is your surprise, Jarod,” Mommy said, cuddling him. “This is your new brother. Kyle.”

Jarod looked at the baby’s small face, seeing that Kyle had blue eyes, like Mommy. Jarod’s own eyes were dark brown, like Daddy’s. Jarod reached out and very gently touched Kyle’s tiny hand, seeing the little fingers open and close.

“Jarod?” His mother’s voice spoke softly in his ear, breaking into his reverie. “What is it, baby?”

He smiled at her. “I remember,” he murmured. “Kyle. The day you brought him home from the hospital. I remember now.”

Her eyes misted and she smiled back at him, reaching up to lightly kiss his cheek. “That was a special day for all of us,” she whispered. “I’m glad you remember.”

“Jarod,” Charles’ voice called softly.

Giving his mother a quick kiss, Jarod moved over to the sofa, sitting beside his father and looking down at the baby, who stared back at him out of bright blue eyes. It was a rather surreal moment and seemed to take him back in time.

“Shannon’s baby,” Charles said quietly. “Here. Want a hold?”

Jarod had barely a moment to realize what his father meant and to hold out his arms for the warm little bundle that was placed into them. He hadn’t ever been allowed to hold Kyle, he remembered suddenly as he settled the baby safely against his left arm, because he wasn’t big enough. The infant was staring up at him, and Jarod smiled down into the big blue eyes, gently stroking the downy hair that poked out from under the blanket covering the small head with his right hand and hoping fervently that Shannon would let him help her take care of it.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon heard the commotion of arrival at the front of the house and Sofia pleading with them in her stilted English to be quiet. It took a moment, but then Charles’ voice could be heard, repeating the Norwegian girl’s directions, and the voices died away into silence. She settled back against the pile of pillows behind her with a smile and closed the book she had been reading after waking from a nap.

She thought back to the day after she had discovered she was pregnant. Back at home, with her new car, a sedan this time, in the garage, she and Sofia had read through the books Cici had leant her and wrote a list of things they needed. Shannon was surprised at how quickly she had adjusted to the idea of having a baby. In some moments, it felt like it was just a sim, but then the baby would kick and remind her that it was real.

One of the books Cici had given her had said that the baby should sleep in a separate room from its mother, so Shannon and Sofia had set up a corner of the living room as a makeshift nursery with furniture they hired from a nursery supply store. That had been delivered the next day, and as they brought in the boxes, one of the men mentioned that a nearby department store was having a sale on baby clothes. So, as soon as the boxes were unloaded, Shannon and Sofia had gone out again. They had purchased clothes and diapers, as well as several stuffed toys and a baby monitor. Then, and with some difficulty, they had strung a wire along the length of the living room so that they could curtain off the baby’s space.

That evening, they had set the furniture up, and only just in time. A few hours later, Shannon felt the first contractions. Even while she was still waiting for them to worsen, and while Sofia was getting towels and hot water, the baby had appeared with virtually no effort at all on Shannon’s part. Shannon was still bemused by that, having read horror stories of labors that lasted for days at a time. But the baby was beautiful, with big blue eyes, like Shannon’s own, and a dark tuft of soft hair on the top of the little, round, pink head.

Shannon had no idea she could feel as strongly about anything as she did about this baby. She didn’t know where the feelings came from, nor when they had started, but the moment Sofia had wrapped the infant in one of the newly purchased rugs and handed it to her, Shannon felt as if her heart would burst. A protective instinct swept through her, and she held the baby close, seeming to act on instinct. It moved slightly in her arms before its eyes closed, falling asleep instantly.

Now she smiled as she put the book aside, wondering what the others would think. It had been an effort not to say what was going on when she called each of them, leaving messages, as no one had answered her calls. But they must have heard at least one for them to be here as soon as they were.

Then the door opened, softly, as if it was going to disturb her, and Cici appeared in the doorway, her expression so comical that Shannon laughed.

“Two weeks or two days?” she asked, giggling, as Cici came over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“It was only an estimate,” the doctor replied, smiling. “How long, Prodge?”

“Twenty minutes,” the new mother replied, guessing that Cici was asking about the labor. “About that, anyhow. And it wasn’t that painful.”

“I’m glad, honey.” Cici leaned over the bed and kissed her forehead. “She’s beautiful. What are you going to call her?”

Shannon’s brow furrowed as she considered. Should she tell Cici about the little voice that had spoken so clearly in her head, only an hour before the contractions started? The voice that had distinctly introduced itself was, Shannon somehow knew, the voice of her daughter. But it sounded so strange, and to anyone who hadn’t experienced it, so impossible, that Shannon decided not to mention it.

“Caroline,” she said simply. “Carrie.”

“That’s very pretty,” Cici smiled. “It suits her.”

Movement at the doorway drew Shannon’s gaze there and she saw Josh hovering in the hall outside the room. Waving him in, she held out her hand and he ran over to throw himself at her, kissing her cheek and cuddling her around the neck.

“What happened on Carthis?” Shannon asked after a moment, looking from Josh to the doctor, who smiled, glancing around at the small room.

“This isn’t really big enough for everyone to come in and tell you,” she remarked. “Why don’t we get you up and out into the living room? Then we can tell you together.”

“Sure,” Shannon agreed, before honesty forced her to add, “but I might need some help. I’m not too steady.”

“Of course,” Cici laughed, before glancing at Josh. “Why don’t you go get a chair set up out there for Shannon? Get a rug and few cushions and have them ready on one of the armchairs.”

“Okay!”

Josh disappeared out of the room, and Cici laughed at his eagerness as she helped Shannon to sit up, getting a robe out of the cupboard and slippers from under the bed and helping her into them. Offering an arm, the doctor supported her into the living room, where Nat, aided by a redheaded woman that Shannon recognized as Jarod's mother, was setting up a chair for her.

Nat and Charles were rummaging in the kitchen, and she could hear the soft purr that meant the large urn was on and heating up. Jarod sat on the sofa, Carrie in his arms, and she could hear him talking soft nonsense to the infant, in tones that made Shannon smile as she settled into the armchair. Sofia was busy in the baby’s bedroom, tidying up the few things that were scattered around, and once Shannon was settled, Cici went over to help.

When she was comfortable, Shannon looked up to see Emily in the other armchair, watching her silently. There was something stern, disapproving, almost resentful, in her gaze, and Shannon was about to ask her to explain it when Nat’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Prodge? You want something to drink?”

“There’s juice in the fridge,” she called back. “Some of that, please.”

“‘Kay.”

He appeared a moment later with the glass and set up one of the tables that leaned, folded, against the wall. “Food?”

She smiled at him as she accepted the glass. “What are you making?”

“Sandwiches. It’s lunchtime.”

“I’ve already had an early lunch,” she admitted. “I was up at 5:30 with Carrie this morning, so all my meals have been early today. But can you slice me a banana?”

“Sure thing.” He wheeled around and headed for the kitchen.

Shannon realized that Jarod's mother was standing beside the chair and smiled up at her. “You must be Margaret.”

The redhead smiled, sitting down on a footstool nearby. “And you’re Shannon. I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes, we told her all about you,” Charles laughed as he brought over a tray of drinks, winking at the girl before he came over to kiss her. “All the awful things you’ve done!”

Shannon giggled, lifting her arms to hug him. “I’ve terrified,” she laughed.

“So you should be,” he said in mock-sternness, handing his wife a steaming mug of coffee and sitting on the footstool when she wriggled over to make room for him. Then he glanced at his son, who was still cuddling Carrie, and smiled at the new mother. “She’s a beautiful baby, Prodge.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, sipping the juice and then looking up in time to see that the many emotions on Emily’s face had been simplified to one – jealousy. Shannon made the decision that she would have to do something about that, and as soon as possible.

*~*~*~*~*

That time arrived later that evening. Still feeling a little shaky from the birth in the early hours of that day, Shannon had gone to bed for a nap, leaving the others to take care of Carrie, who was a placid baby, willing to be passed around and cuddled by anyone. After lunch, Cici gave Shannon a lesson in breastfeeding, and, using a hand-pump she had sent Nat out to buy, had helped the new mother express enough milk for the afternoon, so they wouldn’t need to disturb her when the baby was hungry. Shannon had woken up when it was time for Carrie to have another feed, and found herself unable to go back to sleep.

The house was quiet, the men and Josh having gone out to buy food for dinner. Margaret, with Cici’s help, was trying to bring Sofia out of her shyness, into which she had retreated when the group arrived that morning. That left Emily, and Shannon was considering the looks she had received from that young woman. Shannon could partly understand her feelings; she was half-jealous of Emily herself, for being the Boss’s daughter and for having a family. Although she had never spoken of it to anyone, Shannon was even jealous of Meg and Tom for what they had that she didn’t.

Thinking about it, Shannon could vaguely remember several similar glances from Emily that she had received after she came to Lucy’s house. Doubtless, they stemmed from the same source.

Even as she was thinking this, she heard a faint tap on her door.

“Come in.”

When it opened, Shannon was surprised to see Emily. Had she been in the young woman’s place, she knew, she would have stayed as far away as possible. But Shannon forced a smile and waved her into the room. Emily remained silent while she came in and sat down at the chair in front of the desk, turning it so that she could look at the young woman in the bed. Before she could speak, though, Shannon jumped in with the apology she thought was deserved.

“I’m sorry for bailing you up like I did.”

The resentment abated, replaced by curiosity. “Why did you?”

Shannon half-smiled. “What would you have done if I’d told you that your father and brother were there and that I’d take your place?”

Emily shrugged. “Not believed you.”

“Exactly. That’s why I felt like I had to do it that way.”

“Mmm.” The older woman nodded, studying the floor.

Watching her for a moment, Shannon guessed that she was trying to find the words. Feeling that direct language was the best way to talk to her, the younger woman spoke again.

“Why do you hate me, Emily? Is it because of the way your father treats me?”

Emily looked up, and Shannon was almost frightened by the look of pure hatred in her brown eyes.

“Yes,” she hissed from between clenched teeth, and Shannon realized that she was the verge of bursting into tears. “Yes, it is. I see him for the first time in years and he’s so worried about you that he doesn’t even have time to notice me.”

“Crap,” Shannon said succinctly, using Nat’s favorite phrase, which he had picked up from other technicians at the Centre. “He might have been a little worried about me, but of course he noticed you. He took you with him, didn’t he? He didn’t leave you in the woods, to be found by Centre cleaners.”

“He hadn’t noticed you were missing then,” Emily spat. “But first he acted like I was some pariah, and then, as soon as Jarod noticed you weren’t around, he was so involved in that that he had no time for me.”

“He was probably worried that you’d been working for the Centre, the same way I was when I first found your file,” Shannon replied calmly, ignoring the second point. “After all, he’s been building this team up for years, in the hope of finding his sons and reuniting his family. It would only take one mistake – bringing in one single person who might run back to the Centre to tell them about his organization – and everyone he’s saved would be either locked up or dead.”

Shannon watched Emily consider and then concede this point, but the fire of anger still burned in her eyes as she looked up again.

“He loves you more than me.”

This was so ludicrous that Shannon almost laughed out loud. She stopped herself just in time, her eyes fixed on the bed as she tried to stop her lips twitching.

“I can’t prove to you that that’s wrong,” she stated, when she had regained control over her voice. Then she looked up. “But I know that there hasn’t been a conversation I’ve ever had with the Boss that wasn’t about an assignment where he hasn’t mentioned you and your family. Has he ever mentioned me to you?”

Silence greeted this remark, which Shannon took to mean that her assumption was correct.

“I won’t deny,” she said softly, when the silence threatened to go on for too long, “that your father is very special to me. He’s probably as close to a father of my own as I’ll ever know. I was born in the Centre, and if it weren’t for him, I would probably have died in the Centre. He’s saved me from that. Surely that gives me a reason to love him.”

“He doesn’t have to love you back,” Emily snapped curtly, and it was obvious to Shannon that she was once more fighting for emotional control.

“I’m as close to a daughter as he’s had for almost a year,” she replied gently. “The Boss wants to be a father,” she continued, “and in the absence of his own children, he fathers people who need it. The group he’s gathered around himself over the past ten years has been an attempt to make a substitute family, but I don’t think it’s been enough. He’s talked about you and Margaret and his sons so much that, when I saw you in the woods, I felt like I already knew you. I’ve walked down the street with him and seen his eye follow every red-haired woman of your mothers’ age, and every brunette of yours. He carries your photos around in his wallet every day of his life. There is nothing I or anyone else here could do that would replace what he feels for you. Josh has come the closest, both because of his relationship with Jarod and because he gives the Boss a second chance – the chance he lost when Jarod was taken. But I could never hope to take your place in his heart, even if I wanted to!”

Emily’s lips twisted, and then her eyes filled, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she stared at the younger woman.

“I want… to believe you,” she sobbed.

“I can’t make you,” Shannon answered, still in the same gentle tone. “I can only tell you what I feel and ask you to do me the credit of believing me.” She paused. “I promise you that I don’t lie, Emily. For twenty years, I was beaten for lying, and although I know consciously that that isn’t going to happen again, subconsciously I’m too afraid to even try it.”

“They… beat you?” Emily half-whispered, looking up, and Shannon believed that the woman’s resistance was fading

“Almost every day,” she admitted softly. “For anything Raines thought I did wrong, or even if he was just in a bad enough mood. Someone else’s pain,” she added somewhat bitterly, “seemed to lessen his.”

“Dinner!”

The call rang through the house, and Emily sniffed, hurriedly wiping her red eyes.

“You can splash your face with water next door,” Shannon offered. “The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

Emily cast a startled glance at the younger woman and then suddenly fled the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

Shannon lay back against the pillows with a weary sigh, hoping that she had said and done the right things. Then Sofia appeared in the doorway with Carrie, and Shannon accepted the warmly wrapped bundle, holding it close to her as she pulled up the loose t-shirt and brought her nipple close to the baby’s mouth. A drop of milk had already seeped out of the tip, and the scent was enough to catch the infant’s attention. Within seconds, she was sucking enthusiastically.

Gently stroking her daughter’s hair, Shannon looked down into the innocent little face, kissing the tips of the fingers of her left hand and touching them to the baby’s forehead.

“Oh, Carrie,” she whispered longingly. “I hope you never feel that way about anyone.”

*~*~*~*~*

Charles

Charles lay on a makeshift bed on the floor of Shannon’s living room, his wife sleeping beside him. His daughter was asleep on the sofa. He was drowsily considering the conversation he and Margaret had had with Emily the previous evening. After the group had had dinner, Nat and Cici had gone home. Charles had gone in to see Shannon, who had revealed a little of the discussion between herself and Emily. That had prompted the conversation, which had continued into the early hours, and Charles was musing on this as he heard the front door softly open.

Some time ago, he thought he had heard it open, and assumed that Josh was going for the run with which he usually began each day. The door closed again, and then soft footsteps crossed the carpet to the makeshift bedroom. Charles smiled slightly. Josh had been intrigued by Carrie, having never seen anything that small and helpless, and the adults willingly taught him things as the occasions arose, so that he could help Shannon later.

Then a voice murmured softly and incomprehensibly. Charles immediately stiffened, although it took him a moment to realize what had alarmed him. The voice was deeper than Josh’s, which was still youthful and unbroken. Every nerve in Charles’ body was suddenly on edge and his eyes flew open, but otherwise he remained motionless.

From his prone position, his back was to the baby’s room, but his bag lay nearby and he stealthily slid a hand inside, finding his gun and sliding it out without a sound. He managed to cock it with only the slightly click, and then steadied himself to move. The voice beside the bed continued to murmur softly.

With one bound, he was on his feet and across the room, the gun pressed between the shoulder blades of the young man bent over the baby’s bed. The stranger froze, his head lifting slightly, a reflex action that Charles was willing to let go unpunished.

“Who are you?” he growled softly. “What do you want?”

“I… I’m Ethan,” the intruder stammered.

Charles took a step back. “Turn around,” he snarled, seeing out of the corner of his eye as Emily lifted her head from the pillow and Margaret also woke, getting up and quickly leaving the room in the direction of Jarod's bedroom.

The young man slowly turned, keeping his hands in clear view.

“Step forward,” Charles directed, somewhat taken aback by the youth and casual dress of the man he now faced.

By now, having dealt with the Centre for so many years, he knew what to expect. They worked in a team, a group of sweepers going in first to clear the way. They used violence, not stealth. And younger people were always accompanied by older, more experienced sweepers, who were generally teaching them. If this young man was from the Centre, he should already have learned to kill anyone who got in the way of his target. As that had failed to happen, and so many of the other traditions had failed to be kept, Charles was wary.

“What do you want?” he asked again. “Who sent you?”

“My mother,” Ethan replied, a pucker of anxiety in his brow, his eyes fixed on the gun.

“And who’s that?”

Ethan sighed slightly. “Catherine Elaine Parker.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed instantly. “She’s dead.”

“I know.”

At this point, and just as Charles was wondering whether he was talking to a madman, Jarod entered the room.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

Charles was about to hand his son the gun when a familiar knock was heard on the door and the older man sighed with relief. “Let them in,” he directed. “And tell Nat to bring his laptop and digital camera.”

The young technician appeared an instant later, accompanied by Cici. At the same moment, Josh and Freya, who had shared Josh’s room, appeared in the doorway. The sight of so many people was clearly unnerving to Ethan, who turned pale, his eyes widening. Charles shot a look at him and ordered him to sit down. It would be no benefit to have him pass out.

“Check him out,” Charles sharply ordered Nat. “I want every detail you can find.”

Nat put down his bag and took out the small digital camera, snapping a photo of Ethan, who was an instant too late as he flinched away from the flash and had to blink rapidly afterwards to clear his vision.

Carrie was disturbed by the noise and began to cry. Charles half-turned as he heard shuffling footsteps, and Jarod crossed the floor to give Shannon a supporting arm over to the small bed. A moment later, the cries ceased, the young mother sat in a rocking chair that had been tucked into one corner and discreetly started to feed her child.

Looking back at his prisoner, Charles saw that Ethan’s eyes were fixed on Shannon. Something like recognition glowed in the blue depths. Seeming to feel his gaze, Shannon raised her head, but the small pucker that formed in her forehead and the look in her eyes told Charles that she had never seen this young man before.

An exclamation from Nat made Charles turn his gaze in that direction.

“What is it, Nat?”

The technician turned the screen of the laptop around. “Project Mirage,” he announced, and the older man saw that the photo was a younger version of the man on the sofa.

“Mirage?”

Shannon’s voice grabbed everyone’s attention, and they turned to her.

“You know about it?” Charles asked quickly.

“I know it’s obviously important,” the young woman replied. “A file about Mirage was among the list of file numbers I took from Emily, but it’s been taken out of the archives.”

Charles turned his gaze back to the young man, before glancing at his wife. “So it has something to do with us,” he murmured. Then he looked at Nat. “Find out everything you can about it,” he ordered. Then he directed Cici and Margaret to start making breakfast, with Josh, Emily and Sofia to help.

Jarod had sat down beside Nat and was helping him skim through the material. Shannon had just finished feeding her daughter and was changing her diaper. Charles sat down in an armchair close to the sofa, returning his gaze to the intruder.

“What did you want with the baby?” he asked softly.

“She told me about him,” Ethan replied. “She said it was important.”

“Catherine? How did she tell you anything? She’s dead. She’s been dead for years.”

“I don’t know ‘how’,” the young man replied, somewhat impatiently. “I just hear her voice in my head sometimes.”

Charles became aware that Shannon was once more looking at Ethan, but this time her face was alive with interest. She finished changing the baby and then came over to sit on the sofa.

“Tell me, Ethan,” she began gently. “What does she sound like?”

It took a moment for Charles to recognize the major problem with what Shannon had said. This young man’s name hadn’t been used since she had entered the room, and yet she’d just stated it confidently, as if she already knew him.

“How did you know?” he demanded, interrupting Ethan, who had just begun to talk. “How did you know his name, Prodge?”

Shannon smiled, a tiny, teasing smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, her eyes dancing. “Catherine told me.”

Charles stared at her, his jaw drooping. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to stare at the people on the sofa, and the silence was so oppressive that Ethan glanced around uneasily before answering.

“She… she sounds like you,” he stammered.

The young woman nodded. “And you’re the family she promised me,” she said softly.

“Not just me,” Ethan protested, his eyes sliding down to the baby on her lap and then, much to Charles’ astonishment, to him. Ethan’s blue eyes studied his face for a moment before returning to Shannon’s features. “She told you.”

“Yes,” Shannon agreed. “She did.”

“All right,” Charles finally burst out, his curiosity at fever pitch and his patience exhausted. “Okay. Enough! Shannon, will you please tell me what on earth is going on?”

“I can tell you,” Nat interrupted, his eyes dancing, and Charles turned on him almost savagely.

“Then please do so,” he exclaimed with exaggerated politeness and a nasty undercurrent to his tone.

“It’s quite simple,” Nat said smoothly, waving a hand at the two young people on the sofa. “These are your children. Yours and Catherine Parker’s. Created by the Centre in the hope of making a Pretender who also has what seems to be known as an ‘Inner Sense’.”

Charles was struck dumb and his jaw drooped slightly open. The room was almost painfully silent as everyone apart from Shannon and Ethan stared in obvious disbelief at Nat. Shannon merely smiled and handed her baby daughter to her brother, who took it nervously. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder and looked at Charles, waiting for him to react.

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 11


Shannon

Shannon had heard the voice as she was falling asleep, her new baby daughter in her arms. As if from a distance, she heard Sofia’s voice softly murmuring, and then the slight weight was lifted off her. Sighing, she managed to roll onto her side, her hand tucked under her cheek, and opened her eyes to watch Sofia take Carrie out of the room. That was when she saw the woman sitting in the chair on the far side of the room, smiling tenderly at her.

“Shannon,” she murmured, and the voice was the same as the one that had comforted her during that long, terrible night of walking. Her face was that of the woman in the picture with Margaret. The woman rose from her seat and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over to lightly kiss her forehead.

“Who are you?” Shannon asked curiously. “Why do I know you?”

“Because you’ve heard me all your life, when things have been hardest,” the woman replied. “I’m that little voice in your head that has been with you during the worst times of your life.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“You’ve never had a baby before,” her companion smiled, her blue eyes glowing. Her hand gently stroked Shannon’s face. “That makes all the difference.”

“Does it?” she asked confusedly. “Why?”

“Because you’ve passed your gift onto your child,” Catherine said. “When that happens, it also gets stronger in you.”

“Oh.” Shannon considered this briefly for a moment in silence. Then, “But who are you?”

Catherine leaned over, cradling Shannon’s face in her hands, and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m your mother,” she whispered softly.

Tears immediately filled Shannon’s eyes, spilling over onto the pillow. This was the moment for which she had longed ever since hearing Peter’s stories about his family. Catherine’s hands stroked her shorn hair and face, lightly kissing her.

“Soon, my baby,” she murmured. “Soon you’ll have your family, the one I promised.”

“I do,” Shannon protested. “My daughter.”

“More than that,” Catherine whispered. “Very soon, Shannon. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and more.”

“When?” she pleaded.

“You’ll know.” Catherine again kissed her forehead. “He’ll tell you himself.”

*~*~*~*~*

Charles

“Project Mirage,” Nat announced, “began officially on the 24th of September, 1970. Raines gave a presentation of the subject to the Triumvirate on the 16th of July, 1972, and got permission to do another, similar project. This began officially on the 4th of December, 1974,” he raised his eyes to meet Shannon’s gaze, “which, as we know, was the day Prodge was born.”

“Entitled Project Juventas,” Jarod added.

Charles was still sitting in the armchair, Margaret beside him and Emily on the floor at his feet. The only sound in the room was the whirring and occasional beeping of Nat’s laptop. Even Carrie was quiet, sleeping soundly in Ethan’s arms. Shannon sat beside him, her head still resting against his shoulder, Josh sitting on her other side, holding one of her hands in his. Cici and Sofia had gone shopping.

“What else?” Charles asked in a stifled voice. His heart ached at the realization that he had once more been exploited by the Centre, to create the two individuals sitting opposite him.

“Something about this ‘inner sense’,” Nat said slowly, reading through the file. “Apparently Raines tested Ethan when he was two years old. The test showed an unusually increased level of alpha waves, and Raines thought that was evidence of it. When Shannon was born, he tested her for that, too, but it didn’t show anything unusual, so he trained her as a Pretender instead.”

“What about Catherine?” Margaret asked anxiously.

“The ashes of a Carolyn Parnder were interred in the Centre cemetery on the 24th of September, 1970,” Jarod offered quietly. “But there’s no record of anyone with that name ever working at the Centre prior to that. Maybe Raines killed Catherine and had her cremated.”

“And took her eggs first, which he used for Shannon,” Nat added.

“Oh, jeez.” Charles sank his face into his trembling hands. “Aren’t they ever going to leave us alone?”

Emily leaned her face on his knee, and Margaret’s hand rubbed his shoulder, but the feeling of violation seemed to run deeper than any surface comfort they could offer. He blinked back tears that threatened to escape from his eyes and swallowed a painful lump in his throat before he managed to look up again.

“Anything else?” he asked gruffly.

“Still looking,” Nat replied.

Another of those painful silences filled the room, broken only when Carrie woke and gave a small squeak, before beginning to cry. Ethan quickly handed her over, and Shannon, with Josh behind, moved over to the change table. After a moment, Emily also rose and went over to join them. Charles saw Shannon look up in surprise, and then give a welcoming smile, moving over to make room in the small space.

Something about that scene caused an emotion to rise in him that cut through the devastation Nat’s discovery had caused. Charles knew how much his behaviour towards Shannon had hurt Emily, and for her to overcome her pride and offer her help to someone she disliked so much showed the benefits of the training she had received from her parents.

And then realization struck, as it perhaps had already occurred to Emily: that these two girls were sisters, sharing the same father. Emily was an aunt to the baby who seemed to be the only person unaffected by the information that had been unearthed. It was right that she should help, if help was needed.

Ethan was still sitting on the sofa, and Charles looked up to meet his gaze. There was a look of longing in the young man’s blue eyes, as there had been in Shannon’s eyes on the morning after her rescue, and Charles suddenly realized the irony of his denials on that day, not realizing that they would come back to haunt him so much later. But he couldn’t respond to this boy the way Ethan obviously hoped he would, and Charles suddenly realized that he blamed Ethan for coming here, and for being who he was.

But was it fair to blame this individual, who was, after all, only searching for a family of his own, in the same way Charles had spent years looking for his own family?

Surely things had begun before that: maybe when Shannon had gone into the Centre.

But that only happened because Peter had been taken back there, and Peter was only taken back because Charles had gotten him out in the first place.

However, Charles had only rescued Peter because he hoped it was one of his sons. And he had gone after his sons because the Centre had taken them in the first place.

As always, it seemed that the Centre was to blame. And how could it be otherwise, when it had been responsible for the creation of the two people he now knew to be his children in the first place? With a heavy sigh, he was about to get up and cross the room to the sofa, when he saw that his wife had got there first.

Margaret sat down beside Ethan, who visibly cringed away from her. He seemed terrified of everyone in the room except Shannon, and most particularly of Charles, although considering the way they had met, perhaps that wasn’t so surprising. The gun was back in Charles’ bag now, but the man could still see Ethan occasionally shooting glances in that direction, as if afraid someone would pull it out again and threaten him with it. Idly, as he watched Margaret, Charles wondered what Raines had done that had made this boy so terrified of the world.

Jarod also crossed the room to sit on the coffee table, opposite his newfound brother. Being so close, Charles could see the similarities between them, and also features that they both shared with Emily and Shannon. And Ethan and Shannon had bright blue eyes, like Kyle and Catherine.

Charles wondered thought back to the day when he had pretended to kill Catherine. Had she been aware of the irony: that it was the father of two of her children who pulled the trigger? Did Catherine’s daughter know she had two siblings? Had Raines enjoyed the fact that, even as he threatened Charles and forced him to pretend to kill Catherine, one of Charles’ children had been conceived and plans had begun for a second? Was there a third, somewhere in the Centre? This was unlikely, considering what Nat had found.

Everything seemed to suggest that, as Shannon had failed to show any sign of the Inner Sense, plans for further siblings who might have that skill had been shelved. Did Raines know, Charles wondered, that his plan had actually been successful? Charles doubted it. If he had, surely he would have made more stringent efforts to find Shannon, but her pursuit team had been abandoned only a few months after it was begun. They had never been able to discover why that had occurred.

“Boss?” Nat asked softly, and Charles looked up.

“What is it?”

“Uh, can you…?” He nodded at the chair beside him, and Charles, as he came over, noticed that Emily was rocking Carrie to sleep. The young technician clearly didn’t want to disturb the baby.

Charles slipped into the chair and looked at the laptop. When he realized that Nat had begun to investigate the scrolls again, suggesting that no further information about Shannon or Ethan was available, Charles let himself relax. It was only then that he realized he had been steeling himself for news of more children or further details about those he already knew of.

Even as he sat down, the door opened and Cici and Sofia came back. Their arrival seemed to prompt conversation from the others, with Jarod getting up and coming over to help, while Emily moved over to the sofa to join her mother and half-brother. Josh stayed with Shannon and helped her sort a pile of baby clothes, folding them and putting them into the new tallboy.

“Found anything new?”

“There are three people in the Triumvirate, all from the African Centre,” Nat reported. “And those letters Mr. Parker was sending about the scrolls were going to Africa. I know it’s forty years ago, so it might not be to these people, but…”

“It’s a start,” Charles finished, clapping him on the shoulder. “See where you can take it, Nat. The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can start planning for the next stage.”

The look he got from his wife encouraged him over to the sofa, but his movements were reluctant, unsure whether he was doing the right thing. But Margaret was one of the best character judges he knew, and if she felt that Ethan was ready to meet his father, he probably was. So he came to sit on the sturdy coffee table with his daughter, facing the son he barely knew.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

It was still early when Shannon got out of bed. Carrie was now three days old, and Shannon was strong enough to walk around without support. As she passed Jarod's bedroom, she glanced in and saw that he, Ethan and Josh were asleep, the younger two sleeping on rented mattresses. In the room at the far end of the house, Charles and Margaret slept in Josh’s double bed. Emily was on the sofa in the living room. Shannon had offered to let Emily sleep in her room, but that young woman had refused, saying that Shannon still needed rest, particularly having her baby to take care of.

They were getting on better now. Occasional tense moments appeared that surprised them both, but as a general rule they acted, if not like friends, then at least like close acquaintances. That was a relief to Shannon, who had had no real idea how to deal with such strong emotions being directed against her.

A nightlight plugged into the wall near Carrie’s bed dimly lighted the living room. Charles and his sons had rearranged the furniture in the small space, giving a little more maneuverability to whoever was in with the baby. Now Shannon slipped in between the curtains that divided the little bedroom from the rest of the living space and bent over the bed to see Carrie, who was sound asleep and curled up tightly in one corner of the bed.

Smiling softly at the sight, Shannon slid her hands under the warm bundle and lifted the baby into her arms. Carrie woke briefly, snuggled up against her mother’s neck, and then closed her eyes again. But, as Shannon had guessed she would be, Carrie was hungry, and Shannon only had time to sit in the rocking chair before the girl’s blue eyes opened and she made the whimpering sound that was an early indication of her impatience. Still smiling, Shannon was able to hush the whimpers, and soon Carrie was drinking happily.

Resting her head back against the chair, Shannon let her thoughts wander, and suddenly found herself thinking about Peter. For the past few days, she had been too busy and too tired to think of him, but now, as she fed their baby, her thoughts returned to that room in the Centre. Nat had tried to find it on one of the interior plans, but according to them, the room didn’t exist and neither did its occupant.

That might have explained why everything was recorded on paper. Paper could be stored away and not accessed externally. If it were well enough hidden, nobody would find it. And it was obvious that Raines had no idea of people finding out what he was doing to Peter. Shannon tried not to think what that might be, but possibilities crept into her mind and made her feel ill.

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and her eyes flew open to find Jarod standing beside the chair, Carrie in his arms.

“Sorry to wake you,” he murmured, bending down beside the chair, “but it’s a little chilly to sleep out here.”

“Is she finished?” Shannon asked, yawning.

“And sleeping soundly.” Jarod carried the baby over to the bed and gently laid her in it, covering her with the small, thick doona. Then he turned and offered Shannon an arm. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

She slid her arm around his as she got up, and Jarod picked up a blanket that had been spread over the chair, draping it around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, feeling comforted in his presence in a way that she never had before. His behaviour was what she imagined a brother’s ought to be, and she wondered whether she was acting the way a sister should.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began softly, as they came into her room, and he grinned down at her teasingly.

“No wonder I felt the walls shaking.”

She giggled under her breath and slipped in between the sheets as she turned on the bedside lamp. Jarod lay across the foot of the bed, looking up at her expectantly.

“What were the thinks?”

“It was about the scrolls. Nat told me what happened on Carthis, and afterwards,” she added, in reply to his unspoken question about how she knew. “I think I know why they took you – and the rest of us.”

Jarod sat up, pulling his legs up and hugging his knees, his eyes expectant. “Tell.”

“Well, I think, despite what Mr. Parker says, that he does believe in the scrolls. His main concern, though, is probably that, if anyone ever made the connection between you and what it says about you, he could lose his position. And he’s pretty powerful – head of the American branch of the Centre. He stands to lose a lot if you’re unmasked as ‘the Chosen’.’

Her brother merely nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“We know that, over the years, the Centre’s been studying intelligence and unusual behaviour,” she went on. “According to one document we found, they’re particularly interested in genetically inherited skills. So they started working with fertility clinics, like NuGenesis, where your father and mother…”

“Our father,” Jarod corrected softly, with the hint of a smile.

“…went to have you,” she finished, smiling to acknowledge his statement. “That way, they had a range of people to test. Then, one day, one of the doctors at NuGenesis sends Mr. Parker a letter about a new genetic combination that’s showed up in their tests on a new baby. Mr. Parker asks about this baby and discovers that it’s a boy called Jarod. Then he remembers the scrolls he’s either read, or at least heard about from someone, which are kept at the Centre. Maybe he goes to consult them himself. I don’t know. But he makes a connection between this baby, Jarod, and these scrolls.”

“He doesn’t want to lose power,” Jarod suggested. “So he decides that he can’t risk anyone else maybe making the connection he’s just done. He gets in contact with someone in Africa who might also know about the scrolls, and maybe doesn’t really believe in them, and tells them that the scrolls have to disappear. So, either the day before or the day I was actually brought to the Centre, they’re stolen.”

“But he doesn’t tell anyone, because they would make the connection too quickly and he would be in danger of disappearing himself,” Shannon added. “However, he knows what the scrolls say, and he believes in them, or at least partly. So he thinks that maybe, if he can gather ‘the greatest minds in the world’, and if Jarod is at the Centre, maybe the prophecy will be fulfilled anyway and the Centre will rise.” Suddenly she giggled. “It sounds like a cake.”

Jarod laughed, smothering the sound so as not to wake the others. “If it’s a cake,” he suggested with a grin, “then I think someone forgot to put in the sugar.”

Shannon giggled again. Then, her thoughts returning to her original idea, she became serious again. The humor had also faded from Jarod's eyes when he looked at her again.

“So, if you’re right,” he said, “then it’s important we find out exactly who was corresponding with Mr. Parker about the scrolls, because if we accidentally revealed the truth to them, we could lose everything.”

“Including our lives,” Shannon added softly. “I agree. But the correspondence was marked as being top-secret, which suggests to me that there must be people at one, if not both places, that are firm believers in the whole idea. They’re the ones we need to find.”

“How?” Jarod demanded flatly.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” she admitted reluctantly. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I haven’t been thinking about it,” he confessed, and from the way his fingers suddenly clenched around each other, she guessed that he was thinking about the panic attack Cici had mentioned to her. The doctor had suggested to the select audience of Charles, Shannon and Margaret that the attacks had been caused by a fear of the Centre, and particularly of returning to it.

“Don’t worry, Jarod,” she said gently, reaching out to place a hand over his. “There’s no hurry. We can take as much time as we want.”

He smiled gratefully at her, releasing a hand from under hers and placing it on top with a gentle squeeze.

“Hopefully,” he suggested, “today Nat and I can work out who the letters to Mr. Parker might have come from. There aren’t nearly as many people at the African branch as there are here at the American one, so it shouldn’t take too long to figure out.”

“And you’ve checked to see if there’s any other letters written about them?”

“Uh huh. But we haven’t found anything.”

She nodded, leaning back against the pillows and thinking about possible ways to figure out who, at the Centre, might believe in the scroll’s prophecy. Jarod, too, lay back on the bed, his hands tucked behind his head, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Shannon ran various possibilities through her mind, but none was foolproof enough for her to even consider mentioning it.

The small clock on her bookcase softly chimed the hour of three, rousing her from her thoughts. She looked at Jarod, who still lay across the foot of the bed, his long legs hanging limply over the end. His lips were slightly parted, and deep breaths caused his chest to rise and fall regularly. As she watched, he gave a faint but definite snore, and Shannon smiled. The rug was still around her shoulders, and she pulled it off, gently draping it over his upper body. As she sat back against the pillows again, she saw that he hadn’t moved.

Reaching over to the bedside table, she picked up her current book and opened it on her knees, but her thoughts got in the way of her reading, and eventually she put it away, reaching into her top drawer for the notepad and pen that were kept there.

She quickly scribbled a list of the details that formed the problem. She worked better when she had everything in front of her, ensuring that she missed nothing. Then she listed the solutions she had thought of and discarded, including her reasons for doing so. It was always possible that an element of the solution could be useful, and she didn’t want to forget it.

By the time she finished, the pen was heavy in her hand, and it was an effort to write down the final few words. Putting the objects on her bedside table, she pulled the extra pillows out from under her head and curled up under the covers, feeling Jarod's warm heaviness on her feet for a moment, before falling asleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Sydney

Sydney stared out of the jet’s window at the runway falling away below them as they headed back to the Centre after following yet another lead that, like all the others, proved to be fruitless. He gave a frustrated sigh, wondering if there was any real use in following these supposed sightings, which, so far, had all turned out to be wrong. Sometimes he even wondered if Jarod was playing a game with them, spending a few hours in one place and a few in another, so that people would see him and report his presence to the Centre, but he would be long gone by the time they got to the place.

He mentally ran through a brief phone conversation between them from a few days earlier. Jarod had sounded more confident. In fact, Sydney found himself feeling somewhat unnerved by the obvious self-assurance in Jarod's voice. Even knowing Jarod as well as he did, he couldn’t ever have imagined that he would get so quickly used to a world that he hadn’t seen for 33 years and surely could have no memory of. And yet Jarod had sounded quite easy about his surroundings, and had reiterated his determination not to return to the Centre.

But he had reserved the cruelest blow for the end of the call.

“By the way,” he had said, very casually. “I’ve found my father.”

Then he had hung up.

Those words had sunk deep into Sydney's heart. Although he had denied the fact for years, both to himself and to others, Jarod was special to him. In fact, such had become his desire for family particularly since the terrible accident that had robbed him of his brother, Sydney had begun telling himself that Jarod was as close to a son as he would ever have. The realization that Jarod had found his real family, and, moreover, seemed quite content to have them take the place that Sydney believed he had once occupied, hurt.

But there was absolutely nothing he could do about it now.

And that hurt even more.

Two days ago, the Triumvirate announced that he had been cleared of playing any part in Jarod's disappearance, and had given him permission to join the rest of the pursuit team in following the few leads that had appeared. Miss Parker, however, continued to view him with something like suspicion.

He sighed, wishing that he had never agreed to let the faux-Italian woman work with Jarod in the first place. That was what had caused all the problems, and he wondered, if he ever happened to meet her, what he would say. As he leaned back in the leather seat of the jet, he dwelt on the likelihood of that ever happening, and what he would do if it did.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

Jarod woke to find himself lying on the end of Shannon’s bed, a light rug over him. His legs were stiff around the knees from being in such an unusual position, but he moved gingerly, not wanting to wake Shannon, who was curled up, her hand pillowing her cheek, obviously sound asleep. He folded the blanket and carried it out of the room, hearing voices in the kitchen and, as he came out into that area, seeing his parents and Emily cooking something that smelt delicious.

Emily ran over to kiss him, and he hugged her, drawing back slightly to examine his face with her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay, sleeping on the sofa? I could do that and…”

“We’ve talked about this,” she reminded him impatiently, but with a saucy grin that told him she was teasing. “And I’d rather my neck was stiff, not yours.”

He grinned, kissed her cheek and went over to the baby’s room to put the rug back on the chair from which it had come. Carrie was lying quietly in her bed, staring at the ceiling, so he picked her up and checked her diaper.

“I just changed her,” Margaret announced quietly.

“I’m so glad,” Jarod exclaimed in exaggerated relief and carried his niece over to the kitchen after wrapping her warmly in a rug. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Omelets,” his father replied. “Your mother makes them to perfection.”

“Sounds good,” Jarod said cheerfully, but with no idea what they were.

Within ten minutes, Josh and Ethan had also come into the living area, and were laying the table while Jarod cuddled Carrie. There was something peaceful and satisfying about the whole scene, and Jarod reveled in it. When the food was ready, and a jug of juice stood on the table, the whole family, including Shannon, who had woken several minutes earlier, took their places around the large dining table.

The omelets were light and fluffy, flavored with ham, cheese or tomato. A rack held well-buttered slices of toast, to which people helped themselves. Rashers of crispy bacon lay on a heated plate and slices of fruit lay on another.

Jarod tried everything once, including toast with all the possible spreads, and finished with a mug of coffee. Emily stared at him.

“Where did you put it all?” she demanded. “How can someone with your figure possibly eat that much?”

“Good genes,” Jarod grinned, shooting a sly glance at his mother, who laughed.

Once everyone had finished, Shannon took Carrie into her room for a feed and so that the young woman could dress, while the others cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen. They had just finished when Nat, Cici and Sofia arrived.

Nat and Jarod set up the table as a workstation, while the others retreated to the living room and discussed possible future rescues. As they worked, Jarod told Nat what Shannon had suggested during the early hours of the morning, and the young technician looked thoughtful.

“It’s certainly possible,” he said finally. “And something to think about. We should be able to find out the source of those letters today. I did some work on it last night and got through about a third of the staff members…”

Jarod, having a sudden brainwave, interrupted. “Maybe we’re doing this the hard way, by starting with the people and trying to match the number to them,” he suggested. “Why don’t we hunt for the number and see if it matches any correspondence that were already written and might have a name on them?”

Nat stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before shaking his head in disbelief. “How come I didn’t think of that?”

Instead of answering, Jarod leaned over the laptop and typed in the number, running a search for it through the store archives of the African Centre. Within moments, he had more than fifty hits, and several minutes after that, more than one hundred.

“You and your bright ideas,” Nat grumbled.

“And exactly how much success were we having, doing it your way?” Jarod teased pointedly.

Nat snorted and opened the first message. It was dated approximately two years earlier than the correspondence about the scrolls and Jarod, and was signed by a man called Mutumbo. Nat entered the name and the numerical code into the program, and the identical files came up as had been found with the search of just the number.

“So now we go through each one individually?” Nat suggested grumpily.

“Unless you have a better suggestion.”

They quickly scanned the letters, and Jarod took note of the date and subject of each so that they could be found more easily later, if they were required.

After about fifty messages, Jarod noticed that the name was different. The individual now signed himself ‘P. Mutumbo’. This pattern continued for two years’ worth of correspondence, before the signature reverted to the surname only. The newest letter was only three days old.

“Interesting,” Nat muttered, and then opened the program that listed details about the African staff before shooting a grin in Jarod's direction. “I’ll bet you a nickel,” he said, “that you can tell me the name of the head of the Triumvirate.”

“I’ll bet I can even tell you what letter his name starts with,” Jarod retorted. “But what I wonder is why he changed his signature.”

Nat leaned back in his chair and stared at the computer, before jerking upright and pointing at the screen. “He must have been a pretty bright baby,” the technician remarked. “He was signing his name the year he was born.”

Nat’s finger was indicating Mutumbo’s date of birth, and Jarod saw that it was 1961, the year of the first letter they had found.

“So,” Jarod proposed, “it has to be someone else – maybe the current Mutumbo’s father? Maybe he signed his name with the initial to show that he was a different person, and then, when people were used to the fact that he was in charge, or had forgotten his father, or maybe his father died or something, he used just his last name instead.”

“Reasonable hypothesis,” Nat nodded thoughtfully. “But if there was an older Mutumbo, he really should have details somewhere on the mainframe, right? So where are they?”

Jarod rested his elbows on the table and propped his right hand on his left fist, resting his chin on the top, his gaze on the computer.

“What if,” he began slowly, “the son decided to overthrow his father? Or if someone else did? If it were me, I’d try to make it look like everything good that my predecessor had done was actually done by me and erase any sign of him.”

“A coup?” Nat suggested.

Jarod nodded. “Particularly if there was rivalry between them, I think that would be a very natural thing to happen, especially considering what a high level of competition there is in the Centre.” He raised an eyebrow. “Would it be possible to completely erase the record of someone from the system?”

“Of course. I do it all the time, whenever we pull out sweepers.”

“Well, there you are, then. Our would-be leader gets someone with a little computer knowledge, and probably kills him at the end to make sure he never tells anyone what he’s done. Within a few days, he’s assumed complete control. By having the same number and everything, nobody suspects a thing.”

“But he forgot, or never knew, about the stuff in the stores.” Nat looked down at the letters he had printed out. “And nobody ever went looking, until now.”

“Why would they?” Jarod asked reasonably. “Who’s crazy enough to go looking for letters from seventy years ago?”

“Us,” Nat grinned.

“And we’re all a little crazy,” Shannon put in, having heard the end of the discussion, as she sat down opposite the two men. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Nat said enthusiastically, and gave her a brief summary of what they had found out and suspected.

“I can certainly see how that would work,” she agreed. “But I suppose the real question is whether the new Mutumbo has inherited his father’s views on the scrolls.”

“We hadn’t got that far in our investigations,” Jarod told her, adding, in generous tones, “But if you have any ideas, trot them out and we promise to consider them.”

She grinned. “You know full well I don’t, and I’ve got no idea how we could find that out, without dragging the guy over here and interrogating him – and I’m not suggesting you try it,” she added quickly.

Silence followed this, while all three people tried to think of a way to solve the problem.

“Who are our Triumvirate members again?” Jarod asked, glancing at the screen. “Mutumbo, Adama and Langedijk. What do we know about them?”

“Hmm.” Nat brought up three files and studied them. “Mutumbo is the oldest, and, if this is correct, has been head of the Triumvirate for fifteen years. The others came into the picture about ten years ago. They’re all from different parts of South Africa. None of them are married, but Adama and Mutumbo both have children. The last visit they paid to America was six months ago, and, if we want to get really personal,” he said in mocking tones, “Adama has a holiday house in Madrid, Mutumbo has one in Buenos Aires and Langedijk has one in Edinburgh.”

Shannon made a small choking sound in her throat, her eyes wide as she stared at her brother, who was staring back at her with a similar expression on his face.

“What?” Nat demanded impatiently. “What is it?”

“What’s wrong with this picture?” Shannon murmured under her breath, remembering when she had heard the phrase on a television program and been amused by it. Then she looked at the technician. “Nat, where’s Edinburgh?”

“In Scot…” Nat trailed off. Then, in the game-show host voice he adopted when he was trying to make a point about something, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.”

“Probably,” Jarod added cautiously.

“The question,” Shannon said slowly, “is what to do about it. How do we find out for sure, and even when we know, what’s the next step?”

“One thing at a time,” Jarod replied steadily. “Let’s find out for sure, and then we can plan for the time beyond that.”

*~*~*~*~*

Nathan

“You know what’s really interesting,” Nat remarked. “Not one person of any importance at the African Centre is more than thirty-five years old.”

“And would therefore have no memory of the older Mutumbo,” Charles said flatly.

“It’s a shame Mutumbo’s head,” Emily murmured, looking down at the printouts in front of her. “If he wasn’t, and particularly if Langedijk was, it’d make everything so much easier.”

“Please,” Shannon begged softly, tears standing out in her eyes as she looked at her baby, “let’s not play the ‘what if’ game.”

Nat glanced at the girl opposite sympathetically. They had spent a further three hours trying to locate Peter’s room, constantly finding themselves hitting a blank wall at the end of SL-25. There was nothing to suggest he was even there, and, hard at that was for Nat, who had become close to Peter during their six-month acquaintance, he knew it would be even harder for Shannon.

To distract himself from thinking about Peter, Nat opened his connection to the African Centre’s mainframe, which, intriguingly, came through a back-door connection being used by the American Centre, and entered the code for Mutumbo’s file.

It wasn’t there.

He stifled an exclamation of surprise and tried again, double-checking the number with that on a list Jarod had made up.

The system returned the same ‘Error’ message.

In bewilderment, he carefully entered the code for Langedijk’s file. It, too, failed to appear, but the message was different.

“System upgrade,” he murmured in bemusement. “What the…? Since when?”

He tried again, and this time he got Langedijk’s details, complete with a photo showing the man’s solid features. However, as he looked through it, alarm bells rang in his head.

“Emily,” he asked, cutting across the conversation, “can I have those sheets?”

The discussion died away into silence as the young woman handed over the pages without a word, but Nat could feel that the eyes of everyone in the room were on him as he compared the details he had earlier printed out with those on the screen.

He had to smile at the irony of it, even as he looked up to meet the young woman’s brown eyes.

“Your wish just came true,” he laughed. “It seems that Mutumbo’s gone.”

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 12


Jarod

The room burst into an explosion of noise and demands for explanations that woke Carrie, who protested noisily. However, only Shannon paid attention to her, the others gathering around Nat at the dining table. He showed them the files, including the details of projects that had somehow jumped from Mutumbo’s old file to Adama’s new one.

“But won’t someone at the Centre notice?” Josh asked.

Charles shook his head. “If they start asking questions about people disappearing at the African Centre, the Africans might start asking about people vanishing from the American Centre, and I don’t think Raines or Mr. Parker would be too keen to answer those.”

“Can you imagine?” Nat chuckled and then assumed a deep, enquiring tone. “Mr. Parker, what happened to your wi…?”

Jarod saw his eyes fall on Shannon, who was soothing her baby, and Ethan, who had moved to sit beside her, and understood the uncomfortable red flush that crept up Nat’s cheeks.

“Well,” Charles said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “that’s all very wonderful, but what are we going to do about it?”

“We don’t know for sure whether Langedijk still believes in the scrolls or not,” Jarod pointed out.

“Why don’t we just ask him?” Emily suddenly suggested, and the rest turned to stare at her.

“What?”

Charles’ tone contained the same incredulity that the rest were feeling.

“It was something I heard Shannon say,” the young woman explained, “about dragging him over her and interrogating him.”

“But Emily – ” her mother protested.

“No, wait,” Emily interrupted. “Listen. It’s obviously easy to move the seat of power around, so it probably wouldn’t be too surprising if Langedijk vanished and someone else took over the throne. It obviously isn’t a job with long-term prospects. So let’s invite Langedijk over.”

Jarod suddenly realized what she meant. “We pretend to be Raines,” he said thoughtfully, “and arrange a meeting place. We say we’ve got the scrolls. Then we sit back and wait for his response.”

“Exactly.” Emily grinned at him, obviously pleased that someone understood. “If he comes, we’ll know he either believes in them, or he doesn’t, and maybe wants to destroy them, like Mr. Parker did. We can present Jarod to him and see how he reacts. That should tell us.”

“And if he believes in them,” Charles finished “then he and his people, as well as ours, should be enough to overthrow Parker and his posse. And if not,” he added grimly, “he quietly vanishes.”

“Oh, let’s write the letter then, right now, this minute,” Josh begged, dancing around the room. His childish eagerness made everyone laugh, but they were all feeling the same way, so Nat started up his word processor and they began to piece together the delicate correspondence.

A problem arose when they were trying to decide on a location in which the meeting would take place.

“Somewhere we can get away quickly, if need be,” Cici argued. “And somewhere far enough from the Centre that Langedijk can’t get help.”

“But we need to keep an eye on what’s happening there,” Nat objected. “And we know that, the farther away we are, the harder that is.”

“But if we’re too close, Langedijk might remember where we are and lead people to find us,” Jarod put in, successfully suppressing a shudder at the idea.

“I’m afraid Nat’s right,” Charles said. “And there’s a more important reason why it has to be close to the Centre. Langedijk’s more likely to believe that it’s Raines writing if it’s somewhere as close to the Centre as possible – Blue Cove, maybe, or just outside it.”

The group stared at him, and Jarod saw that most of them looked as horrified as he felt. Only Nat and Margaret nodded, agreeing with Charles’ logic.

“I think the best place,” Charles said quietly,” would be the warehouse just outside of Blue Cove, where we keep the vans and cars for raids.”

A long moment of silence followed this, before, one by one, the group nodded in agreement, and the location was included in the letter.

“This gives us three days to prepare,” Nat said thoughtfully, once the letter was printed out and a forgery of Raines’ signature was added to it.

“We’re going to need to intercept any mail going to Raines,” Cici remarked.

“Steve can do that for us,” Charles confirmed.

“And I’ll put a filter on Raines’ computer, so that I can check anything he gets electronically,” Nat offered.

Jarod looked thoughtfully at the laptop. “How are we going to know how Langedijk reacts? He might just drop everything and rush over.”

“What are you thinking of, Jarod?” Shannon asked quietly, and he saw that she and Ethan had come over to join them, Carrie sleeping in her mother’s arms.

“Well, if we can get into the African document stores using the back door through the Centre’s system,” he suggested, “then surely we can do more than that, like maybe access their security system and keep an eye on Langedijk himself. Then we’d know what he was doing all the time.”

This idea was, after a moment of stunned silence, greeted with the enthusiasm it deserved, and Charles sent Nat out to buy a second laptop with all the necessary equipment that would allow the Centre in Africa to be monitored, in addition to keeping an eye on Raines’ mail.

As soon as the younger man left, Jarod sat in front of the laptop that Nat had set up, seeing that an alarm had been attached to a program that would intercept any messages intended for Raines, meaning that nobody had to sit in front of the machine all the time.

Charles took out his cell phone to arrange for a message to Steve that would tell the man working in the Centre’s mailroom what was required. Unlike the sweepers and other temporary staff that Charles had introduced to the Centre, Steve was a long-term employee.

Jarod knew the story of how the two men had met. Steve had found Charles within the Centre’s grounds, trying to stop the bleeding from the gunshot wound Raines had inflicted. Steve had taken Charles back to his house, treated the injury and let him spend the remainder of the night. Then, the next day, he had asked Charles for his story. Naturally, Jarod's father had been reluctant to tell the truth, but Steve reminded him that, instead of handing him over to the teams of sweepers that were doubtless out looking for him, Steve had helped him. Encouraged, Charles told what had happened inside the Centre.

Steve had slowly been growing disillusioned with the Centre, and Charles had found a kindred spirit who shared his enthusiasm for action. Steve agreed to do as much as he could on the inside, passing on copies of any letters that he felt might be relevant to Charles’ search for his sons. Now, of course, most messages were sent electronically, but enough mail continued to pass through the mailroom for Steve to be kept on.

The laptop in front of Jarod beeped, and he opened the message it had intercepted, reading it through and, when it turned out to be irrelevant to their search, letting it pass on. But he saw, as the message disappeared from the inbox of Nat’s program, that a copy appeared in a folder entitled ‘Read’ and Jarod guessed that Nat planned to keep everything, in case it turned out to be helpful later.

“Here, Jarod,” Shannon’s voice said over his shoulder, and she placed a glass of Dr. Pepper on the table, sitting down beside him. “How’s it going?”

“It’s barely started,” he said seriously, referring to the entire situation.

“Relax,” she ordered. “There’s no point getting anxious yet. It’s going to be at least a day before Langedijk even gets the letter. You’ll be a nervous wreck by the time it finally arrives if you keep worrying about it like that.”

He smiled weakly and picked up the glass, sipping the contents and feeling the cold, aerated drink flow down his throat.

“How do you relax?” he asked curiously.

“Usually, I tease Nat,” she smiled. “That’s always satisfying, because he reacts so well.”

Jarod chuckled. “And I’m sure he loves it, too.”

She stared at him in mock-amazement. “You mean he might not like it? Wow. I’d never thought of that.”

He was surprised to feel the tension draining away as they continued to banter, Emily and Joshua coming over to join in. Nat was back with the second laptop almost before Jarod realized, and the two machines were set up on a spare table in the corner of the living room opposite Carrie’s little bedroom.

Once all the equipment was organized and the two machines were humming away, making only occasional beeps, which Josh jokingly said sounded like hiccoughs, the group was able to leave them alone and relax. Shannon brought out a variety of games and, as the weather had begun to deteriorate, with light rain falling outside, they settled down for a pleasant afternoon.

*~*~*~*~*

Langedijk

The letter was on his desk when he arrived on Wednesday morning, lying on top of a small pile of other mail. Settling down in the comfortable chair he had taken over after Mutumbo’s untimely demise – and his lips curled into a faint smiled at the thought – he picked up a fancy carved letter-opener and slit the envelope, drawing out the single typed sheet and unfolding it.

His eyes flew over the text, but then he stopped and read it again, more carefully, his lips thinning as he leaned back in the chair. As far as he knew, the scrolls were on Carthis, and as they been for years. But this letter suggested that they were no longer in that safe place and had been found by someone who knew their potential value.

Interestingly, the letter contained no demands or suggestions of a reward. Langedijk considered this for a moment, before deciding that such things would probably be discussed at the meeting proposed in the communication.

Langedijk knew about the prophecy, of course. He always had, as did anyone who worked at the African branch of the Centre. People spoke about it in hushed tones: how, when they found the Jarod named in the scrolls, the Centre would finally reach its full potential.

It had long been obvious to Langedijk and the others that Messrs Raines and Parker resented their branch of the Centre being under the Triumvirate’s control. For fear of a coup, visits to the United States were rare, with teams from America usually coming to them instead. But now, as Langedijk considered what he knew of the situation, he wondered whether Parker had stolen the scrolls from Carthis and was keeping them somewhere at the Centre, to use as a method of gaining control over the Triumvirate.

Langedijk only knew that the scrolls were kept on Carthis because his father, who had been one of Old Mutumbo’s confidants, had told him. After Young Mutumbo overthrew his father, Langedijk’s father had managed to escape the assassins while he wrote a letter to his son, detailing what he knew of the history of the Centre and the scrolls. When Langedijk reached the age of eighteen, he had been given the letter by his father’s lawyer and had vowed to revenge him by working his way up the Centre’s chain of command.

The coup he and Adama had recently orchestrated against Young Mutumbo had finally quenched the fire of revenge that had burned in him for so many years, and Langedijk felt that finding Jarod and fulfilling the prophesy would completely satisfy him. Standing and starting to pace the office, Langedijk wondered whether this letter would be a start.

But one problem loomed large. How would he get Adama out of the way? It was unfortunate that, as part of the agreed coup, Langedijk had allowed Adama to assume nominal control over the Triumvirate. However, this was a small detail, and even as he resumed his seat, Langedijk had managed to come up with a solution. A small smile curled his lips as he drew the keyboard of his computer towards him and began to type up a letter.

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

Emily had heard the computer beep, announcing that Langedijk had arrived in his office for the day, and came in to wake her brother, who had managed to fall asleep in the room he still shared with Josh and Ethan. He came out, wrapping a bathrobe around him to stave off the cold, and sat in front of the machine. Charles and Margaret appeared a moment later, watching their son as he opened the relevant screen.

“Well, Jarod?” Charles demanded after a moment. “What’s going on?”

“Langedijk’s reading the letter,” Jarod said, and then turned the screen around so that his family, Ethan, Josh and Shannon having also appeared, could watch it.

“Call Nat,” Charles directed, and Emily rushed for the phone.

It was fortunate that one of Shannon’s neighbors had gone away on vacation the previous day. Shannon had volunteered to housesit while they were away, without, of course, mentioning her real motivation for offering. The neighbors had unwittingly accepted and Nat, Cici and Sofia had moved in the previous afternoon.

The trio arrived within minutes, just in time to see Langedijk sit down and pull his keyboard closer to him. Nat entered a code, and those watching were then able to see the information that was appearing on the screen.

“What’s he doing?” Emily exclaimed. “It looks like he’s just retyping our letter.”

“Wait.” Nat held up a hand. “Not quite. He’s suggesting,” the young technician paused while the cursor on the screen blinked, before letters appeared again, “that the scrolls were threatened and should be removed from the Centre to a place of safety.” He looked up, confusion written all over his face. “Why would he say that?”

Jarod suddenly laughed, running his eyes over the rest of the letter Langedijk was typing. “I think I know,” he offered. “I suspect that Langedijk is well aware the scrolls have been on Carthis for all this time. His house in Edinburgh meant he probably went over to check on them regularly. But I’ll bet Adama and the others don’t know that. Langedijk’s sending them off to the Centre on a wild goose chase, which will also have the benefit of getting Raines into trouble, and then he can come to our meeting without fear of being questioned over it.”

“So he’ll present his version of the letter to his associates, as if it came from us,” Charles mused, “and keep our letter secret.”

“Well, at least it shows that he must believe in the prophecy,” Shannon remarked, cradling Carrie close to her chest. “If he didn’t, why would he go to all that trouble?”

“Hopefully,” Margaret murmured.

“We won’t know until we get there,” Charles said, before turning to Nat. “How long until they can get here?”

Nat hunched over the computer and hacked into the Centre’s travelogue, finding entries for flights between the two Centre bases.

“Twelve hours, at best estimate, including telling the other Triumvirate members about it all and persuading them to make the trip,” Nat suggested after a moment.

“Good. That gives us time to arrange everything,” the Boss replied. “I’ll call our teams and have them on standby, ready to move up to Blue Cove if everything goes well. And we’re going to need to go up there, too.” He looked around at everyone. “Can you all be ready in two hours?”

Most people nodded. They had so few possessions of their own that it would be an easy matter to pack. Only Shannon looked anxious, glancing down at her baby and then back at her father. As the group dispersed, Nat and Jarod to keep an eye on proceedings and the others to pack, Jarod saw his father draw Shannon over to the sofa and sit beside her.

“I know you want to come, Prodge,” he said gently. “And I’d like you to be there, too. But I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. What if something happened to Carrie?”

“I do want to come,” she pleaded. “I want to be with you and know you’re okay.”

Charles lightly kissed her forehead. “Shannon, honey,” he murmured, stroking Carrie’s soft cheek with his finger, “this is where your responsibility lies now, not with us. You have to keep her safe, and I want you to stay safe, so that your daughter has the chance to grow up with a mother. You have to keep her safe, for Peter’s sake, as much as your own.”

Jarod saw tears dim Shannon’s eyes, but she sniffed them back, looking directly into Charles’ eyes.

“Promise me,” she said in shaky tones, “that you’ll call me as soon as it’s safe for us to come up there.”

“And I want you to promise me,” he said gently, “that if you don’t hear from us in 24 hours, you’ll go to an address I’m going to give you and stay there.”

Shannon nodded, not asking for how long. She knew, as did Jarod, that, should this fail, none of them would return to find her and she would have to bring up her daughter on her own.

*~*~*~*~*

The building just outside Blue Cove was large. The lower level had obviously been a factory at one time, but now held three vans, including the one in which Jarod had traveled during Sofia’s rescue. The upper level contained a number of rooms, including a kitchen, bathroom and toilet. The largest room was partly filled by a long table and another room contained several desks, on which Nat and Jarod set up the computers to continue monitoring both Centre stations.

It would be evening before Langedijk arrived, which gave them time to do everything necessary to hopefully make the confrontation go smoothly. Nat installed security cameras outside the building at eight vantage points to ensure that nobody could sneak up unawares. Charles, Jarod and Josh welded all but the main door closed, so that it would be impossible for Langedijk or anyone else to sneak in. Emily, Margaret, Cici and Sofia taped black paper on the inside of the many upstairs windows, so that no light would be visible outside.

The long hours of afternoon passed slowly and the sun began to set. Nat, Jarod and Josh prepared the evening meal, but nobody did more than pick at it and the plates were returned to the kitchen almost as full as they had come out. Around seven, as the sunlight began to fade, a group of men appeared. Jarod recognized some of them from Sofia’s rescue, and guessed that the others were men who had gone into the Centre as sweepers at one time or another.

The hands of the clock barely seemed to move, and any attempts at conversation died away into silence. Then Nat burst into the room.

“Their jet just landed. They’ll be at the Centre in about ten minutes.”

The group hurried into the room in which the computers had been set up. Nat had attached the laptop screens to larger screens, so that everyone could see without having to crowd around the table. They sat on the chairs or the floor and watched the camera that looked out onto the runway near the Centre, seeing as a dozen men came down the stairs to cars that waited on the tarmac.

“So does Raines know they’re coming?” Charles asked.

“No. The Triumvirate keep people here in America to drive them around so that they don’t have to rely on people who might be working for Raines,” Nat replied. “They called them before the jet took off and told them to be ready.”

Naturally, there were no cameras in the cars, so they couldn’t follow them to the Centre, but one of the external cameras recorded their arrival. Then Nat chuckled.

“The bigwigs just realized who turned up,” he reported. “I think you call it ‘panic’.”

Tense laughter greeted this remark, but it lasted only a short time, and no one except Nat was looking at anything apart from the screen. Raines, accompanied by other people Jarod had never seen before, was in the lobby when the group marched in. For an instant, Jarod wondered where Miss Parker and Sydney were, but his attention was quickly captured once more by the scene before him.

At an order that, as Nat had not hooked up speakers, no one could hear, the Americans in the lobby dispersed. The Triumvirate exchanged glances and a brief conversation, and then Adama and the others headed further into the Centre while Langedijk left the building in company with the driver.

“He’s coming,” Charles breathed. Then he looked around at the large group. “Places, people. He’ll be here in no time.”

On the lower level, the vans had been moved outside. A table stood in the very middle of the room and a single ray of light shone onto it from a lamp suspended from a beam on the ceiling. On this table, Jarod placed the scrolls, unrolling one to reveal the prophecy and using the second one to prevent it from rolling closed. Then he retreated to the staircase, to wait there while the other men took their places around the walls. Josh, Margaret, Cici and Sofia waited with Jarod on the stairs. Everyone wore earpieces and microphones.

The main door stood open, but the sky was cloudy and the area around the factory was not well lit. The only light was from that single beam, which shone down onto the scrolls. Everyone waited, and Jarod was sure they could all hear his heart through the microphones as its beat thundered in his ears. Then a strong beam of light shone in briefly through the doorway, and a motor was audible, purring in the darkness for a moment, before it stopped.

Two doors slammed and footsteps approached the building. Jarod held his breath as he saw a tall silhouette outlined in the doorway by the car’s headlights, which had obviously been left on.

A gasp broke the oppressive stillness, and the shadow crossed the floor in a few quick steps. The man bent over the scrolls, and then the door slammed shut.

Langedijk turned quickly and, as other lights around the room were turned on, he looked around at the occupants who came forward from their hiding places. Then the fear vanished and he stood straighter, waiting for someone to step forward and identify themselves as the leader. After a brief pause, Charles did so.

“Mr. Langedijk,” he stated calmly. “So good of you to accept our invitation.”

“Oh, it was one I could not refuse,” the African said. He placed a hand lightly on the table. “Well done on managing to get away alive with the scrolls. Apparently, the monks are not happy when people disturb the tombs.”

“So we saw,” Charles replied. “I believe Mr. Parker and his sweepers would have had to do some pretty fast talking to get away. The monks, you understand, thought they took the scrolls, not us.”

Langedijk grinned, his teeth white in his dark face. “A clever ploy.”

“And quite by chance, I assure you.”

The Zulu arched an eyebrow. “And who might you be, sir? I do not believe we have ever met.”

“You’re right,” Charles said flatly. “We haven’t. However,” he clasped his hands behind his back, “when we worked out how valuable these would be to you, we couldn’t refuse the opportunity to see how you would react to them.” He smiled slightly. “Tell me, Mr. Langedijk, are you the only person who knew that they were on Carthis instead of inside the Centre?”

“You have done your homework,” Langedijk said admiringly. “But might I enquire exactly what you hope to gain by drawing the fact of their location to our attention?”

“More than you can possibly imagine,” Charles smiled. Then he looked at the stairs, which were behind Langedijk. “Jarod? Do you want to come and introduce yourself, son?”

Langedijk gasped, spinning on his heel, as Jarod came down the last few stairs and into the light that covered certain parts of the room. The aim of that, Charles had explained, was a hope that, by keeping some areas in shadow, it might give Josh, Cici, Margaret and Sofia a chance to get away if things got nasty. However, it was obvious from the expression on Langedijk’s face that he was too overawed to think of using the gun that hung at his waist.

“Jarod,” he breathed, his eyes wide.

Over Langedijk’s shoulder, Jarod said his father grin and his eyes light up. It seemed like the plan was going to go as well as they had hoped.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles

It took half an hour before Langedijk was able to speak coherently to Jarod. Charles thought this was how the disciples might have felt when Jesus returned to them after his death. But finally he and the driver, who had been as overawed as his boss, examined the scrolls and declared them to be genuine. After some time, the Zulus were escorted to the upstairs room where they could more comfortably discuss the situation and make plans. Jarod allowed Langedijk to carry the scrolls, and, much to Charles’ amusement, the man seemed almost overwhelmed by the favor.

“Who else believes in these?” Charles asked, lightly touching the scrolls, once they were all up in the large living area.

“Everybody,” Langedijk responded readily. “Although I do not think Mutumbo did,” he added, after a moment of thought.

“He didn’t,” Nat agreed. “We know that.”

Langedijk only nodded, not seeming surprised by this. When prompted, he explained that it was expected Jarod would know everything and would pass the necessary information on to those who were helping him. Charles saw his son’s eyes widen with horror at this idea, and tried not to choke on the laughter that was filling him. That would only add more pressure to the situation in future, but Jarod's expression was so dismayed that his father found it very amusing.

“Our problem,” Charles told the African when he had regained his composure, “is that we doubt whether many at the Centre believe in the scrolls, or even know about them.”

“We will tell them,” Langedijk replied, adding, with a careless shrug, “If they do not believe, they have no place at the Centre.” He looked curiously at the older man. “You have a long association with the Centre?”

“Too long,” Charles said shortly, but it was obvious that Langedijk was waiting for details, so he told something of the loss of his children and the events that had followed.

“I never trusted Raines,” Langedijk hissed furiously, and his black eyes seemed to shoot sparks. “It is no wonder that we never saw Jarod, or Joshua,” he had been introduced to Jarod's clone and treated him with the same reverence he displayed to Jarod himself, “as we were shown the skills of other projects.”

“No doubt,” Charles agreed.

Langedijk cast a curious glance at him. “You have suffered much from this?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Charles demanded.

“They will make it up to you,” Langedijk vowed. “That is not the way the Centre was supposed to be run, and it is not the way our branch of it works.”

“What’s the difference?” Josh asked curiously.

“Our people are free to come and go as they please,” Langedijk replied. “They are paid for their work, and may refuse anything that they feel uncomfortable about doing.”

All those who had been subjects looked dazed by the rosy picture Langedijk was drawing, and for Charles, knowing so much of the Centre, it was almost impossible for him to imagine.

“You see,” Langedijk continued, seemingly oblivious to the reactions of those around him, “the original idea of the Centre was that it could be a place that would be beneficial. Those working inside it could solve problems that were unable to be solved by governments or individuals within society. That is what it says on the scrolls.”

“And the part about ‘the detriment of few’?” Cici asked, almost sarcastically.

Langedijk looked thoughtful. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Perhaps the scrolls always knew what the Centre here in America would do, and that, when Jarod was found, we would punish those who had kept him prisoner.”

“That’s the part I’m looking forward to,” Nat murmured under his breath, so that only Charles could hear, before speaking more loudly. “Mr. Langedijk, what do you propose we do to take the Centre from those who have control of it at the moment?”

“There will be little to take,” Langedijk smiled. “We must, of course, remove Raines and those who support him, and we must see if Mr. Parker has returned from Carthis, but otherwise it will be a mere matter of us giving way to the rightful One.”

Jarod nodded. “My concern,” he said quietly, “is that there may be more people at the Centre who are willing to support Raines than we have people to control them.”

Langedijk bowed his head slightly as he responded, and Charles fought to smother a grin.

“I believe your father said that he has perhaps one hundred people who were ready to help in the takeover. To my knowledge, the team of our people over here numbers perhaps another hundred or so, and it will also be possible to bring people over from Africa, if we have time.”

“I doubt whether we do,” Charles put in seriously. “Raines and the others will know that your co-Triumvirate members have come looking for the scrolls, and they might guess that we have something to do with why you’re suddenly looking again. If anything is going to happen, it needs to happen soon.”

“Of course.” Langedijk grinned. “I will call our teams and have my associates leave the Centre for a planning session here.”

He extracted a cell phone out of his pocket, and, as he began to dial a number, Charles felt a hand lightly pinching his arm. Turning, he found Margaret beside him.

“Can we trust this man?” she murmured.

Charles glanced at Jarod, who was listening to Langedijk speaking rapidly on the phone, in his native dialect. Jarod met his father’s gaze and nodded.

“All clear,” he whispered, so softly that the sound barely carried to his father’s ears.

“It all checks out here, too,” Nat added quietly from his seat in front of the laptop, where he had been accessing data from the African Centre using codes provided by Langedijk’s driver.

“I guess so,” Charles said to his wife, before sighing. “All right, let’s call in the teams.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

The warehouse was quickly filling with people. The other two members of the Triumvirate had arrived and showed Jarod the same respectful awe that filled Langedijk. But now it failed to amuse him in the same way. They would have to leave for the Centre soon, and he could feel his fear mounting.

Cici crossed the room to sit beside him, taking his hand in both of hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Remember to breathe,” she said softly. “And try to relax.”

“And, if you have a spare second, learn to fly,” he retorted. “Might as well try three impossibilities at once.”

She smiled. “Jarod, there’s an army going with us, an army on your side. I have some idea about how you feel about where we’re going, but I don’t think anyone will even think about touching you with this lot around.”

As she nodded at the Africans, he noticed, for the first time, that they were dressed in protective body armor and armed with high-powered guns.

“Do I get some of that?”

She giggled. “Yes, you do, but they’re too scared to offer it to you. To them, it’s like offering God a shield to protect himself.”

He eyed her in a mood approaching desperation. “How do I do this, Cici?” he begged. “They’re all expecting me to be this great omnipresent leader, but how am I supposed to know everything about a place that I’ve been locked up in for more than thirty years?”

“Well, you can read, can’t you?” she asked reasonably. “And no one’s saying you have to do it all on your own. We’ll all still be here. A good leader,” she said knowingly, “doesn’t do everything for himself. He delegates. That’s what you can do.”

Jarod sighed shakily, seeing that the groups were ready to go, and that Langedijk was fiddling with an armored body suit, which he was obviously hesitant about offering, while Adama waited nearby with a gun.

“I hope you’re right, Cici,” he murmured. “I really hope so.”

*~*~*~*~*

Miss Parker

There was a commotion going on somewhere in the Centre. As she got out of the elevator on the level where the more important people had their offices, she was barely given time to get out of the car before a group squeezed themselves inside. She caught several names, and then a word that caused a tremor to pass through her as she urgently pressed the button and, after a second, got sick of waiting and ran for the stairs.

Jarod.

She came out into the lobby to find it filling with strangers, mostly wearing body armor and carrying high-caliber weapons. She caught a glimpse of two sweepers holding the doors open for the intruders, but was quickly distracted from them by the sight of Raines, who burst out of the elevator, stopping short in front of three African men who were clearly leading the invasion.

“The Triumvirate,” a voice said softly behind her, and she turned to see Sydney at her shoulder.

“How do you know?”

“Two of them questioned me about Jarod’s escape.”

She nodded, turning her gaze back to the imposing group in the lobby. None of the Centre’s own sweepers, she noticed, were even bothering to fight.

“Mr. Raines,” the Triumvirate leader said coldly, “where is Mr. Parker?”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t know,” Raines admitted reluctantly, and the nervous tremor in his voice made Miss Parker cast an admiring look at the dark-skinned man. She had never heard so much hesitation and respect in Raines’ voice before. “He disappeared almost a week ago, Mr. Adama. I don’t know where he went.”

“He went to Carthis,” Adama stated flatly. “Can you think of any reason why he might have gone there?”

From her position, Miss Parker could see something like uncertainty flicker across Raines’ face, but he suppressed it and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You’re lying, Raines,” another of the men spat, and Miss Parker was startled by the look of rage in his black eyes. “You will have one more chance to answer our questions honestly. Who is Jarod?”

Miss Parker started at the name, exchanging astonished looks with Sydney, before she looked at Raines again and saw that his blue eyes were burning with hatred.

“I don’t know,” he replied slowly.

“Liar,” the third man hissed from between clenched teeth, and nodded at a group of his guards, who moved forward and grabbed the bald man’s shoulders and arms.

“You lie like a dog, Raines,” Langedijk continued. “You have kept Jarod here for more than thirty years, and yet you knew all along how important he was to the fate of the Centre. You were afraid of losing your power if we ever found him. Well,” he sneered, “he has been found, despite all your efforts. And now you will show him the respect he deserves.”

The three men parted, and Miss Parker gasped at the sight of Jarod behind them, dressed all in black, wearing a black leather coat that ran almost to his knees and seemed to increase his already considerable height. She heard a soft sound from beside her, and out of the corner of her eye, saw that Sydney was staring at the Pretender, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

When she turned back, she saw the guards forcing Raines to his knees. The bald man was trying to resist, but their superior strength meant that he was soon prostrate in front of the former subject, who remained expressionless, apart from a strange light that burned in his dark eyes.

“Well, dog,” Langedijk growled. “It’s not like you to be lost for words.”

Raines’ lips moved, but no sound came out. Finally, after a long silence, Langedijk’s patience was clearly at an end.

“Take him away,” he snapped. “There will be cells in this place, considering the way they treat their projects. Lock him up in one.”

Raines was dragged to his feet and towards the elevator. One of the sweepers hurried ahead of them, Miss Parker guessed, to direct them to the cells.

Adama looked around at the group in the lobby. “Return to your work,” he ordered. “You will be told, if and when things change.”

To Miss Parker’s surprise, people began to move away, heading for the elevators and the stairs. In a matter of minutes, only she and Sydney were left, and they were ignored completely by the group. Jarod and the others were escorted along to the elevators and, when one arrived, got in. As the group turned to face the doors, just before they closed, Miss Parker met Jarod's gaze, but his eyes slid away from her to the man beside her. Before Sydney could react, however, the doors closed and they were gone.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

Shannon had paced around the house for almost the whole day. She was on the verge of tears and only holding them back by a miracle. When Carrie cried, Shannon changed or fed her, but her mind was on her family and friends, so close to the Centre and in so much danger. There were times when she couldn’t bear not to know what was going on, and once she came close to getting into the car and driving to Blue Cove herself, to find out, but each time, as if in response to her feelings, Carrie began to cry, and Shannon would have to turn her thoughts from herself to her daughter.

It was only when she stumbled over the coffee table that she realized the sun had gone down and darkness had fallen. The Triumvirate should have arrived in America by now. They should soon be at the Centre. Were things going right? She had no way of knowing.

Carrie cried again, and Shannon picked her up, cuddling her against her chest and soothing her with softly murmured words as she wiped the tears off her plump, rosy cheeks. Picking up the pacifier from the mattress where it had fallen, she eased it into Carrie’s mouth, and the baby girl sucked enthusiastically on it, her big blue eyes open, staring at her mother. Shannon lightly kissed the smooth forehead, stroking the dark tuft of hair, and, suddenly unable to help herself, wondered what Peter would their of their daughter.

Tears filled her eyes, but before they could fall, headlights turned into the driveway and lit up the living room with their powerful beam.

Shannon clutched Carrie to her so firmly that the baby squawked in protest. A bag stood by the door, containing a change of clothes for Shannon and all the bits and pieces Carrie might need. In one bound, Shannon was beside it and had picked it up, ready to flee out the back door if this turned out to be a threat from the Centre.

“Prodge!”

It was Dan’s voice, and she relaxed as he got out of the car. She opened the door and waited in the doorway for him.

“It worked, Prodge,” he called eagerly. “It’s okay. They’re going to the Centre now. The Boss called and told me to come get you. If we leave now, by the time we get there, they’ll be ready for us.”

She sighed, slumping against the doorframe in her relief. He came over and slid an arm around her shoulder, looking down at Carrie.

“You ready to go?”

“If we’ve got time and there’s space in the car,” she pleaded, “can we take a few more of Carrie’s things?”

“Sure.” He grinned, his teeth shining white in the dim light. “Show me what you want and we’ll pack it all in.”

She pointed out the few things she and Sofia had purchased, but which she would have had to leave behind if they’d been forced to flee. Dan packed them into the truck and secured the baby seat in behind the driver.

“Where d’you want to sit?”

“With Carrie, in the back,” she replied, suiting the action to the word. Dan took the pile of pillows and blankets that lay beside the door and packed them into the front seat, where Shannon could reach them if she wanted to. She smiled at him gratefully and did up her seatbelt, gently tickling Carrie’s little tummy as Dan started the car.

“I never thanked you,” Shannon said suddenly, “for taking me to Lucy’s house that night.”

He smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “I was glad to do it, Prodge. You can’t know how relieved I was to see you when I came over that hill. I was just starting to imagine all kinds of horrible things that could have happened to you – outside the Centre, even.”

A whimper from Carrie prevented Shannon from answering, and Dan smiled as he watched her lift the baby out of the traveling capsule and cradle her against her neck.

“You’re going to be a great mom,” he predicted.

“You can’t know that yet,” she protested, settling the baby to feed.

“I can guess,” he retorted. “Your gentleness and patience are a good indication of how you’ll be.”

She smiled. “Well, we’ll see.”

When the baby was finished, and as she lifted Carrie to her shoulder to burp her, Shannon took time to look out at their surroundings. “When do you think we’ll arrive?”

“A few hours, but the Boss asked me to take us to the warehouse where they’re staying tonight, and then bring you to the Centre in the morning. It’s possible that the others will come to the warehouse tonight, too, but even if they don’t, they’ve set up beds there that you can use.”

“Good,” she sighed, thankful for more time to prepare herself.

When Carrie was finished, Shannon placed the baby back into the capsule and did up the straps around her, even as she fell asleep. After covering her with the blanket she had snatched from the crib, tucking in the corners to prevent draughts, Shannon took several pillows from the front seat and settled back against them to watch the world outside fly by.

*~*~*~*~*

Joshua

It was well into the early hours of the morning when the van pulled up outside the Centre and the group piled in, most yawning tiredly.

“If this is corporate life,” Jarod joked wearily, “I don’t want it.”

Joshua dropped onto the seat beside him, leaning against his progenitor’s shoulder and feeling Jarod's arm curl around him. The others found places and then Adama got into the driver’s seat. The members of the Triumvirate would spend the night at the Centre, but Adama had volunteered to drive the group back to the warehouse. None of them felt comfortable about sleeping in rooms at the Centre.

The journey only took ten minutes, but Josh fell asleep, and had to be shaken awake once they arrived. He stumbled into the large building, but was wide-awake instantly at the faint sound of a baby crying upstairs. Bolting up the stairs, he finally found Shannon and Carrie in the room at the far end of a long hallway and flung himself onto her bed with a cry of delight. She slid her free arm around his shoulders, the other holding her daughter, who was unsettled by the arrivals, and hugged him warmly.

“You look tired, Josh,” she said critically.

“You, too,” he grinned. “When did you get here?”

“About two hours ago.” She looked up as other people crowded into the room. “Sorry if I’ve taken anyone’s room,” she smiled, “but Carrie wanted nothing but bed, so I just took the one with the least furniture, so there was room for her things.”

Charles smiled, coming over to sit on the bed beside her. “You picked the only free room, Prodge. Very good.”

She giggled tiredly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “How did it go?”

“Well, the Africans believe in the scrolls and us,” Nat offered somewhat warily. “I don’t know about the others, though. And,” he added in satisfied tones, “Raines was thoroughly humiliated, in front of just about everybody.”

“And I missed it?” Shannon wailed. “That’s unfair!”

Jarod grinned. “I’ll arrange a special humiliation ceremony, just for you,” he promised.

Margaret stepped into the room and picked up the baby, who had fallen asleep again. She cast a stern eye at Josh, who wriggled resentfully, knowing what it meant. He was right.

“Bedtime. Come on, boyo.”

He was about to protest when he suddenly yawned, and Shannon squeezed his shoulders with a smile, kissing his cheek.

“Go and get some sleep, Josh, okay? I’ll see you in the morning”

“Uh huh.” He nodded, still yawning, and wearily trailed down the hall to the room he and Jarod would share.

Jarod was already there, spreading out the sleeping bags onto the camping mattresses that had been stored in a cupboard for just such an occasion. Still yawning widely, Josh wriggled out of his jeans and underpants and pulled on the pajama bottoms. Jarod gave him a hand in pulling off his sweatshirt, and then he wriggled into the sleeping bag.

“Jarod?” he murmured sleepily, and the man glanced at him over his shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Are they always going to treat us like that?”

Jarod grinned. “Maybe.”

“Goody.” Josh nodded, his eyes closing in spite of himself. Then, even as he felt Jarod gently lay something warm over him, he began to fall down into the darkness of sleep.

Escape From Alcatraz
Part 13


Jarod

Despite his short night, Jarod was up first, removing the black paper from the windows of the small kitchen and looking out blankly through the glass as the urn on the bench heated up the water inside it. He was musing on the day before, wondering if the take-over was really as easy as it had seemed. Men from the African Centre would arrive that day, to be kept in reserve if there were problems. For some reason, that thought was only mildly comforting.

He was at least thankful that the panic attacks he had had during the previous few days had been milder than the first, and Cici had talked him through them. They had begun shaping a plan of behavioral therapy and relaxation techniques, and the fact he had to now go to the place that had triggered the attack would, Cici assured him, make him confront his fears, and so the attacks would eventually go. He had become so interested in the phenomenon of panic attacks, and had researched them so thoroughly, that he had learned to recognize the first signs and could begin the relaxation that eased them.

A hand on his arm made him start, and he turned in time to see Shannon reach up to lightly kiss his cheek. He slid an around her waist and hugged her, careful not to squash Carrie.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked, handing the baby to him and filling a glass from the tap.

“Better than I thought I would,” he smiled. “And you?”

“Not bad.”

He eyed her as she sipped the water, noting the dark shadows under her eyes and the lines around her mouth, understanding her feelings.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you don’t have to come.”

She looked up, and he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “I do,” she whispered, and he said no more.

Within half an hour, the rest of the group had come into the kitchen for breakfast, which was mostly taken in silence, except for murmured requests for butter or coffee. Then, once it was over, everyone scattered to dress and prepare for the day.

Four limousines pulled up outside the building, and the group piled in, more than one surprised at the mode of transport. Adama was in the first, and he explained that it had seemed rather inappropriate to expect Jarod and his family and friends to travel in the same mode as sweepers. This was a far more suitable method by which to convey them to the Centre.

Jarod, his father and Nat got into the first car with Adama to plan the day ahead and to get some idea of what might come in the following weeks. Josh, Margaret, Emily and Shannon, with Carrie, got into the second car, and Sofia, Ethan and Cici traveled in the third.

The cars’ first stop was in a small street, only a few blocks from the Centre. It contained a number of attractive houses of varying sizes, and Adama, smiling, announced that these residences were for their use. They could choose whichever houses they preferred.

Jarod saw his mother point at one, and tears glistened in her eyes as she clutched Charles’ arm. Moving closer, he heard her whisper, “Our house, Charles. It’s just like it was when we brought Kyle home.”

Charles slid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair, and Adama, smiling, wrote their names down beside the number on a sheet of paper he had attached to a clipboard.

Josh was pulling Shannon in the direction of another house, a few doors away, and she let him tug her up the two steps to the front door. Jarod followed them inside, surprised to see that it was furnished, and heard Josh’s feet running up the stairs. He placed a hand on Shannon’s shoulder and she turned to him.

“Do you want to have Josh live with you?”

She half-smiled, and he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. “That’s really your decision, Jarod. He belongs more to you than to me. What would you prefer?”

He smiled at her. “Do you suppose there’s a room here for me?”

Her eyes lit up. “Do you mean it? Oh, Jarod, that’d be wonderful!” If her arms hadn’t been full of Carrie, Jarod had the idea she would have hugged him. As it was, her eyes glowed with obvious delight. “I’m sure we can find somewhere,” she promised. “Let’s see.”

They went up the stairs to find three bedrooms, one of which Josh had already claimed for himself. He was bouncing on the bed, and staring out of the window that looked out over the bay nearby.

“Please!” he begged. “Please, can this be mine?”

“I can’t see why not,” Shannon smiled. “But we need to find somewhere for Jarod to sleep, too.”

Josh stared at his progenitor for a moment, then squealed with delight and threw himself at the tall man. “Fantastic!” he cheered. “If there’s nowhere else, you can sleep here with me!”

Shannon laughed. “I think we’ll be able to do better than that. If necessary, Carrie can sleep with me. But we don’t know how many rooms there are downstairs.”

Jarod led the way down the stairs, and it seemed as if things had been arranged for them. In the back part of the house was a large room that would easily work as a bedroom, with a bathroom next door to it. The rest of that level was open-plan, with the kitchen, dining area and living space merging into one. Adama stood in the middle of the space and smiled as they emerged from their inspection of Jarod's bedroom.

“You like this?”

“It’s excellent,” Jarod replied. “May I see the plan, to see what houses the others have chosen?”

Adama offered the clipboard, and Jarod took it, seeing that Emily and Ethan had chosen one of the small houses on one side of their parents, and Nat had selected a single-room house between the one Jarod stood in now and the one in which his siblings would live. Cici and Freya, it seemed, had chosen the house on the other side of Jarod's. Then Jarod noticed a small building at the entrance to the street and tapped it.

“What’s this?”

“A proposed guardhouse,” Adama announced.

Jarod arched an eyebrow, seeing from the plan that houses backed onto those in which his family and friends would live, and then looking up at the Zulu.

“I don’t think that’s unnecessary,” he said quietly, then, tapping those houses with his index finger, “and I hope you had no plans to move those who live in these houses now.”

Adama visibly wilted. “I… we thought…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jarod interrupted. “Just ensure that they are allowed to go back there. I can’t believe that living here will be any more dangerous than being at the Centre itself. And a sweeper may patrol the street every night.”

The African bowed slightly and accepted the clipboard back before leaving the house. Shannon cast a grin at her brother.

“You tell him, Jarod.”

“Well, did you want to live in a cage?” he asked as they left the house. “I’ve been guarded around the clock for years. I didn’t want that to continue.”

“Me either,” she agreed, before they separated to go to the same cars in which they had traveled earlier for the rest of the journey to the Centre.

*~*~*~*~*

The offices level of the Centre had already been reorganized for their arrival, and Jarod thought idly that people must have been working almost constantly to have things ready in only a few hours. Jarod found himself in Mr. Parker’s old office, which was the largest and had a view over the bay and the lazily curving beach, as well as some of the Blue Cove streets. He could almost make out the street in which they were all to live.

His father had Raines’ old office, right next door, and Jarod requested that an adjoining door be put in the shared wall. He asked that the same thing be done for Nat’s office, which was to be on the other side of Jarod's. That way, at least, he thought in relief, he could consult them without it being obvious to anyone else. Ethan’s office was on the other side of his father’s from that of his brother, and Emily had one of the far side of that.

Offices that had been set aside for Sofia and Margaret were refused by those people, who, it was obvious, preferred to have as little to do with the Centre as possible. Cici’s office, next to Nat’s, had a phone that connected it directly to the infirmary. Then, as they reached the end of the hallway and it was obvious to Jarod that Adama had finished with this area and was planning to show them other changes. Jarod saw Josh’s face fall and smiled sympathetically at him, stopping Adama’s flow of explanations with a raised hand.

“Where’s Joshua’s office?”

Adama’s face fell, almost comically, before he quickly pulled himself together. He moved back down the hallway to the rooms that had been assigned to Sofia and Margaret, gesturing to the boy to follow. Jarod could hear Adama offering Josh the choice of rooms, and when the two came back to the group, Josh was beaming.

As they moved down the various levels, being shown things in one place of another, Jarod sidled up to his father.

“I thought there would be more complaints to all this. Us.”

Charles nodded seriously. “I was thinking about that last night. But these people would be used to having new people taking charge all the time. For them, it’s just another regime change. If they weren’t able to be that flexible, they wouldn’t still be here.”

Jarod nodded, realizing that this was probably true, before returning his attention to Adama and the details he was providing.

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

It was the middle of the afternoon before Shannon put Carrie into the bed that had been set up for her in the office Sofia had refused and covered her, pressing the button that lowered the blind over the window. The room was quiet, soundproofed, as most of the offices were, and she hoped that Carrie would sleep for at least a few hours.

Margaret and Sofia had already returned to their homes. Sofia was now comfortable around the entire group, but she seemed better around women than men. Jarod had spent the morning assigning positions to various people, mostly his family, but also to others within the Centre who had shown their abilities at those tasks over the years. Now he was examining the problem of how to change the routine of the subjects inside the building without upsetting them so that they became unable to work.

When she was sure that her daughter wasn’t going to rouse, Shannon slipped out of the room and hurried to the elevator. The hallways were empty and the large doors slid open almost as soon as she pushed the down button.

Inside the car, her finger hesitated over the SL-25 button for a moment as she warred within herself about it, before pressing it. Ever since her return from the Centre, she had hoped that her memory of Peter was a terrible dream, although some part of her told that it wasn’t. But she felt that, the longer she put off going to find him, the longer she could convince herself that he was safe.

Something quavered inside her, a feeling that she had suppressed for so long that she had almost forgotten it had ever existed: the terrible fear she had known for the first six years of her life inside the Centre, before Peter came, while she had still had to face Raines on her own. She knew the feeling was unreasonable. Raines was locked up in the smallest cell the Centre possessed: Adama had proudly shown him to all of them that morning. Willie, Raines’ personal sweeper, and the one who had features in most of Shannon’s worst nightmares, was in the next cell.

And yet she was afraid.

Finally the doors slid open. The hallway was lined with open doors. Nat had come down here that morning to inspect the system and see if any parts had escaped his attention after he had been rescued from the Centre. Nothing had.

Shannon knew which direction Angelo had taken her, in the vent. She followed the hallway, past the numerous rooms. On this level, everything, even the walls, hummed and vibrated. The walls were thickly insulated to protect them from power surges and fires. The walls absorbed her footsteps and she could barely hear herself breathe.

Then she reached the end of the hallway and faced a blank wall.

She reached out to touch it, half-expecting an electric shock through her fingers, but she only felt a smooth, cold wall. It seemed to be the natural end of the hallway, but something was wrong. Shannon banged on it with her fist. The sound of her hand against the wall echoed. There must be something behind this. Peter was behind it.

The idea seemed to spur her into action. She kicked at the wall and beat on it with her fists, trying to find a weaker place where she could break it down. The surface was rough, and soon the sides of her hands were red with pressure. Then the wall was streaked with red; she was too caught up in her actions to realize that it was her blood staining the cream paint.

Anger swelled in her, anger she didn’t even know she could feel, the anger and hatred of twenty-two years: feelings she thought were buried too deep for her to ever have to face them again. Her arms and hands ached and throbbed, but she couldn’t stop. A scream rose in her throat, but she never heard it escape from her mouth. She was breathless, and sweat, intermingled with tears, poured down her face until she couldn’t see, but still she went on wildly attacking that wall.

Then a hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her away and spinning her around, forcing her arms down to her sides, holding her close. She fought against it, unable to think, having forgotten even why she was down here, but the person restraining her was strong and held her against him. Her breath came in great heaving gasps and she was lightheaded, barely able to keep her feet as she continued to try to lift her arms, but they were held down.

“All right, Shannon, enough,” a voice said gently in her ear, the first sound she heard. “Stop now. Listen to me. Relax. ”

She looked up, but her vision was too blurry to make anything out. A hand stroked her hair, lightly rubbed her back, and then wiped her eyes. This time, when she looked, she could see Jarod’s face looking down at her, concern in his eyes. He smiled faintly, questioningly, clearly waiting for her to acknowledge him, and she burst into loud, noisy sobs, burying her face in his shoulder, clawing at his back with her fingers.

He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently, letting her cry. She clutched at the jacket he wore, her fingers buried in the thick material, and could feel his chest rising and falling, his heart beating in her ear. Then she heard his voice, echoing in her head.

“Get some men and get this wall torn down. And get Raines here.”

Footsteps hurried away, and Jarod drew Shannon gently to the side of the hallway, her face still half-hidden in his shoulder. She was calmer now, still trembling and gasping for breath, but she could think again. After a moment, she looked up at him.

“H… how did you know?”


“I saw you go past my room,” he replied softly. “I knew where you were going.”

His thumbs lightly brushed the traces of tears from her face, and then she heard footsteps, seeing over her shoulder as three men bearing various blunt tools, and behind them, two sweepers dragged Raines along the hallway. He was dressed in a black outfit similar to the ones that Jarod and Shannon had worn for years, and the expression on his face was pure and bitter hatred.

“Tear it down,” Jarod ordered, nodding at the wall and ignoring Raines and his guards.

Shannon rested her head against her brother’s shoulder, watching as the crowbars pierced the wall and gouged strips out of it, leaving gaps, through which light shone, brighter than the light in the hallway where they stood.

“Seems like there’s a whole series of rooms here,” one of the men reported, and Jarod nodded.

“Remove the wall.”

The noise of destruction continued, quickly absorbed by the walls around them. As the hole widened, Shannon could see that the passageway continued. Three doors stood ajar along the right-hand side of the hallway and the left-hand side, like the corridor in which she stood now, was blank. It was one of the external walls of the Centre.

For a moment, the sound of voices had been audible. Then there was a thud, followed by silence.

“Get down there,” Jarod ordered, as soon as the gap was big enough for them to pass through.

The men ran down the hall, pulling out guns as they did so, the tools discarded on the floor. The sweepers shoved Raines along the corridor so smartly that he almost fell, and some tiny part of Shannon’s soul rejoiced at the fact that his treatment now was similar to the way he had treated her for so many years.

“Bedroom,” one of the men reported, then, “Kitchen and living room.” He went inside, his gun at the ready, and felt the mug on the bench and the kettle on the small stovetop. “Still hot. They’ve only just left.”


“As we heard,” Jarod said sharply. “Find them.”

“It’s too late, sir,” the other man reported, coming out of the bedroom behind them. “There’s a door here with a ladder that leads up to SL-24 through the old boiler tunnel. They got out that way.”

Jarod glanced at him. “Bring Nat down here. I want his computer, too.”

The man immediately headed back down the hallway at a run. He seemed to have just as much respect for Jarod's orders as he had once had for those of Mr. Parker or even Raines.

Shannon’s eyes were now fixed on the third door, which was almost closed. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her pulse was pounding in her temples and her hands were kneading each other so that the blood dripped from the sides, where they had been cut on the wall, and pooled on the floor.

Finally, the group moved towards the door. The sound of machines beeping and sighing, as well as the scratching of pen on paper, which had haunted Shannon’s dreams since her escape, were clearly audible, and the man who had reported on the kitchen now moved ahead and shoved the door wide open, a gasp escaping from his mouth at the sight inside that room.

Jarod, his arm still around Shannon’s shoulder, drew her along until they could both see into the room. His eyes falling on the bed, he froze, his fingers convulsively tightening.

Shannon felt her eyes fill. It was the same as she had seen it, and worse, it wasn’t a dream. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she had longed to be wrong.

Then she saw that the man who had led the way in was hesitating, his eyes following the line of red laser light that surrounded the bed.

“Th… there’s a switch,” she offered hesitantly. “Beside the door. On the right.”

Even as he flicked the switch and the laser light faded with a soft sigh, out of the corner of her eye, Shannon saw Raines try to turn to glare at her, but the sweepers’ grip was too strong and he couldn’t move. His blue eyes, though, burned with undisguised rage.

It was at that moment that Nat reappeared, his laptop in his hand, the man who had been sent to fetch him following several paces behind. Nat hesitated at the hole in the wall, but Jarod waved him on, and he moved to join them.

Raines’ furious gaze, Shannon saw, now swung between the two of them, and she saw the sweepers getting a firmer grip on him. It was then, for the first time, that she noticed the shackles around his wrists and ankles, with a chain joining them. That made her feel marginally safer. At least, even if he broke free, he wouldn’t be able to strike her.

Nat took a moment to recover from his first sight of Peter, and Shannon wondered if he had been told what she had said to Charles about it. But he stepped into the room, and Jarod and Shannon followed.

“Somewhere in this room,” Nat surmised, after carefully looking around “there will be a computer plug. When we plug a computer in to it, we’ll be able to access the information. I’d guess it’s on an independent system from the mainframe.”

It took some searching, but they finally found it, hidden behind the only machine on casters, so that it could be rolled forward. The cable hung out of the wall, and Nat plugged in his laptop. The first screen showed a password cue, and Nat, after a sideways look at Raines, put in eight letters. The screen turned blue, and he was in.

Shannon turned away, edging towards the bed, looking down at Peter’s face. The bruises under his eyes were as black as she remembered them, and the scars just as bright. She couldn’t see any new ones.

“You can touch him,” Nat said softly. “Go ahead, Prodge.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then she inched towards the bed. She stopped only a hair’s breadth from it, her fingers mere inches from Peter’s shaved head and the beads that were attached to wires, which ran to one of the machines. Then she allowed herself to make contact.

His skin was cool, almost cold. She touched the backs of her fingers to his cheek and slid them down to his jaw, remembering the night they had shared together, when his response to that had been to turn his head and kiss her fingers. But now he remained motionless, his eyes still closed, the dark lashes vanishing into the bruises. Stubble could just be felt under the tips of her fingers on his cheeks.

She wanted to tear off the knobs, but she could see the glue that attached them to his head, and guessed that to do so might tear out hair by the roots and cause him pain, which was something she couldn’t bear to think about. Tears filled her eyes and gradually escaped, sliding down her cheeks to drip onto Peter’s face. She wiped them away, letting her index finger lightly touch his lips, feeling that they were dry and cracked.

A sudden sense of urgency pulsed through her, a desire to look into his eyes and to know that he saw her, and she moved her hand to his arm, shaking him and making the bed creak.

“Shannon?” Jarod's hand lightly touched her shoulder. “He’s not going to wake up, honey,” he went on in a soft voice. “Not until we make up a drug that will reverse the one they’ve given him.”

She looked up at her brother, tears once more blurring her vision. “Then do it,” she begged. “Please.”

“We will,” he promised. “But we can’t do it right now. We need to know more about what was being done to him first.”

He had turned her away from the bed, his hands on her shoulders, and suddenly she clung to his arms, drawing herself closer to him. His arms slid around her back, holding her against him, her face pressed against his chest.

“We’ll do everything we can,” he vowed softly. “I promise you that.”

“You won’t be able to do anything,” a mocking voice said suddenly, and Shannon whirled around, breaking out of Jarod's loving hold, to physically face Raines for the first time.

A memory suddenly assailed her. Some time before she had met Peter, another person had been brought in to work with her: Michael. He had been new to the Centre, and had taken umbrage at a criticism Raines directed at him. Michael had spat at Raines. Raines had beaten Michael until he was unconscious, and only stopped kicking and punching him when Michael was a bloody mass on the floor, whereupon sweepers had dragged him away. Shannon had never seen Michael again, and Nat had found records that suggested Raines’ beating had killed him.

She took a step closer and spat into Raines’ face, a lump of spittle landing on the bald ghoul’s cheek and slowly sliding down to eventually drop to the floor. Raines stared at her for a second that felt like an hour, the fury building up in his eyes. But before he could even attempt to let fly, from Shannon’s left, a fist slammed into Raines’ temple, knocking him cold. His body slumped soundlessly to the floor.

Shannon turned to find Nat beside her, his eyes glowing with anger in a way she had never seen before, his right hand still clenched into a fist. As the sweepers picked up the unconscious man, in much the same way that Michael had been dragged from the room so many years earlier, Nat gently slid his arm around her shoulders, tightening it in a hug.

“We will do it,” he promised. “If only to prove to ourselves – and him – that we can.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

It was late, and the moon was shining in through the window of Jarod's office at the Centre, but its new occupant was still sitting at the desk, his eyes on the pages in front of him, trying to solve the problem of Peter.

“There has got to be a way,” he groaned, turning the chair to face the ocean.

“You can’t always get it right, Jarod,” a voice stated from the doorway. “Sometimes there isn’t an answer.”

Jarod froze for an instant, before turning the chair back to face the main part of the office. A lamp that stood on a table just inside the doorway illuminated the intruder.

“Sydney,” he sighed, the word hissing from between clenched teeth. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I’m unemployed,” the psychiatrist remarked. “I was told to request a new job.”

“I’ll find something for you,” Jarod said brusquely. “As soon as possible.”

“I’m in no hurry.”

“Would you prefer retirement?”

“Not in the sense that Mr. Parker or Raines used to use it,” the older man replied, remaining in the doorway. “The permanent sense.”

Jarod pulled a notepad towards him, scribbling the name ‘Sydney’ under a long list of things that would need attention in the morning.

“Was there anything else?” the Pretender asked sharply, when Sydney made no move to leave.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” came the blunt response. Then, after a long pause, Jarod looked up. “Did you really know, Sydney? The truth, I mean. The truth about the sims, my parents – everything.”

“The sims?” Sydney said thoughtfully, taking a step into the room. “Nothing of their final use. I believed the positive spin they put on them when they were delivered to me. I had nothing to do with them later being manipulated and your results inverted, which I’ve found out since.”

Jarod weighed up whether or not to believe his former teacher, but eventually the long years of trust that had built up over their acquaintance won out and he nodded.

“Your parents?” Sydney went on. “No. I saw no reason to doubt what I was told – that they died on the way to coming to see you.”

“And in your experience,” Jarod replied, with just a hint of sarcasm, “how many other subjects had their parents come to visit?”

“How many asked?” Sydney answered at once, moving further into the room. “Not many. None in my experience.”

A long pause stretched out between the two men; a pause that Sydney finally broke.

“Have you found all your family?”

“Almost, as far as we know. Not Kyle, yet.”

“Kyle was released in 1972.”

“Kyle was put into SL-27 in 1972,” Jarod shot back. “Raines allowed him to start working outside the Centre in 1983. Kyle managed to elude the sweepers that were supposed to be keeping an eye on him. He stalked a woman named Harriet Tashman, believing that she knew the location of our parents, and finally kidnapped her on the third of June that year. She drove the car into a tree in an effort to escape. He was arrested and sent to prison. We’re trying to get permission to visit him.”

Sydney's eyes widened. “I’m surprised Raines trained Kyle for use outside the Centre. I thought he would have seen that Kyle wouldn’t have been controllable out there.”

“Just like I wouldn’t have been, I guess,” Jarod returned wryly.

“Mr. Parker wouldn’t hear of you working outside of the Centre,” Sydney told him. “I tried frequently to let you work outside, but he refused to even entertain the idea. Of course, the real reason had to do with the scrolls. Any subject given permission to work outside the Centre had to get it from the Triumvirate, and he didn’t want to tell them anything about you.”

“Did they give permission for the experiments Raines did on me last October, while you were over in Europe?”

Sydney stared at him in obvious confusion. “What experiments? You weren’t even working with Raines then. As far as I knew, you were working under a man named Mr. Lyle at that time.”

“Oh, Raines was there, too,” Jarod said bitterly. “They were doing cryogenic freezing experiments: an attempt to put a body into stasis and revive it. They’re still trying to keep death away,” he added, his eyes falling on one of the sheets about Peter that still littered his desk. “They’re trying it on a project down in SL-25. The father of my sister’s baby, in fact.”

Sydney's expression was no longer shock; it was now pure horror. “Stasis?” he murmured. “I did hear something about stasis experiments earlier this year. Around February, I think.”

“That was when Peter was dragged in,” Jarod replied.

They had found the report of the person at the front desk that morning and discovered that Peter had walked so sedately into the Centre because a gun had been pointing into his ribs the whole time.

“Raines is keeping him one stage away from death with some drug, and he’s being monitored to see how the body will react over time. I suppose the idea,” Jarod sneered, “was that, if it turned out to be successful, Raines and Mr. Parker could be put into it until a cure for whatever was going to kill them could be found.”

“Is that the problem?” Sydney asked softly, nodding at the pages on the desk. “A problem with the process of reviving him?”

Jarod nodded, forgetting the anger he’d felt towards Sydney since his rescue and remembering only the many small kindnesses that had brought light into his otherwise dark life for so long. He pushed the papers over the desk and waved at a chair.

“Putting him into stasis was the easy part,” he said as Sydney picked up the pages and looked at the notes. “Getting him out alive will be the difficult one.”

*~*~*~*~*

Shannon

When Shannon awoke the next morning, it took a moment to remember. After the attack on Raines, she had numbly listened to Jarod and Nat discussing the transfer of information onto the mainframe and had followed them back up to Jarod's office. Then, while the two men worked at the initial stages of accessing the information, she had wandered to the office in which Carrie still slept.

The sight of her baby had driven home to her just what had happened in that room, and what had happened to the father of her child.

Cici had come in before she became fully hysterical, and had eventually been forced to give her a sedative injection to calm her down. Shannon had woken some hours later, and had been more able to deal with it, perhaps because the drug still seemed to numb her emotions.

Now, however, as she saw the sun streaming in through the office window, she could feel the raw pain that seemed to cut so deeply. But she couldn’t let herself be destroyed by it. That would be giving in to everything Raines had wanted to do to her; that would be letting him win.

Raising herself on her elbows, she looked around. A mattress had been put into the corner of the room, and it was on this that she lay. Jarod sat in an armchair in the corner, Carrie in his arms. As she moved, he rose and came over, lowering himself to the floor and sliding his free arm around her shoulders, supporting her into a sitting position and then gently laying Carrie in her arms.

Now that the sedative drug had cleared from her system, she could feed Carrie again, and the girl was clearly hungry for her breakfast. It seemed easier to do that than ask Jarod what he had found, so, for a moment, she tried to pretend that everything was normal and concentrated fully on the task at hand.

But it finally ended, and Jarod took Carrie back, placing her in a bassinette that he moved to the bedside. Shannon reached out to touch the girl’s foot and then looked up at her brother.

“Have you found anything?”

She could see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed hard, but she felt only cold dread in the pit of her stomach at what she feared would come.

“We’ve found a way to reverse the drug that put him into that state,” Jarod said, in a voice so soft that it was barely above a whisper.

The deep sorrow in his eyes prevented her from feeling the exhilaration that should have followed this statement.

“Wh… what is it?” she stammered. “Please, Jarod. Tell me.”

Jarod swallowed again, obviously finding it difficult to speak. “Shannon, when Peter was put into that state, he was close to death. When we reverse the drug, we won’t be able to keep him alive for longer than about an hour. His injuries are just too severe. If we tried to operate, he would die on the table.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, feeling as if something in the depths of her heart was very slowly tearing in two.

“No,” she whispered almost noiselessly.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”

His eyes were sparkling with sympathetic tears, but she found herself suddenly unable to cry.

“When?”



“Whenever you want,” Jarod replied. “He’s not suffering now, and we’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer when we revive him, if we do.”

“Will I… be able to see him?”

“Yes, of course.” He stroked her hair. “That’s why we’re going to do it, Shannon. So that you have a chance to be together, so that you can show him his daughter, and so you get a last chance to say things to him that you need to, to get closure.”

“Today?”

“If that’s when you want it.”

She nodded, feeling as if she still didn’t fully understand the situation, or as if she was somehow distanced from it all. But then something burned into her soul and she sat upright, staring at Jarod in a mixture of horror and devastation.

“So… whenever I ask you to do it… I’ll kill him!”

He quickly gathered her into his arms again, rocking her as the tears flowed. “No, Shannon, no. It won’t be you. Raines is the one to blame for all this – the only one. You mustn’t – you absolutely mustn’t – feel guilty at all about this. You’re an innocent player, like we all are.”

Carrie, perhaps feeling the distress in the room, began to cry, and Shannon reacted immediately, pulling herself away from Jarod's hold and reaching out to her child. Jarod lifted the baby out of the bassinette and placed her in Shannon’s arms, and the act of holding her seemed to calm the worst of the emotions that had been exposed by what she had learned.

“No, my baby,” the now-familiar voice of her mother whispered inside her, as she rocked her child. “No guilt. You have nothing to feel guilty about, I promise you that.”

*~*~*~*~*

Jarod

The Venetian blinds on the windows of the infirmary room were tilted at an angle so that those inside couldn’t be distracted by movement outside, but that the anxious party in the hallway could keep an eye on those within.

Those who had known Peter had spent a brief time in the room with him to say goodbye, and now the last few minutes were left for the woman who had given him the love and the child he had so desperately wanted.

Out in the hallway, nobody spoke. Even Kyle, who found the emotional nature of the scene so difficult to understand, was refraining from comment. The previous day, he had been released into the supposed custody of the Centre, but really that of his parents, after the necessary papers had been forged and Sydney had provided the required psychiatric assessment.

Jarod watched Peter lift his hand to touch his baby daughter’s face. The movement was so visibly difficult that it was obvious the end was approaching. Peter moved the hand from Carrie’s face to Shannon’s, and Shannon reached up to hold it against her cheek, kissing the backs of his fingers.

Something about the moment seemed too personal and Jarod turned away. Maybe he could help his sister better later if he kept himself detached from all this. He could never hope to understand what she felt for the man she was slowly losing. The best he could do, as his mother had told him the previous evening when they were preparing to bring Peter out of stasis, was to be there when she needed to talk and just listen. He had considered that piece of advice during the long hours of preparation and felt that it was correct.

Joshua was standing some distance away from the others, and Jarod went over to him, holding him while the boy wept. While Shannon had become such a major figure in Josh’s life, Peter had been not one whit behind in his support, and Joshua was now bitterly regretting the defiance and rebellion that had played such a big part in his early adaptation to the outside world.

Everyone turned as Shannon came out of the room, her baby in her arms. Through the window, Jarod could see that Peter’s eyes were closed and his complexion was already taking on a gray, hue, his lips also quickly losing color. The group gathered around Shannon, Joshua fighting his way through to be closest.

She placed a hand gently on Josh’s shoulder and looked up, a single tear sliding slowly down her cheek.

“Please,” she said, in a voice that was barely a whisper, “let’s go home.”


The End