Disclaimer: Jarod, Miss Parker, et al. are the property of Steven Long Mitchell, Craig W. Van Sickle, MTM Entertainment, NBC, the actors, writers, and all other persons known or unknown with a legal claim on the characters. All characters unique to this story are the property of R. Franke. This is a story of fan fiction, written for the purpose of personal satisfaction and the enjoyment of others, and monetary or other compensation is neither expected nor desired. Copyright 1999 by R. Franke. Permission is given to archive this story, provided it is archived without alteration, including this disclaimer and copyright notice, and the author is contacted at



LAVENDER
Part I
by R. Franke






"For somebody who is supposed to be a genius, that was a pretty boneheaded move," Miss Parker snapped.

"It was a legal warrant," Jarod replied hotly.

"Oh right," she snorted. "And when the judge wanted to question Detective Jarod Peel, where was he? Nowhere to be found. Throw out the warrant, throw out the evidence collected with it, and the State’s Attorney drops the case due to lack of evidence. Now Lyle’s on his guard, on the warpath, and it’s going to be ten times harder for us to find something to pin the bastard on!"

"If you had done what I asked you to-"

"And if something had gone wrong we would have been left twisting in the wind while you got away clean," Miss Parker interrupted. "You had no right to put Sydney and Broots in that kind of danger."

"Put them in-" Jarod gaped. "Do you think for one minute I would’ve put any of you into to anything I couldn’t get you out of?"

Miss Parker sighed and leaned back against the wall. "And every one of your Pretends has turned out exactly as you planned it?"

Jarod slumped against the wall beside her. "The odds were good."

"Not good enough," she replied. "My people, my decision."

Jarod raised an eyebrow. "Your people, your decision? How positively feudal of you, Miss Parker."

Miss Parker smiled. "Yeah. Mess with me and I’ll get medieval on your ass."

Jarod chuckled. After a moment he asked, "Lavender, Miss Parker? That’s not your usual scent."

"I decided to make a few changes in my life," she replied.

"Is one of those changes getting out of the Centre?"

"Damn it, Jarod, we’ve been through this. I’m not leaving until I find some definite answers."

"And what good will your definite answers do you if you’re lying in the ground beside your mother?"

Miss Parker turned her head and glared at him. "Don’t you dare bring my mother into this."

Jarod sighed. "All right. Between the two of us, we’ve got Broots and Sydney buried so deep God himself can’t be sure if they were involved or not. You, on the other hand, are a lot more exposed."

"I can handle it, Jarod. I’m not one of your damsels-in-distress-du jour."

"I never said you were," Jarod replied evenly, twisting around to stand in front of Miss Parker. He braced himself against the wall as he tried to convince her. "But you’re not indestructible either. Damn it, Parker, if you won’t let me protect you, at least- Shit!" Jarod’s head snapped around and his eyes narrowed.

"Wai-" Miss Parker’s reply was lost as Jarod’s fist slammed into her abdomen. She doubled over from the pain, and her world exploded into darkness from the second blow to the back of her head.





"Well, it’s about time you woke up, sleepyhead," a voice chirped. "Sydney and I were starting to worry."

"Brigitte." Miss Parker groaned as she tried to sit up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Don’t try to get up, Parker," Sydney counseled, gently but firmly pressing her back down on the bed. "You could have a concussion."

"Jarod," she hissed, her eyes narrowing in anger.

"That’s right, luv," Brigitte smirked. "The Tower has a few questions about your little tete-a-tete down on SL-25. Samuel, assist Miss Parker."

"Thank you, Sam," she replied, subtly emphasizing the sweeper’s preferred name, "but I can manage on my own."

"Yes, Miss Parker," he murmured, not moving from his position beside the window.

She swung her legs out of the bed and stood, swaying slightly as the darkness threatened to close over her again. "Shoes?" she croaked, fighting back the nausea rising in her throat.

"They don’t seem to have made it up here," Brigitte replied solicitously. "I’m sure the Tower would be willing to wait until somebody fetches you a new pair."

"I’ll manage," Miss Parker stated dryly. She strode barefoot to the door. "Are you coming?" she threw back over her shoulder as she opened the door and walked out.

"Sam, with me," Brigitte growled as she scurried after Miss Parker.

"Wish to hell she’d’ve stayed AWOL," Sam muttered as he followed, just loud enough for Sydney to hear.





"We find it very difficult to believe that you have no idea what Jarod wanted on SL-25, Miss Parker," a baritone voice rumbled ominously. "Why would he risk capture for no reason?"

Miss Parker sighed as she shifted her weight onto her right leg, hoping to ease the cramp forming in her left calf. Her head still swimming, she replied calmly, "Again sir, I don’t know what reasons, if any, Jarod had for-"

"It’s obvious what happened," a woman’s smoky alto voice interrupted waspishly. "Miss Parker is our leak. She and Jarod were meeting to pass information when he spotted the camera and struck her to make it appear that she had come upon him unexpectedly."

"And why would she do that?" asked a mild tenor voice. "What on earth would she have to gain?"

"She and Jarod are lovers," the alto stated. "And they’re planning to take over the Centre."

Miss Parker laughed. "I’m sorry." She waved a hand in apology to the three shadowy figures at the head of the T-Board. "I must have misheard you."

"You did have a relationship with Jarod when you were children," commented the tenor.

"When we were children," repeated Miss Parker. "It’s been a long time since we were children. As for lovers," she indicated the scene of Jarod hitting her, frozen on a monitor off to the side, "Do you really think that Jarod could do that to somebody he cared about? Or that I would allow somebody to do that to me?" She shook her head. "Even if I did have any feelings for Jarod, that would have ended them. As it is, it just gives me a more personal reason to catch him."

The three shadowy figures conferred for a moment. "Then why was Jarod in the archives, Miss Parker?" the baritone asked again.





"Seventeen-and-a-half hours," she answered her ringing telephone, "of good cop/bad cop, standing on a tile floor, in my bare feet, with a concussion."

"I’m sorry," Jarod replied. "We should have had at least another ten minutes. I did the only thing I could think of to keep you safe."

"I got your package," she answered, her voice still cold. "What do you want for it?"

"Nothing," Jarod said miserably. "It’s yours."

"Was there anything else?"

"That’s all I was able to find."

"Good. Don’t call me again unless you find more information I can use," Miss Parker snarled as she hung up.





"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Hello, Daddy," Miss Parker replied. "I’m still a little sore, and the room spins if I turn my head too fast, but otherwise I’m just peachy. Thank you for asking."

Mr. Parker sighed. "I deserved that. But, Angel, I do worry about you, even if I’m not very good at expressing it." He settled into the chair in front of his daughter’s desk. "Meeting up with Jarod, alone, in the Centre was not the smartest move you could have made. Especially after what he tried to do to your brother."

Miss Parker rubbed her stomach. "Believe me, that wasn’t what I expected," she replied dryly.

"Then why were you down there?"

Miss Parker closed the file on her desk and handed it to her father. "Simulation 56-91"

Mr. Parker opened the folder and scanned its contents. "Ah, yes. One of Jarod’s more spectacular failures. The Company was not happy about the way the Oversight Committee raked them over the coals. But," he continued, "shouldn’t this be down in the archives? Nobody should need this information."

"Nobody should need simulations 76-91, 07-91, 47-91, 36-91, 34-91, or 24-91," she replied, pointing to the stack of folders on her desk. "But somebody has been looking at them."

"Jarod?"

"Apparently so," Miss Parker answered. "I knew somebody had been looking through the old Sim files, I just didn’t expect it to be Jarod. And I don’t think he expected me."

"Have you figured out why Jarod wanted those Sim files? Any commonality?"

"Except for the fact they were all done in 1991, not that I’ve found."

"Well, keep looking, Angel." Mr. Parker stood. "Raines asked for a meeting, I suppose I had better see what he’s up to."

"And how is His Holiness these days?" she asked, standing and walking around the desk to accompany her father out of her office.

Mr. Parker rolled his eyes in reply. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Angel, I want you to do two things for me. Figure out what Jarod’s up to, and watch your back."

"I will," Miss Parker promised, leaning forward to kiss her father on the cheek. "Don’t worry."

Miss Parker closed the door behind her father and turned back to her desk. She noticed one of the screws on the vent in the wall extended out from the grille approximately one quarter of an inch. She sat down at her desk and began going over the Sim files again, tapping her pen on her coffee cup in a seemingly aimless pattern. When she left for the night, all the screws were flush with the grille.





"Damn it Broots, how the hell could you have made such a stupid mistake?" Miss Parker snapped.

"I-I’m sorry," Broots stuttered.

"It did seem logical, Parker," Sydney commented mildly.

"Idiots," she muttered to no one in particular and stalked off.

Mr. Cox raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of Dale Carnegie, Miss Parker?" he asked her retreating figure. He turned to Sydney. "We need to get back to the Centre."

Sydney nodded and walked after her. He came around the corner of the building to see her taking a large swig from a bottle of antacid. "Parker-"

"Can it, Syd," she snarled. "I’ve got it under control."

"I sincerely hope you do, Miss Parker," Mr. Cox came around the corner, Broots in tow. "Despite my reservations, the Triumvirate still considers you to be more of an asset than a liability, and they do like to keep their assets well maintained."

"Listen Norman Bates," she paused, and her shoulders slumped. "I’ve already made an appointment with my gastroenterologist. 9 am, Monday morning."

Mr. Cox smiled. "Excellent."





"Broots, have you seen Miss Parker?"

"Huh? Oh, Sydney. She left, said after this debacle she was going to get an early start on the weekend."

"That’s not like our Miss Parker," Sydney said thoughtfully.

"Her ulcer must be bothering her even worse than we thought."





"You know I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry."

"Jarod." Miss Parker sighed. "Chief Therman decided to run a surprise inspection. He didn’t tell anyone."

"I’m still sorry," Jarod replied. "I should have had a plan for that possibility."

"Yes, you should-" Miss Parker paused as a sound came faintly through the telephone. "Where are you, Jarod?"

"Now that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it, Miss Parker?" Jarod answered smugly.

"You know what would be fun? You telling- Oh!" Miss Parker gasped in pain, dropping the receiver. Jarod’s voice came from its tiny speaker, frantically calling her name. "It’s my ulcer," she snapped. "You’ve started it acting up again." She slammed the receiver down and stood up, heading for her bookcase.





Jarod stared at his cell phone in shock. "Hey, Jarod," a voice floated down from above him. "Get your ass moving." Pocketing his cell phone, Jarod grabbed his ditty bag off the piling and ran up the gangplank.





"One long, three short," she muttered to herself, thumbing through the book. "Where is it? One long, three-aha!" she crowed in triumph. She picked up her telephone and dialed. "Broots," she barked as soon as the receiver on the other end was picked up, "Jarod’s on some kind of a ship. Have something for me by the time I get in tomorrow."





"Good morning, Broots."

"M-Mr. Lyle," Broots stammered. "Y-you, you’re back."

"Yes," Lyle smiled. "And so happy to be back in the loving bosom of the Centre. Speaking of which, has my dear, sweet sister come in yet?"

"Uh, no. Not yet. I think she had a doctor’s appointment this morning. For her ulcer."

"It’s acting up again? No wonder she’s been cranky. Well, when she makes it in, tell her I’d like to see her, please." Lyle nodded politely and walked off.

"Oh God," breathed Broots as soon as Lyle was out of sight. He picked up his telephone and dialed. "Please, please answer, Miss Parker."





"Y’know, I hate it when they’re young and pretty," the attendant said as he opened the morgue drawer. "One less beautiful woman who’ll never know the supreme sexual ecstasy of being with the master."

"And who would that be?" asked his partner as they placed the body in the drawer. "’Cause I sure as hell ain’t looking at him. Not if what Stacy up in pediatrics says is true."

"Fuck you. And fuck her too," the first attendant replied, shutting the drawer. "C’mon, it’s almost quitting time." The two left, turning off the lights and locking the door behind them.

Angelo waited for over an hour, until he was sure nobody would be returning. Then he crawled out of his hiding place and went over to the morgue’s computer. After it had booted up he slipped a disk into the drive and typed furiously for a few minutes, then printed out the results. He shut off the computer and placed the printout in a file he placed in the medical examiner’s out box. Having done that, he walked over and opened the drawer. There was one last thing he had to do. "Cracker Jacks," he whispered, looking down at the still form.





Jarod smiled as he walked down the gangplank, nodding politely to the police officer stationed on the pier. Behind him, he could hear the voice of the detective reciting "…have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford…" The detective’s voice faded out as Jarod walked away, his sea bag slung over his shoulder.

After a brief detour to pick up the Haliburton Jarod entered the hotel room he had rented at the start of this pretend. He had been out of contact with the world for three days, and he needed an update on his pursuers. If all had gone well, they were still chasing their own tails, looking in every little port up and down the East Coast. Too bad I’m in Seattle he mused as he booted up the computer.

"You have, two, new messages," the computer announced. One from CJ, and one from Refuge. Curious, Jarod clicked on the one from CJ. Very bad, it said. See me. Very bad. He clicked on the one from Refuge. Call me immediately that one said. Worried, he picked up his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

"I got your message. What happened?"

"Jarod." Sydney paused. "I’ve tried to think of an easy way to tell you this, but I can’t." He took a deep breath. "Jarod, Miss Parker died sometime Sunday night."

Jarod sat on the bed, his legs suddenly too rubbery to hold him up. "How?" he croaked.

"Her ulcer," Sydney replied. "The service that cuts her lawn found her on Monday. The boy doing the edging around the house happened to look in the window and saw her lying on the floor."

"When is the funeral?"

"Tomorrow. She’ll be buried next to her mother."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Sydney." Jarod hung up and stared blindly at the wall as a single tear rolled down his cheek.





"I have to be sure," Lyle whispered to Brigitte. "Anybody?"

Brigitte looked around. "We’re clear."

Lyle quickly unbuttoned Miss Parker’s blouse and folded it back. His shoulders slumped as he saw the Y-incision from the autopsy, and the heavy staples holding her flesh together. With a sigh, he rebuttoned her blouse and smoothed it flat. "I can’t believe she’s gone."

Brigitte smiled ruefully. "Her ulcer. Her Goddamn ulcer." She frowned, then reached into the casket and pulled out a box of Cracker Jacks.

"We are going to have to do something about that freak," Lyle growled.





"Are you serious?"

"Perfectly, Mr. ah, Lyle." The lawyer cleared his throat nervously. "Your sister’s will is quite specific. It leaves the bulk of her estate, including all shares of Centre stock, to Deborah Broots, to be administered by her father, until Miss Broots twenty-second birthday."

"I can’t believe my daughter would cut off her own family like this," Mr. Parker complained.

"You may of course challenge the will," the lawyer continued. "But I must warn you that the courts are very reluctant to overturn the final wishes of the deceased without a clear and compelling reason."

"Thank you, counselor," Mr. Parker replied has he stood. "We’ll be in touch."

"Which judge do we need to guide it to?" Lyle whispered to his father as they left the lawyer’s office.

"We don’t," Mr. Parker replied shortly. "Years ago, your sister proposed adding a probate judge to the Centre’s payroll. It was decided that those resources could be better used elsewhere."





"Mr. Broots, your daughter is now a very wealthy young woman. She needs protection."

"Sir, you really don’t have to do this. Debbie-"

"Is now a target for every nutcase who thinks he can get rich by kidnapping a wealthy child." Mr. Parker paused to briefly rub his chin. "It never works of course. The FBI is very good at that sort of thing."

"I still don’t-" Broots began.

"Of course," Mr. Parker continued, "while the apprehension rate is nearly one hundred percent, the statistics on the return of the child safe and sound are significantly lower."

"L-lower?" stammered Broots. "H-how much lower?"

"I don’t recall exactly," Mr. Parker replied.

"I’m just worried about how all this will affect Debbie."

"She’ll be fine." Mr. Parker dismissed Broots’ concern with a wave of his hand. "My daughter grew up in the same situation, and look how wonderfully she turned out."

"All right, Mr. Parker," Broots conceded. "But there is one thing I will insist on," he continued, his voice firming. "I want final approval on all members of the protective detail. If I don’t like anybody, for any reason, out he goes."

"Of course, Mr. Broots," Mr. Parker replied in a faintly injured tone. "I expected nothing less."





"Doctor-" Lyle began, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"Look, Mr. Lyle," the doctor spoke quickly. "They’ve assured me if I take an early retirement they’ll drop the investigation and allow me to keep my pension. If I don’t, who knows how far the investigation could go? Besides which," he added bitterly, "I’m sure it won’t be that difficult for you to find another M.E. you can work with."

"All right," Lyle replied, mollified. "It’s just an annoyance, not a problem. And don’t think your retirement ends our association completely."

"I’m not that lucky."





"Because she what, Sam?" asked Mr. Parker, calmly pacing behind the sweeper. Sam stood at rigid attention, his eyes fixed forward. A droplet of spittle dried on his cheek, sprayed there moments earlier by a ranting Mr. Parker. "Because she what?" he asked again, his voice hard. "And who is she?"

"Miss Parker, sir," answered Sam.

"My daughter?" Mr. Parker’s eyebrows rose. "Explain," he growled.

"She ordered me to take care of Miss Broots, sir. She never rescinded that order, sir."

"She can’t rescind that order now."

"Yes sir. I know that, sir."

Mr. Parker walked around Sam and sat at his desk. "Inform Mr. Broots that I have appointed you as head of his daughter’s protective detail, pending his approval."

"Yes sir." Sam turned on his heel and left.

"How do you do it?" Mr. Parker asked the pictures on his desk. They were the only things of his daughter’s he had taken. "How do you command their loyalty so thoroughly?" His wife smiled back at him, their baby daughter held securely in her arms.





"I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here," Jarod said, placing a rose on Miss Parker’s grave. "It took me a while to convince them that I had already been here and therefore stationing a sweeper here was just a waste of time and money. Angelo gave me this," he continued after a moment, pulling at the chain around his neck. Miss Parker’s square silver ring dangled from the end of it. "Said you told him to give this to me." He idly traced the name and dates on her tombstone with his finger, smiling ruefully. "Even now, they still won’t give you your name back." He let his hand drop to his side. "Oh God, I am so sorry. I should have been there. I could have done… something," he trailed off miserably as the tears welled up in his eyes. Jarod bowed his head and wept as great wracking sobs of grief shook his whole body.




End Part I





Comments and opinions are appreciated.

Legal disclaimer and distribution notice in Part One

Copyright 1999 by R. Franke




LAVENDER
Part II
by R. Franke








Eighteen months later:

"Wakey, wakey, luv."

Jarod’s eyes snapped open as he felt the handcuffs close over his wrists. Brigitte and Lyle stood beside his bed, backed up by half-a-dozen sweepers, all with their guns out and leveled at him. "Well, well," Jarod said. "If it isn’t my two most favorite people in the whole wide world. Who told you where to find me?"

"Maybe we just outthought you," Brigitte smirked.

Jarod snorted in derision. "You?"

"CJ told us," Lyle replied, hauling Jarod out of bed by the chain of the cuffs.

Brigitte leered. "I just knew you were a boxer man."

"I like the freedom," Jarod replied as a sweeper fastened shackles on his ankles and ran a chain from the ankle restraints to the handcuffs. "How are the twins?"

"How the hell should I know? I pay some mouthbreather to take care of the brats and worry about things like that."

"Ah, the joys of motherhood."

"Let’s go." Lyle led Jarod out of the building to the waiting black Lincoln, recoiling as he opened the rear door. "Christ, Sydney, can’t you get the freak to control itself any better than that?"

"It was a long trip," Sydney replied calmly.

"Well get it cleaned up," Lyle snapped, motioning them out of the limousine.

Sydney stepped out of the Town Car first, avoiding Jarod’s eyes. "Angelo," breathed Jarod. He barely recognized his friend in the scrawny, trembling figure that emerged hesitantly from the car. "Lyle," he ground out, "what have you done to him?"

Angelo ducked his head, trying to shrink into himself further. "J-jarod. S-s-sorry."

"It’s all right, Angelo," Sydney soothed, shooting a glare at Lyle. "It’s not your fault."

"Angelo, and Sydney, have both learned the value of cooperation," Lyle said as Sydney led Angelo into the building. "Something you’ll learn as well," he continued, shoving Jarod into the car. Jarod looked levelly at Lyle, then spit directly in his face. "Lesson one," Lyle replied, calmly wiping his face and taking a shock stick from one of the sweepers, "is the importance of etiquette."

Jarod’s muscles spasmed in agony as Lyle jammed the shock stick into his side. The last thing he heard before blacking out was Brigitte commenting mildly, "The Triumvirate would prefer him alive."





"Stay there, Angelo," Sydney ordered. Angelo crouched unmoving under the stinging spray of the shower. "Just, stay there," he repeated sadly. He went over and began rummaging through Jarod’s bag, pulling out a T-shirt for Angelo. He was looking for a pair of pants when his fingers brushed against something hard. Curious, he dug deeper and pulled out a small notebook. His eyebrows rose as he read the first page. "Catherine’s diary," he whispered to himself. He thought for a moment, then slipped the diary into the waistband of his pants, letting it rest against the small of his back. A quick check in the mirror revealed no telltale bulges under his jacket.

As soon as Sydney turned away and began going through Jarod’s bag, Angelo reached out and took Miss Parker’s silver ring from the edge of the bathroom sink. He left the chain beside Jarod’s shaving kit.

There is a technique, known to escape artists, where the performer partially swallows a small object, such as a key, and then regurgitates it at need. The performer can breathe, and talk normally, but not eat or drink. By the time Sydney turned back around with a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, Angelo was once again crouched unmoving as the water flowed over him.





"Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha," taunted Miss Parker.

"Y-you, you cheated," replied Jarod, outraged.

"I did not," Miss Parker replied hotly. "You take that back."

"No."

"Children," interrupted Sydney. The two whirled on him, both loudly defending their actions. Sydney held up his hands and waited. The two subsided, still shooting glares at each other. "Jarod, Miss Parker did not cheat."

"See?" Miss Parker smirked.

Jarod crossed his arms, a look of mulish obstinacy on his face. "But you didn’t play fair."

"I didn’t cheat, that means I won fairly. Right, Sydney?"

"No, I’m afraid it doesn’t, Miss Parker."

"What?" they asked simultaneously. "How can she not win fairly, but not cheat either?" Jarod continued.

"How did she win. And why?" Sydney asked. "Both of you."

"Miss Parker actually won against Jarod?" asked Broots.

Sydney started. "Broots, I didn’t hear you come in." He switched off the DSA player. "Not often. And not with anything approaching consistency. Nevertheless, she did win. Why do you think she was put on the hunt for Jarod?"

"Well, her test scores in that file we found were pretty high. And she did spend a lot of time with Jarod."

"That’s not what convinced the Tower." Sydney pointed to the DSA player. "That did. Miss Parker is the only individual who has ever beaten Jarod one-on-one."

"How?" asked Broots. "It seems like Jarod pretty much led us around by the nose."

"She changed the game."

"Huh?"

Sydney smiled. "Have you ever heard what to do when you can’t win against your computer at chess?"

"No," replied Broots.

"Challenge it to a kickboxing match."

Broots chuckled. "That’s pretty-Oh, I get it. She couldn’t win playing Jarod’s game, so she did something else instead."

"Yes, basically. I tried to encourage her to do it again, but she either wasn’t able to or wasn’t willing." He sighed. "And in the end it is Lyle who captures Jarod."

"Speaking of which," Broots asked, "did you have any luck? Can we see him?"

"No," Sydney replied. "He’ll ‘take it under advisement’. Merde. He has been ‘taking it under advisement’ for the past two weeks. What he really means is that he will ask Lyle or Brigitte and they will say no. Again."

"Seems like Miss Parker’s death really took a lot out of him."

Sydney sighed again. "He’s let himself become a figurehead."

"Yeah," Broots agreed. "But what happens to us," he continued nervously, "when Brigitte and Lyle decide they no longer need a figurehead?"

"Enemies," Angelo said. "Enemies coming."

Broots and Sydney both stared at Angelo, who sat up on the couch he had been resting on. "What enemies?" asked Sydney. "Angelo, what enemies?"

"E-enemies of us?" Broots stuttered.

Angelo shook his head. "Lyle enemies. Lyle enemies coming. Need allies."

"They want us as allies?" Sydney asked.

"Enemies coming," Angelo repeated. "Lyle fall. Tower fall. Centre as should be."

"What do they need?" asked Broots.

Angelo stood up, his spine erect instead of its usual hunch. "Broots," he snapped, obviously repeating the tone and body language of whoever had instructed him, "setup purge all Jarod data, all Miss Parker data, all Angelo data. Mainframe, backup, everything. Keep off-line copy. Run 10 days 0930. Sydney, what three steps redemption?"

"Well," Sydney began. "In Catholic doctrine-"

Angelo nodded. "Good."

Sydney raised an eyebrow. "In Catholic doctrine," he repeated, "the three steps to redemption are confession, absolution, and restitution."

"Good," said Angelo. "Remember. Both go stockholder meeting. And no say Jarod. Whatever happens. Make Jarod safe. Make Jarod free." With that, Angelo lay back down on the couch and curled up into a fetal ball, his back to the room.

"God, Sydney, I didn’t know Angelo could do that."

"Neither did I," Sydney replied, a slight frown on his face. "And there’s something familiar about the way he acted. Someone I should know."

"Someone we can trust?"

"I think," Sydney paused. "Yes. For now."



Jarod raised his head groggily. He had been put in a small cage, too short for him to stand up in and too small for him to lie down. It hung from the ceiling on a large chain, and was completely illuminated by high-powered floodlights. "What are you so dressed up for?"

Lyle smiled, fastidiously tugging at his cuffs. "Shareholders meeting, nothing to concern you. Unless of course you’re prepared to tell me where the DSA’s are?"

"Go to hell."

Still smiling, Lyle reached out and pulled the cage toward him. He released it, imparting a viscous spin as he let go. He turned and walked out of the room, flipping a switch on the wall as he went. His smile grew wider as he heard the retching sounds from inside the room as Jarod’s already abused senses proved unable to handle the spinning, swinging cage and the suddenly strobing lights.





"This is unusual," rumbled Mutumbo. "Observe the Centre’s shareholders meeting, but do not interfere," he quoted.

"Indeed," commented the Director. "Between the two of us, I find this directive rather disturbing."

Mutumbo leaned back. "In what way, Madame Director?"

"Until recently the Centre was our top moneymaker in the North American division," she began. Mutumbo nodded in reply. "Since Jarod’s escape, and his subsequent predation on Centre funds," the Director continued, "the Centre’s financial status has worsened considerably. Add to that the costs of concealing Lyle’s," she paused for a moment, "extracurricular activities, and Mrs. Parker’s insistence on maximum revenge for every slight visited upon her, however minor, and we find that in fact the Tower has been subsidizing the Centre for the past two years." She paused again, and took a deep breath. "I intend to recommend to the Triumvirate that we sever our ties to the Centre. Will I have your support in this matter, Auditor Mutumbo?"

"That may not be advisable at this time," replied Mutumbo. "Mr. Parker has been a valued ally of the Triumvirate for many years now."

"Has been," repeated the Director. "Not is, has been. Lyle runs the Centre now, no matter whom is officially in charge. And he is nowhere near as successful as Parker was."

"Lyle’s accession to power has indeed been, disappointing," answered Mutumbo. "In the normal course of events I would support you. However, there are certain elements you may not be aware of. First, between Scotland Yard, the Surete, and the Questura, Tower Europe has had to cut back operations to avoid notice. Secondly, Tower Central Asia is having to walk a very fine line between the various mujahidin and the Obshina factions. Third, certain elements in the Yakuza and the Triads have begun to oppose us, slowing the planned expansion of Tower East Asia. To be blunt, Madame Director, the last thing the Triumvirate needs right now is any more difficulty from Tower North America."





"Goddamnit!" Security Chief Therman yelled as he shut off the strobing lights. "Didn’t either of you assholes read the fucking memo? He should have been on SL-27 an hour ago!" Jarod stared dully as Therman held up a pair of handcuffs and a tranquilizer gun. "Easy or hard? I don’t give a damn which."

Jarod thought for a moment. His equilibrium was still seriously disturbed from the lights and the spinning cage. "Give them here." Therman tossed Jarod the handcuffs. Jarod put them on and waited patiently while the two sweepers removed him from the cage and strapped him to a gurney.

"Get him out of here," Therman ordered. "And you two better hope to hell Mrs. Parker doesn’t find out about this."

Jarod smiled. "You missed it too, didn’t you?"





"Young man," the elderly woman stated, "I am a stockholder in this company. This company is holding it’s annual stockholder’s meeting, open by law to all stockholders. You will not prevent me from attending this meeting."

"Ma’am, I-" the guard began.

"Of course he won’t," Raines spoke from across the reception area. "William Raines." He walked across the room and guided her past the nonplussed guard. "It’s just so rare that any of our stockholders want to attend these dreary meetings."

"Esther Thaumassiere," she replied, allowing him to guide her. "To be perfectly truthful, I normally don’t come to these sorts of things, but I’ve heard some disturbing rumors about this company. Rumors that say this company has been, and still is, involved in illegal experimentation on human subjects. Even children. I do hope you can disprove these vile rumors, Mr. Raines."

"I assure you, madam, we hold ourselves to the highest of ethical standards here at the Centre," Raines replied as they walked through the door.

"Just what the hell was that?" asked Brigitte as she watched the two walk away.

"A shareholder," Lyle answered. "Before the Tower, and the Triumvirate, entered the picture," he explained to her enquiring look, "shares of Centre stock were briefly traded on the New York Stock Exchange." He shrugged. "The Centre needed money. The Triumvirate provides that now."

"The Centre is a privately held corporation now," Brigitte stated. "Why is she here?"

"The shares involved aren’t a big enough percentage to worry about. Normally we just send them their dividend checks and they’re happy."

"It sounds like somebody isn’t happy."

"She probably owns less than one percent of the Centre," Lyle replied airily. "Besides, what harm can one old lady do?"





"Thank you for your consideration, gentlemen," Jarod said, rubbing his wrists. The two sweepers shot him identical glares and left the room, locking the door behind them. "Is everything going as planned?" he asked, removing the ventilation grille and placing it on the floor. Inside the vent, Angelo grinned in reply, then wriggled backwards. Jarod followed, replacing the grille and the two sets of bars in the ducts as he went.





"Is everything ready?" murmured Sydney.

"Yes," replied Broots, equally softly. "The purge will start in approximately seven minutes."

"I checked my paper files this morning," Sydney commented. "Some files had been removed."

"Jarod’s file?"

Sydney nodded in confirmation. "Angelo’s as well. And Parker’s file had been altered."

"Sounds like they have more allies here than just us and Angelo," Broots replied.

"Yes it does, doesn’t it?" Sydney stood for a moment, lost in thought. "I wish I could figure out who was behind this." He gave a little shake. "We will find out soon enough. Come along, Broots. We don’t want to be late for the meeting."

"I don’t like this, Sydney," Broots said as they walked down the corridor. "I keep wondering what will happen to me if I vote the wrong way."

"Leaving Debbie’s shares to be administered by an Chancery Court judge?" replied Sydney. "After all, with your wife-"

"Ex-wife."

"Pardon, your ex-wife specifically barred from having any control of Debbie’s inheritance, I think the Centre would prefer the devil they-" Sydney stopped as he saw the two sweepers guarding the door to the conference room.

"Why aren’t you with Debbie?" Broots asked.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Broots," Sam replied, "but I’ve been pulled off of Debbie’s protection detail. Orders from the Tower."

"Now I really don’t like this," Broots muttered as the other sweeper opened the door for them.

"Sydney, Mr. Broots," Mr. Parker greeted them as they entered the room. "We were about to start without you."

Sydney looked around the room. He had expected the presence of Lyle, Brigitte, and Raines. Even the presence of Mutumbo, seated in a chair off to the side, was not a surprise. What did surprise him was the presence of half-a-dozen elderly persons also seated around the conference table. "Mr. Parker?"

"I’m afraid some of our stockholders have been listening to some disturbing rumors," Mr. Parker replied. "They’re here to make sure Centre operations are completely ethical and aboveboard."

"Of course," Sydney murmured as he and Broots took their seats.

The door opened again. "Madame Director," murmured Mr. Parker. She nodded in return as she settled into the chair beside Mutumbo.





"Was that really her?" asked the stunned receptionist, eyeing the still closing inner doors of the Centre.

"Yeah," replied the equally stunned sweeper assigned to guard duty. "Oh yeah, that’s her." He shook his head. "This job just gets weirder and weirder."

"She was right," the receptionist said, removing her headset. "All communications are offline, both internal and external."

"I think maybe we’d better take the rest of her advice too," responded the sweeper. He motioned towards the vehicles pulling up in front of the Centre. "They do tend to get nasty if they think you’re obstructing them," he commented, stashing his weapon in one of the potted plants along the wall.



"That concludes all old business," Mr. Parker stated. "Is there any new business?" He looked around the room. "The Chair recognizes Mrs. Thaumassiere."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I move for a vote of no confidence in Mr. Parker as Chairman of the Centre."

"Second," an elderly gentleman in a checkered sport coat spoke into the sudden silence.





"Just in time for the good part," Jarod murmured as they settled into the vent overlooking the conference room. The long, narrow vent above and behind the Chairman’s seat offered them an excellent view of the meeting. Angelo grinned in reply and offered Jarod some of his Cracker Jacks.





"Hello, Sam, it’s good to see you again." Sam just stared at her, a stunned look on his face. "Nicole, right?" she asked the other sweeper. "I need the two of you to come with me. She stepped between them and opened the conference room door. "Hello, Daddy."



End Part II





Comments and opinions are appreciated

Legal disclaimer and distribution notice in Part 1

Copyright 2000 by R. Franke


Author’s Note: This is a repost to correct some problems with the original version.



LAVENDER
Part III
by R. Franke





"Hello, Daddy."

Mr. Parker gasped in shock. "Angel!"

"But you’re dead," screeched Brigitte, a horrified look on her face. "We saw your body. You’d been autopsied."

Miss Parker sat in the empty chair at the foot of the conference table. The two sweepers stood awkwardly behind her, just inside the doorway. "To quote Mark Twain, ‘reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.’ As for the rest, well, this is the Centre, and you can’t always believe what you see."

Lyle snapped his fingers. "Blowfish toxin."

"Lyle, I’m impressed." Miss Parker smiled. "Would you care to enlighten the others?"

"Witch doctors," Lyle explained through gritted teeth, "dose their victims with blowfish toxin, giving them the appearance of death. The victims are buried, then dug up again. They believe themselves to be zombies, under the control of the witch doctor. A derivative is used to sedate patients receiving transplants of major organs, such as a heart. It is difficult, even with modern instruments, to detect that the patient is still alive."

"And," Sydney broke in, a smile on his face, "it smells remarkably similar to lavender."

"Yes, it does," Miss Parker replied. "Point of order, Mr. Chairman. A motion has been made and seconded."

"That hardly-" Mr. Parker began.

"Made and seconded, Mr. Chairman," she repeated firmly. "And a motion of no confidence requires a roll call vote."

Mr. Parker nodded. "Very well. Each shareholder has the number of votes equivalent to the number of shares of Centre stock they control. A yes vote is to approve the motion of no confidence in my performance as Centre Chairman, and calls for my immediate removal. Brigitte?"

"One hundred votes. No," she replied.

"Lyle?"

"One hundred and forty-seven shares. No."

"Mrs. Thaumassiere?"

"Ten votes. Yes."

"Raines?"

"Eight hundred sixty-nine shares. No."

"Mr. Frymark?"

"One vote. Yes."

"Mr. Wagenfueher?"

"Three votes. Yes."

"Sydney?" Sydney sat in silence, studying Miss Parker. She raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"Sydney?" repeated Mr. Parker. "Your vote?"

"Eleven hundred forty-two votes. Yes," he said, still watching Miss Parker. Her shoulders may have slumped a fraction in relief, but her expression did not change.

"Mrs. Meehan?" continued Mr. Parker.

"Two votes. Yes."

"Mr. Broots?"

"Nine hundre-"

"No," Miss Parker interrupted. She tossed an official looking document onto the conference table. "This is a summary judgement from the Delaware Court of Chancery declaring my death certificate to have been issued in error. My Centre shares are still mine, unless you’d care to protest, Broots?"

"Uh, no, no, not at all," Broots replied.

Miss Parker smiled thinly. "I didn’t think so. Oh, and Broots, you do still have your six shares from the employee bonus plan." She turned to Sam and Nicole. "Sam you have five, Nicole, one." She turned back to Broots. "We’re waiting."

"Oh. Um. Six votes. Yes." Broots said. "God, I hope yes," he muttered.

"And you, Mrs. Dahle?" Mr. Parker continued.

"Seven votes. Yes."

"Mr. Wothke?"

"Four votes. Yes."

"Miss Wallace?"

"Six votes, yes."

Mr. Parker paused. "Angel?" His voice may have held a faintly pleading note.

"Nine hundred twelve shares. Yes" she replied firmly.

Mr. Parker looked past his daughter. "Sam?"

The sweeper moved away from the door to stand behind Miss Parker. " Five votes. Yes."

"Nicole?"

Nicole hesitated.

"This disloyalty," Brigitte glared at Sam, "will be punished."

"Loyalty," he replied, "flows downwards as well as upwards."

"Yes," stated Nicole, moving to stand next to Sam. "I hope you’re right, jarhead," she muttered sotto voce.

"Trust me, squid," he murmured in reply. "She’ll take care of us."

"The Chair votes no, both as an individual with seven hundred and fifty-eight votes and as controller of the remaining six hundred and twenty-four employee shareholders proxy votes. The motion is defeated, two thousand, four hundred ninety-eight votes to two thousand and ninety-nine. Lyle?"

Lyle and Brigitte shared a smile of triumph as Miss Parker’s allies slumped in defeat. "Emotions seem to be running a little high right now," Lyle said. "Why don’t we knock off for now and come back say, this time tomorrow? Move to adjourn."

"Second," called Brigitte.

"Christ, Parker, what were you thinking?" Jarod muttered as he eeled backwards into a large open area where several ducts intersected. "I knew I should have updated the plan as soon as I suspected she was still alive," he told Angelo. "First, I need you to-"

"No," Angelo shook his head. "Miss Parker say Jarod no rescue. Just watch. Has plan. No Lyle. No Tower. Jarod free. Angelo help." With that Angelo tu rned and scuttled off down another duct.

"Well, Miss Parker, I hope you know what you’re doing," Jarod muttered as he headed back to his observation point. "Screw this up and we’re all dead."

"Point of order, Mr. Chairman," Miss Parker said calmly. "Under Article VII, Section 12, Paragraph iv, subsection c of the Centre’s bylaws, as amended, in the event of a roll call vote all proxy votes are to be considered as automatic abstentions, unless accompanied by a signed, notarized statement of intent for that particular vote. You may wish to reconsider your count."

"The motion," Mr. Parker paused, and swallowed heavily, "The motion," he began again, "carries, on a vote of two thousand and ninety-nine to one thousand, eight hundred seventy-four, with six hundred and twenty-four abstentions." Lyle and Brigitte looked at him in shock. "As my last act as Chairman, I open the floor to nominations for my successor."

"I nominate Miss Parker," Broots said.

"Second," Mrs. Thaumassiere replied firmly.

"I nominate Lyle," Brigitte called.

Miss Parker raised an enquiring eyebrow at her brother. "Are you sure you want to do this? You haven’t exactly made friends with the rank and file."

Lyle snorted. "It seems your death has affected your mind, Parker. It doesn’t matter if they like me or not, so long as they respect me."

"Friends was a poor choice of words," Miss Parker admitted. "You’re right, it doesn’t matter if you’re liked or not, so long as you’re respected." She smiled slightly. "But the thing is, brother dear, they don’t respect you. They fear you. And given a choice between the Chairman’s legitimate daughter and his bastard son, who do you think they’ll pick?" She paused, then added, "Unless of course you would care to explain the real story publicly? It makes no difference to me."

Lyle looked at Miss Parker, and at the sweepers flanking her like guards beside a throne. "Withdraw the nomination," he ordered.

"Withdraw? Are you insane?" protested Brigitte.

"Withdraw it!" he snapped.

Brigitte whirled. "Madame Director-"

"This is an internal Centre matter," the Director interrupted. "It is not in the best interests of the Tower to interfere at this time."

"I must respectfully disagree, Madame Director," Mutumbo said. "Miss Parker’s accession to the Chairmanship is most definitely not in the best interests of the Triumvirate."

"Your protest is noted," the Director replied evenly. "My decision, however, stands."

"A decision of this magnitude can only be decided by the Triumvirate itself," Mutumbo rumbled. "As their representative I-"

"You overstep yourself, Auditor," the Director snapped. She paused and took a deep breath. "As Director of North American operations the decision is mine. You may file a protest with the Triumvirate if you wish."

"I intend to," replied Mutumbo.

The Director turned towards Mr. Parker. "Tower North America will accept Miss Parker as Chairman of the Centre, subject to the approval of the Triumvirate."

Mr. Parker nodded in reply. "Are there any other nominations?" he asked. "Seeing none, all those in favor of my daughter as Chairman? Opposed?" Mr. Parker stood, and with grave courtesy offered the Chairman’s seat to his daughter. "Angel?"

"Thank you," Miss Parker replied, settling into the chair. "And Daddy?" she continued softly as he turned away, "I’m sorry I had to do things this way." Mr. Parker’s only reply was a brief, one-sided smile as he sat in an empty chair. "There is a motion for adjournment before this body," Miss Parker spoke. "All those in favor? Opposed? We are adjourned until 10 am tomorrow
morning."

"You may have won this round, Parker," Lyle murmured under the noise of the others preparing to leave, "but the Triumvirate will remember who was finally able to bring in Jarod. Don’t get too comfortable."

"Thank you for reminding me. Angelo!" called Miss Parker. Angelo opened the door and walked in. "Mr. Lyle requires an explanation."

"Miss Parker say lead Lyle to Jarod, but make Lyle think it Lyle’s plan." He glanced nervously at the door. "Find Jarod for Lyle when Miss Parker s ay find Jarod." He glanced again at the door. "Have to go. Now." He left the conference room, practically running out the door.

"Game, set, and match, brother dear." She turned to Mutumbo. "You’ve seen how the Centre fared under Lyle. All I’m asking the Triumvirate for is an equal chance. Give me two years, and I guarantee the Centre will be making a profit again."

"I must admit I am intrigued, Miss Parker," Mutumbo replied. "The question is, what do you plan to do about Jarod?"

"The entire plan for recovering Jarod was flawed from the outset. Jarod has been out in the world for too long. We can’t stuff the genie back in the bottle." Miss Parker paused, and took a deep breath. "Instead, I intend to hire him."

Sydney was the first to find his voice. "Parker, are you insane? Jarod would never agree-"

"Not for my father," interrupted Miss Parker, "and not for Lyle, or for Raines. But for you, me, and Broots? He might consider it."

"It has," rasped Raines, "possibilities." He spread his hands at Miss Parker’s astonished look. "I am, a practical man, Madame Chairman."

"And I," Miss Parker smiled slightly, "hate suck-ups."

The door to the conference room burst open, and a group of armed figures swarmed in. "Federal Agents! Everybody on the floor! Hands where I can see them! On the floor! Now!" Almost everyone in the room obeyed, overwhelmed by the suddenness of the assault. The two sweepers were careful to keep their hands well away from their bodies as they were searched for weapons. "All clear," an agent called as the last person was frisked.

Mrs. Thaumassiere and the others stood in a tight group by the door. "I am sorry, my dear," she said to Miss Parker. "But after you visited I received another visit from a nice young man named Jarod. He explained to me exactly what the Centre was. I spoke with the others and we decided to take what we knew to the proper authorities." The others nodded in confirmation.

"Goddamn it," Miss Parker ground out, rising to her knees. "I swear-"

"Just give me an excuse, bitch," an agent snarled, putting the barrel of her weapon against Parker’s temple.

"Kassebaum!" barked a man standing in the doorway. "Back off."

"Parker, please," begged Sydney. Miss Parker lay back down on the floor as Agent Kassebaum stepped away, still keeping her weapon trained on Miss Parker. Miss Parker slowly looked Kassebaum up and down, her expression murderous.

"I am Assistant Director Garrigan," the man in the doorway spoke again. "And it is my distinct pleasure to inform you that you are all under arrest."

"On what grounds?" challenged Lyle.

"Robert Bowman," said Garrigan, "alias Robert Lyle, and various and sundry other aliases. For now, you are under arrest for murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, extortion, fraud, unlawful flight to avoid prosecution, bribery, barratry, and tax evasion. I’m sure we’ll find more once we do a little digging." He looked around. "Anybody else? No? Start cuffing them." He smiled. "Listen up. You, all of you, have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used…"

Jarod grasped Angelo by the shoulders. "Exactly how did Miss Parker come up with this plan?"

Angelo smiled. "We talk. Tell her your plan."

Jarod sighed in frustration. "Not everything I told you was accurate, Angelo."

Miss Parker had been placed next to her father in the paddy wagon. "Daddy," she asked, "tell me one thing. What were the twins?"

"I said, no talking," snapped the guard.

Mr. Parker looked levelly at him, then over at Brigitte and Lyle. He turned back to his daughter. "Redemption."





Comments and opinions are appreciated

Legal disclaimer and distribution notice in Part 1

Copyright 2000 by R. Franke




LAVENDER
Part IV
by R. Franke





"I see. Yes. Thank you very much." Jarod hung up the telephone as he and Angelo watched the paddy wagon pull away from the Centre. "I can’t believe she would make a mistake like…" Angelo looked at Jarod as his voice trailed off. "How would you describe Miss Parker, Angelo?"

"Bossy," Angelo replied.

Jarod smiled. "Yes, bossy. Also stubborn, arrogant, opinionated, vain, and hotheaded. But would you describe her as stupid?"

Angelo shook his head emphatically. "No."

"Neither would I," Jarod answered, his smile widening into a grin. "Neither would I."



"I appreciate your Excellency’s assistance in this matter," Mutumbo rumbled as the limousine pulled away from the Blue Cove police department. "My superiors will be most disturbed at this evidence of malfeasance in our subsidiary. I must return to the consulate and contact them."

"I fear that will not be possible," the ambassador replied, handing over the large envelope containing Mutumbo’s passport and other personnel effects. "On the recommendation of their Federal Bureau of Investigation, the American State Department has revoked your visa and declared you persona non grata."

Mutumbo was silent for a moment. "Will we be stopping by my hotel?"

"Your people have already been informed," the ambassador answered. "We will be met at Dulles International."

"Of course," Mutumbo murmured.



"Our apologies for the inconvenience, Mr. Broots," the desk sergeant said. "If you wish an officer will take you to your home."

"M-my car’s at the Centre. Do you think it would be possible for the officer to take me there instead?"

"Yes, but if I were you I wouldn’t try to go inside."

Broots grinned nervously. "The police department doesn’t have an opening for a computer expert, do they?"





Oh my daughter, will you hate me when you learn the truth? It seemed so simple, so elegant a solution to all mankind’s problems. Geniuses who could do anything, be anybody. We chafed at the shortsighted restrictions placed on us and in our arrogance, our hubris, decided we knew better.

And now Jacob is dead, Sydney has retreated into his work, and sweet, helpful Bill is now that monster Raines. I refuse to call him Bill any longer. Raines has killed Bill.

Then there is my husband. Who is he? The tender, loving husband and father? The exciting, passionate lover? Or the ruthless, cold-eyed manipulator he shows the Triumvirate? When we’re alone, does he take off his mask, or put one on?

And finally, me. Catherine Jamison-Parker. The Conscience of the Centre. Deceiver. Betrayer. Hypocrite. Coward. God will have to dig a tenth circle in Hell, just for me.



"Enter," Miss Parker called, closing her mother’s journal.

"This was left at the front desk for you, ma’am." Agent Kassebaum placed an envelope on Parker’s desk. "I’m afraid we had to open it."

"I understand." Parker tilted the envelope and her mother’s square silver ring slid out into her palm. There was nothing else in the envelope. "Did anyone see who delivered this?" she asked coolly.

"No, ma’am," Kassebaum replied. "It just appeared."

"Why am I not surprised? Thank you, Agent, that’ll be all." Kassebaum nodded and left. Miss Parker felt a hand come down on her right shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. She patted it without looking. "Thank you, my friend." Angelo smiled sadly.





"Jarod Darrow, I’m here as the good doctor’s advocate." Jarod stuck out his hand.

"US Attorney Jack Lisle." He stood and shook Jarod’s hand. "Special Agent Santori," he continued, indicating the other man standing against the wall. "Darrow?"

"A distant relation," Jarod explained as he shook the agent’s hand. "If you don’t mind gentlemen, I’d like some time alone with my client."

"Of course," Lisle replied.

"Don’t worry, counselor," the agent spoke as he walked over to the door. "The good doctor hasn’t told us anything, not even his last name."

Sydney waited until the two men had left the room. "Jarod, what are you doing?"

"Acting as your attorney," Jarod replied calmly. "The others will have to find who they can. The Centre’s in-house legal team is also under arrest."

"Jarod," Sydney spoke sternly. "Do you have any idea what the repercussions of this will be? What will happen if the Centre is shut down and everything it has done is revealed to the world? People will panic."

"I think you underestimate them," Jarod replied. "Oh, some will panic at first, but eventually they’ll calm down and everybody will go back to their normal lives. And anyhow, who said the Centre is being shut down?" Sydney stared at him, open-mouthed. "If you’re interested, Broots was released an hour ago. And Mutumbo has been deported. His plane should be taking off in about fifteen minutes or so." Jarod smiled. "I’d hate to be him when it lands."

Sydney closed his mouth with a snap. "And Parker?"

Jarod’s smile widened. "What do you think?"

Sydney smiled in return. "I don’t believe it." He started to chuckle. "I just don’t believe it," he repeated as his chuckle broke into slightly hysterical laughter. "You and Parker? Mon Dieu, Catherine was right." Sydney sat up and wiped his eyes. "She said you two would make a formidable team. I just never thought I’d see it."

Jarod’s eyebrows rose. "She did? When?"

Sydney gave Jarod a long, considering look. "Perhaps it is time. There were five of us at the start, Jacob and myself, Mr. Parker, Raines, and of course Catherine. She was still Catherine Jamison then," he added parenthetically. "Five people with grandiose dreams for saving the world and barely enough money between us to rent a cramped little office and hire a part-time
secretary. We decided to call it the Centre." Sydney chuckled. "Actually, it was, I think, Catherine who came up with that name. We had spent the night drinking cheap wine and cheaper beer, trying to come up with a name for our new company. The next morning, that was the only name any of us could remember. All of us were living on a dream, eating beans and rice and staying just a half step ahead of our creditors. Raines actually married our secretary. We used to tease them. We said the only reason he did it was so we could get more work out of her."

"Teasing? Raines? I’m surprised any of you survived."

"Oh, no, Bill gave as good as he got. You would have liked him." Sydney chuckled again, then grew pensive. "Things were good. Then a man came to visit us. He claimed to represent a group called the Triumvirate. They had heard of our little company, and thought it would be a good financial investment. We never thought to ask what they would want in return."





"You’ve let your hair grow. I like it."

Miss Parker smiled. "Jarod." Her smile faded. "I heard about Zoë. I’m sorry. I wish-"

"There was nothing you could have done," Jarod interrupted. "It wouldn’t have changed anything, and it would have only exposed you for no good reason." He smiled wryly. "Besides which, I noticed some of the false leads Lyle and company followed hadn’t been planted by either Angelo or I."

Parker smiled sadly back at him. "I did what I could," she replied. Jarod nodded in acknowledgement. "Still," she continued, "you were there for me when Tommy died."

Jarod gestured towards the journal on her desk. "Your mother’s diary. You’ve read it?"

"Yes," Parker answered, accepting the change of subject. "It was interesting reading."

"Interesting?" Jarod’s eyebrows rose. "That’s a rather more restrained reaction than I expected."

"Oh, when I first read it I flung it across the room and damned you to Hell for a lying bastard, among other things."

Jarod smiled. "I wondered why my ears were burning. And then?"

Parker smiled back. "And then I read it again." Parker sighed as she stood and ran her fingers through her hair. "When I thought my mother had committed suicide, I was angry. I felt she had betrayed me. Not only me, but herself as well." She gave a short, rueful, laugh. "Part of me danced for joy when I found out she’d really been murdered." She came around the desk and stood in front of him. "I loved my mother, Jarod, but St. Catherine of the Centre never seemed realistic to me. Never seemed human." Her fingertips lightly brushed the diary. "Dr. Catherine Jamison-Parker does. She made some mistakes, and some bad decisions. Terrible decisions."

"And regretted them," Jarod replied, taking Parker’s hands in his. "And tried to correct them."

"And paid for them." She gently disengaged her hands and handed Jarod a folded newspaper. "As I will have to pay for mine."

"Kyoto Crime Lord, 11 Others Dead in Gangland Style Execution," Jarod read. "Tommy Tanaka?"

"Yes." She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "Tommy and some of his associates saw how they were slowly losing power to Tower East Asia. Angelo got me some of the information you had squirreled away and I slipped some of it to him."

"You couldn’t have known this would happen, Parker."

"But I did." She smiled mirthlessly. "Oh, not this in particular. But I knew people would die, either Tommy’s people or Tower East Asia’s. I decided it was worth it if it would help distract the Triumvirate." She looked up at Jarod, and her eyes were bleak. "Who am I to decide how much people’s lives are worth in the grand scheme of things? To decide how many casualties are
acceptable losses?"

"And who am I to decide what is justice, and who should be punished?" Jarod answered, his eyes equally bleak. "We are who we were raised to be, the way the Centre designed us."

"You’ve read the files?"

"Yes. Angelo and I to analyze, and to judge, and to recommend the best course of action, Kyle, Lyle, and the rest to operate in the world, doing whatever had to be done-"

"And me to coordinate, and to organize, and to decide what is to be done and who should do it," Parker finished. "That still doesn’t answer my question, Jarod."

"I don’t think there is an answer," Jarod replied. "Unless you want somebody like Lyle running things."

Parker rolled her eyes. "Gee, wouldn’t that be nice." She hesitated, seeming almost afraid. "Jarod, I-" She stepped forward and caught him in a fierce embrace. "Thank you."

Jarod returned the embrace, equally fiercely. "I know," he murmured. "I know." They both stood, each quietly enjoying the other’s presence.

"So it appears the rumors were true."

Jarod and Parker sprang apart. "Cox," Parker spat out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Miss Parker, ma’am, I’m sorry," gasped the receptionist. "He just walked right on past me. I told him to stop."

"It’s all right, Karen," Jarod answered. "We’ll handle it from here." Miss Parker nodded sharply in confirmation. "I’d like to know why you’re here as well," Jarod continued as Karen slipped out of the room.

"You must be Jarod," Mr. Cox handed Miss Parker a business card. "I am merely here to offer the two of you my services.

Miss Parker raised her eyebrow. "The only reason you’re still free is that we couldn’t gather enough evidence for an indictment in time." Cox nodded in reply. "So why," Miss Parker continued, "offer us your ‘services’, as you so delicately put it?"

"When I came here," Cox answered, "I dismissed you as unimportant. You owed your position to Daddy, and your only relevance was as a tool against him. Now you have gained not only control of the Centre, but independence from the Triumvirate as well, something your father was never able, or willing, to do. You have imprisoned your rivals, eliminated Tower North America as a viable entity for years, if not decades, and thrown the Triumvirate into complete disarray. In my business, you stay alive by siding with the winner." He paused, and smiled slightly. "I pride myself on the accuracy of my analyses of who will rise and who will fall. I obviously missed an important piece of data in my analysis of you."

"Here’s another piece of data for you," Miss Parker replied, handing the business card back. "The Centre will no longer be needing your kind of services."

"There will always be a need for my kind of services," Cox replied, replacing the business card in his pocket. "When that time comes, my father will be able to get a message to me." He bowed slightly and opened the door. "May I say that the two of you make a formidable team. And a lovely couple." He smiled slightly and slipped out the door.



"Debbie, wait. I need to make a quick stop."

"Daddy, please," wheedled Debbie, "can’t it wait? I really, really, really have to see her."

"I’ll just be a moment," Broots replied as he stepped into the men’s room. Debbie rolled her eyes with a huge, put-upon sigh as she bounced impatiently on her toes.



Jarod and Parker looked away from each other. "What about Sydney?" she asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Lisle agreed to drop most of the charges in exchange for his testimony. He’ll have to do five to ten in a minimum security facility, and his medical license has been revoked."

"Better than I hoped. And the others?"

"Lisle made them similar offers. They all refused."

Parker’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "If there’s one thing the Centre is good at, it’s ensuring loyalty."

"Your father sent a message. ‘ Tell my daughter my redemption is now her responsibility. Tell her she must take care of them’?" he repeated questioningly.

Parker smiled slightly. "Follow me." She opened the door and walked out. "Karen, call Broots and tell him if he wants his job to- Karen?"

Jarod reached over and plucked the photograph from the receptionist’s unresisting hand. "I was just opening the mail," she said weakly as Parker’s cell phone rang. Jarod’s expression hardened as he scanned the picture. Wordlessly he handed it to Parker.

Her nostrils flared in anger when she saw it. Snatching the ringing cell phone from her belt, she barked, "What?" She listened for a bit, then snapped, "Let me tell you something you don’t know, Garrigan. Not only was the raid on Tower Europe a complete and utter balls-up, but I’ve got a photograph here showing the Centre’s European office. All the employees are in it, and every one of them is dead. Even the fucking janitor. Listen to me, Mr. Assistant Director of the FBI in Charge of Multi-National Criminal Investigations," she continued, her voice shaking with barely repressed fury. "I gave you and your Interpol cronies more information on the Triumvirate than you could gather in ten years. Hell, I practically handed you Tower North America and Tower Europe on a plate. The one thing, the only thing I asked was that you protect the Centre and its people. My people." She paused for a moment, listening. "You’re damned right there must have been a leak. Find it, while I try to keep the rest of my people alive." Parker closed the cell phone with a snap. She leaned forward on the desk, bracing herself on her outstretched hands. Her hair fell forward, covering her face.

"Parker?" Jarod asked, reaching out to grasp her arm. "Parker, look at me."

Parker’s head came up. "Call Corporate and call the computer boys. Tell them to eliminate anything and everything somebody could use to find out who works for the Centre. Payroll records, accounting, everything. I’ll deal with the IRS later. Call Security. Tell them to kick out everybody who’s not vital and send them home. They’re to stay low and try not to draw attention to themselves. If anybody wants to take a vacation, now would be an excellent time. After they’re gone, all Centre offices are in lockdown. No one in or out except on my direct order. The ones that have to stay, notify their families, tell them the same thing." Karen nodded and began dialing. Parker turned to Jarod. "I need your big brain Jarod, and I need it now. Are you with me?"



End Part 4

Legal Disclaimer and Distribution Notice in Part 1.

Copyright 2000 by R. Franke




LAVENDER
Part V
by R. Franke




"Are you with me?"

"Miss Parker!" Debbie rushed up and grabbed Parker in a crushing hug. "You’re alive!" She looked up at Parker, her eyes shining. "I knew you couldn’t’ve died. Not that way."

"And how am I supposed to die?" Parker asked dryly, her own eyes suspiciously bright.

"I dunno," Debbie replied. "Something heroic."

"Something heroic?" Jarod repeated. He and Broots shared an amused glance.

Parker pulled away slightly. "Debbie, I need to talk with your father. There are still some things I need to straighten out, and I need his help. But as soon as I’m done, you and I will take a day just for us. Okay?"

"Promise?"

Parker reached down and hooked Debbie’s pinkie finger with her own. "Promise."

"Okay," Debbie smiled and went over to investigate the painting on the far wall.

"Did you two morons want to say something?" Parker asked coolly. Both men shook their heads. "Good." She explained the situation to Broots in a few terse sentences. "So get Debbie to her godmother’s and get back here," she concluded.

"She’s out of town," Broots replied.

"Grandmother?"

"Ill."

"Damn. Anyone else?"

"Not that I’d trust for something like this."

"With twins," Angelo spoke from the doorway. "Father Moore."

Parker whirled. "Of course. He can protect her while he’s protecting them." She turned back to Broots. "Any problem with that?"

"Uh, no," Broots replied. "But how will we keep in touch with them?"

"We won’t," Parker snapped. "The less we know about where they are the better."

"Angelo and Father Moore will keep an eye on things, and contact us when they think it’s safe," Jarod explained. "If something does go wrong, well," he shrugged, "we can’t tell what we don’t know."

"Oh," Broots said. "Okay. Debbie? Could you come here please?"

"Things are bad, aren’t they?" Debbie asked solemnly.

"Not yet," Jarod replied. "And with your dad’s help, everything will be fine. But he needs, we all need, to know you’re safe."

"Father Moore was my mother’s confessor, and mine too, these past few years," Parker added. "I trust him. And I trust Angelo."

"Dad?"

"Be brave for me, pumpkin," Broots answered, kneeling down and giving Debbie a hug. "Listen to Father Moore, and help him take care of the twins."

"But Dad-" Debbie began.

"Debbie, please, I need you to do this for me."

"But Dad," Debbie repeated. "Who are the twins? And who is Angelo?"

Broots grinned. "Oh. Well, the twins are, um, they are-"

"They are my father’s children," Parker broke in. "He and," she paused for a moment, "his wife are both in jail right now, so I have to watch them. Angelo is a friend of ours. Angelo, come over here please."

Angelo sidled over to Parker and Debbie. "Hi," he offered, ducking his head shyly.

"Hi," Debbie returned, equally shyly. She glanced questioningly at Parker.

"Angelo was hurt when he was about your age," Parker replied. "He can’t talk very well, but he’s clever, and very sensitive to people’s feelings."

"Oh," Debbie said. "Is he going to take care of me, or am I supposed to take care of him?"

"Well honey, probably a little bit of both," Broots answered. "And you’ll both have to take care of the twins. They’re just babies."

"Oh, okay. I can do that," Debbie replied. Angelo leaned over and whispered in her ear. Debbie’s eyes grew wide. "Really?" she breathed, her eyes flicking to the vent on the wall. Angelo grinned and nodded in reply. "Love you Daddy," she said, flinging her arms around Broots’ neck and kissing him soundly. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will pumpkin," Broots replied. "Love you too. Now go with Angelo."

"Okay. Bye Miss Parker. Bye Jarod. Come on Angelo."

"Debbie safe," Angelo promised as he and Debbie left.

"Ahem," Broots coughed. "I can, I can tweak that program you gave me for inserting false records in the Centre’s database," he told Jarod. "Five minutes and it will start making up records and putting them in automatically."

Parker grinned wolfishly. "Do that, and let it run as long as possible. And when you’re done deleting the real records, start deleting the fa lse ones as well."

"Huh?" Broots asked. "Delete the- Oh, I get it. Even if they manage to recover something, they won’t know what’s real and what’s fake. I’m on it." He turned and dashed out the door.

"Karen, when you’re done here, shut everything down and go home," Parker ordered. Karen nodded in reply. "Don’t come back until I call you," Parker threw back over her shoulder as she strode back into her office. "Now, why aren’t you trying to take charge like you usually do?" she demanded as Jarod shut the door behind them.

"You haven’t done anything wrong yet," Jarod replied. He smiled at her outraged glare. "Truthfully," he continued, watching her open the floor safe, "as much as I dislike the Centre, I like the idea of the Triumvirate triumphant even less. Right now you’re my best bet to keep that from happening. And Centre personnel are much more likely to obey a Parker than- Are you crazy?" he yelled as she pulled a large black case from the safe and set it on the desk.

"In case you haven’t noticed the gloves are off," Parker snapped. "I’m going to need every advantage I can get."

"That thing sent five people to Renewal Wing," Jarod argued. "Or at least their bodies. God knows where their minds are. Damn it, Parker," he continued, grabbing her by the shoulders. "It’s too dangerous. We’ll think of something else."

Parker flung his hands off angrily. "Well if you’ve got any better ideas Wonderboy, I’d love to hear them." She laid her hand on Jarod’s chest and looked up into his eyes. "We’re the only two people in the world who could use this thing without months of training."

"Then I’ll use it."

"No, I need you to figure out what the Triumvirate is going to do next." Parker smiled sadly. "Besides which, you said it yourself. Centre pers onnel will obey a Parker. And if I can’t handle it, you’re the best one to protect the innocent and punish the guilty." She picked up the case. "Please Jarod, don’t fight me on this."







"Parker’s orders," Angelo said. The sweeper on guard nodded and opened the door to the nursery. "Twins asleep," he whispered after the sweeper had shut the door behind them.

Debbie peered at the two slumbering forms. "She looks like Miss Parker." Her eyes widened. "They’re clones, aren’t they? Clones of Miss Par ker and her brother."

Angelo nodded. "How did you know?"

"My father has nightmares sometimes. He talks in his sleep." She looked at the children again. "Is he going to turn out like Mr. Lyle?"

"Hope not," Angelo replied.







Agent Kassebaum intercepted them as they stepped off the elevator. "Miss Parker don’t do this. Let us handle the Triumvirate."

"Like you did in Europe?" Parker replied, striding past the agent. "Forgive me if I’m not exactly filled with confidence in the oh so wise and wonderful FBI."

"All right, damn it, we screwed up," Kassebaum answered, scurrying after Parker. "But you starting a private war with the Triumvirate is only going to make things worse."

"I don’t intend to start anything," Parker snapped. "But I will finish whatever they start."

Kassebaum looked at Jarod. "Can’t you-"

"Just stay out of the way, Agent," he replied.

"Why the hell should we do anything?" a voice called out as they entered the Control Room. "All you Parkers have ever done is use us, and you’re just going to do it again." Several other voices in the room called out in agreement.

Parker shoved the case at Jarod and let go. He barely caught it in time. She stalked forward and confronted the milling crowd of technicians and sweepers. "Who said that?" The men and women in the crowd shuffled their feet and subtly drew away from one of the technicians. "Was it you, Wentworth?" she demanded, her voice icy.

Wentworth drew himself up straighter. "Yes it was. We’ve all seen the news, we’ve read the papers. We know what the Centre has been up to. We were told we were helping people, making their lives better."

"Yeah, people with names like Parker," a woman called out of the crowd.

"Precisely," continued Wentworth. "Your father and his cronies used us to build their own power and increase their wealth, and to hell with anyone who got in the way."

"You’re right," Parker replied. "You were used." Wentworth stared at her, his mouth hanging open in shock. "And I will use every one of you if I have to." The crowd around her muttered angrily. "To save people. People with names like Carchrie." The woman who had called out earlier blushed. "Julia, how old is that boy of yours now?"

"Um, three," Julia replied.

"And when he asks ‘Mommy, are you are criminal?’ what are you going to tell him? And Charley, when your daughter asks, ‘Daddy, were you a fool?’ what are you going to tell her?" Parker looked around the room. "Yes, you were used. Your idealism was used, your professionalism was used, your honor was used. All in the service of a lie. I can’t change the past. But I can offer you a chance to reclaim it."

"How?" challenged Wentworth.

"By making the lie true. By making the Centre what it was always meant to be. A place of discovery and learning. A place any one of us can be proud to work." Parker leaned back against a console and casually crossed her arms. "Those of you who aren’t interested, or don’t feel up to the challenge can leave. You’ll still have your jobs when things settle down." She straightened,
and took a step toward her audience. "But for those of you who stay, when people ask you about the Centre, you’ll be able to say ‘Yes, it was a criminal organization, but I helped Miss Parker change all that.’ The Triumvirate and its allies are still out there," she continued, her voice somber. "They want to rule your lives by terror and intimidation, to have you always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the bullet in the dark, the knife slipped oh so casually between your ribs." She paused and pushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. "Many of the people who work here can’t do a thing to change that. They’re your colleagues, your friends, and all they can do is wait. And fear. And hope. But you can do more than that. You can protect
your friends and family, and end the threat from the Triumvirate forever." Her audience leaned forward, anxious to hear every word. "It won’t be easy, and I can’t guarantee that none of you will be hurt. But I can guarantee that when this is over, every last one of you be able to hold your heads high, and say with pride, ‘I work at the Centre’." She turned and looked at Wentworth. "What do you say, Wentworth? Are you with me?"

"Ah, hell Miss Parker," Wentworth grinned. "I reckon you and I can beat the Triumvirate our ownselves."

Parker grinned back as the audience laughed. "What are you all doing standing around like this?" she demanded. "We’ve got work to do." The sweepers and technicians all filed back to their jobs, chattering among themselves. Several stopped to shake hands with Miss Parker and assure her of their support. "Find Broots and get him up here," she ordered one of the sweepers. The man grinned and set off at a run.



"Cry God for Harry, England, and Saint George," Kassebaum quoted. "I minored in theatre," she explained to Jarod’s questioning look.

He smiled briefly in reply. "Let’s just hope she does as well against the Triumvirate as Henry did against the French."

"Broots, get in here," Parker ordered as the technician appeared in the doorway. "I need you to start this thing up." She took the case from Jarod and set it on top of a large computer, set off by itself to the side of the room. She opened the case and pulled out the equipment.

The headpiece consisted of one earphone that covered the user’s right ear, a microphone, and a clear plastic screen that sat directly in front of the wearer’s right eye. Three induction leads dangled off it and a thick cable ran from the headset to a rectangular black box that clipped onto the wearer’s belt. Another cable ran from the box to a skintight glove, studded with
sensors. A third cable, longer and thicker than the other two, ran from the box, ending in a heavy plug. Parker flipped open the cover and inserted the plug into its receptacle on the computer. She looked up to find everyone in the Control Room watching her. "Did I stutter?" she snapped.

Broots shook his head. "I’ve heard about that thing."

"We all have," Julia added. "And about how dangerous it is."

"I’m willing to risk it," Parker replied.

"What is it?" Kassebaum asked Jarod.

"It’s not a true brain-computer interface," Jarod answered. "But it’s pretty damn close." He smiled grimly. "The big question is, how much data can her brain process at once?"

"Jarod, can’t you…" Broots appealed, waving his hands helplessly.

"I’ve already tried, Mr. Broots," Jarod replied. He moved to position the induction leads at Parker’s temples and at the base of her skull as she put the headset on. Broots sighed and began booting up the computer.

Parker pulled the glove on and addressed the others. "If things go wrong, listen to Jarod. Follow his orders and he’ll keep you safe." She looked over at Broots. "Ready?" Broots nodded, then looked up as Jarod reached over his shoulder and poised his finger above the enter key. Parker’s eyes locked with Jarod’s. "Do it," she ordered. Jarod pressed the key.

Parker gave a start and staggered slightly. "Whoa." She smiled. "This isn’t so-" Her head snapped back as she screamed in agony.



End Part V




Comments? Opinions?

Disclaimer: Jarod, Miss Parker, et al. are the property of Steven Long Mitchell, Craig W. Van Sickle, MTM Entertainment, NBC, the actors, writers, and all other persons known or unknown with a legal claim on the characters. All characters unique to this story are the property of R. Franke. This is a story of fan fiction, written for the purpose of personal satisfaction and the enjoyment of others, and monetary or other compensation is neither expected nor desired.

Copyright 2000 by R. Franke

Permission is given to archive this story, provided it is archived without alteration, including this disclaimer and copyright notice, and the author is contacted at




LAVENDER
Part VI
by R. Franke





Lyle sat patiently until the guard had removed the handcuffs and left the room. "You’re not my regular attorney," he stated. "Who are you?

The elderly gentleman raised an eyebrow. "You’re right, I’m not you’re regular attorney. In fact, I’m not an attorney at all."

"Then who are you?" Lyle repeated. "And what do you want?"

"If you need a name Mr. Lyle, you may call me Caesar." He smiled as Lyle drew back in surprise. "And I have a proposition for you."







Jarod leapt to catch Parker’s collapsing form. "Shut it off!" he yelled at Broots.

"It’s not working!" the frantic tech yelled back.

"Then pull the damn plug," Jarod snarled, laying Parker on the floor and reaching for the headset.

"NO!" came from every speaker in the room. Parker’s hand came up, knocking Jarod’s hand away. "Kill" came from one speaker, "me" from another. Parker’s eyes opened and she focused on Jarod. "Stand," she croaked. "Help me. Stand."

"Parker, it’s too-"

"I have to, go through," she labored. "Control it. No other, choice."

"All right." Jarod lifted her until they both stood; or rather, he stood supporting her from behind, left arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders. Her head lolled back against his shoulder.

Parker moved her gloved arm. "Need arm free."

Jarod quickly snaked his right arm under hers and brought it diagonally across her torso. "Better?"

Parker’s lips gave a twitch that might have been a smile. Her left hand came up to rest on Jarod’s at her waist. "Be my, anchor. Hold me. Talk to me."

"Of course," Jarod murmured. He felt her hand squeeze his forearm as she lifted her gloved hand and began manipulating things only she could see. "You surprised me," he admitted. "I never even considered the possibility of you faking your own death." He chuckled ruefully. "You warned Lyle not underestimate you, you should have reminded me too." He felt her lightly slap his arm. "Anyhow, it wasn’t too long after that Zoë learned she was terminal."

Parker rolled her head so she could look at him. "Jarod-" Her hand tightened on his arm.

"I’m all right, Parker," he replied, hugging her to him. "It was a bad couple of months, but it seems like I had more help than I knew."

Parker smiled sadly. "Mostly Angelo."

"It wasn’t until later that I realized Angelo couldn’t have done some of the things I thought he did. I investigated further and I realized not only had someone else helped keep Lyle and company off my back, but that Angelo was actually helping them gather information on the Centre, including access to the information he’d gathered for me. I have to admit I felt a bit
insulted he was doing that for somebody else as well."

"Voco," said Parker. "Exaudit vocam meam. Amen."

"Voice recognition?" Jarod asked. Parker nodded briefly. "Do you want me to keep talking?" Another nod, and Parker began reciting tongue twisters in a low voice. "So I confronted him, and finally got him to admit that he was working for ‘her’. Once he said ‘her’ in that tone of voice, all the pieces fell into place. He told me when you wanted Lyle to capture me, so we made
sure the stage was properly set and voila!"

Parker grinned. "Between the three of us, they never stood a chance, did they?"

Jarod grinned back. "No, they didn’t."

"I’m going to try standing on my own now."

"All right." Jarod slowly and carefully let Parker go. She swayed slightly but remained upright. He watched as her spine straightened and she took on the unmistakable air of command.

"What will you need?" she asked.

"Every scrap of information your father collected on the Triumvirate," Jarod replied. "Even without that I can tell you their first attacks will be indirect, using legitimate agencies as smokescreens. Unrestricted access to you," he continued. "Full access to the mainframe. A large sturdy table. And a couple of sweepers answering only to me. I don’t know what else I may need as this thing goes on, and I don’t want to have to go through channels for every little thing."

"Channel 1 is general communications, channel 2 is restricted, just the two of us," Parker answered. "Julia and Charley are yours, everything that I managed to find is in the top drawer of the filing cabinet and Wentworth can move a terminal to that table over there," she ended, pointing to a large table on the far side of the room.

Jarod grinned wolfishly. "It’s a start. Julia, Charley," he called. "The first thing I want you to do…"

Parker turned to the other sweepers. "Congratulations Sam."

"Ma’am?" Sam asked as he stepped away from the others.

Parker smiled. "I need a new security chief, one I can trust. You’ve just been promoted." The two of them turned away from the others and Parker continued in a lower voice. "I doubt the Triumvirate has the resources left to mount a physical attack, but if I’m wrong I want sweepers with combat experience on guard. Leave about a dozen to run errands for me and the geek chorus here."

"Some of the techs have ECM experience," Sam answered. "Be helpful if I could pull some of them too."

"Hmm." Parker’s eye focused on the screen in front of it. "I need the ones with sigint and elint experience but," she paused as a sheet of paper came out of the printer closest to them, "I can give you these."

Sam glanced over the list. "I’ll make it work."

"Good. Coordinate with Kassebaum, get as much help as you can from her people and the locals without letting them know too much." She raised her voice slightly. "Broots, get over here."

Broots scurried over. "Yes Miss Parker?"

"Sam’s the new security chief, you’re the new head of the IT division." Parker gestured the two to lean in closer and lowered her voice. "We know the Triumvirate buried some moles in the Centre, but we couldn’t figure out how many or where they are. I need you both to keep an eye out, especially now. If you find anything, report it directly to me. Sam, we’re done." Sam nodded sharply and left. "Guess what Broots, you’re going to be on the front lines of a real live infowar. Be a hell of a lot different than reading about it on your lunch break."

"Miss Parker, I don’t know if I can-"

"You screw up, Broots," Parker growled, "And Debbie grows up fatherless."

Broots gulped. "What do I do?"

"Sit," she ordered. The monitor came alive as Broots sat. "I can find it, but I need you and your people running code."

"That’s you and Jarod in the FBI database."

"I know," Parker replied shortly. "The Triumvirate put it in there, take it out." She activated comm channel 2. "I’m sending you something from VICAP," she told Jarod.

"My, my, aren’t FNU Parker and Jarod LNU a couple of nasty characters," he chuckled. "I assume Broots can handle this?"

"Of course," she replied as Broots erased the data. "That’s what I need, Broots, and defenses against any attempts at hacking the Centre’s computers as well."

"So we’re just defending ourselves, right?" Broots asked. Parker raised her eyebrow. "I mean, if this really does turn into an infowar," he continued, "we’ve got some pretty awesome stuff, you know, offensive capability-wise that we might be able to something with."

"Show me," Parker ordered.







"Angelo? Where are you?"

"Father Moore." Angelo stood, holding one of the twins in his arms.

"Oh, thank Heaven," the elderly priest gasped. "When I got Parker’s message I-" He gave a start when Debbie emerged from the bushes, cradling the other baby.

"Debbie, Parker says protect," Angelo explained, placing the babies in the car. Debbie got in and began placing the babies in their car seats. "Listen to Father Moore." he said, turning away.

"Angelo!" Debbie called, her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

Angelo smiled slightly. "Not finished," he said, then turned and walked back into the woods.









Parker paced. She had kicked off her stiletto heels hours before. "I have got to get an extension
cord for this thing," she muttered as the interface cable grew taut. "Anything?"

Jarod looked up from the notes and files and other items he had piled on the table. More items
spilled from the boxes at his feet. "Too many possibilities. We have to wait for their next
attempt."

"Damn."

"Parker, sit down and stop pacing, save your energy for-" Jarod’s head snapped around as one
of the techs whooped in triumph.

"Tower Central Asia’s main server is down and out for at least a day," he crowed. The others
cheered.

Parker smiled. "All right people, settle down. We’ve still got five main servers and God knows
how many secondaries still on-line." She turned to Jarod. "Anything yet?"

Jarod shook his head. "Eliminated some possibilities, that’s it."

"Let’s see if I can force their hand."

"Parker," Jarod began warningly when every computer in the room froze.

"Holy-" breathed Parker. She shook herself and the computers came back to life.

"Parker, talk to us," demanded Jarod. "What was that?"

She looked over at Jarod. "I-I’ll tell you later," she replied, her eyes wide with fear.

"I’ve got something coming out of the Argentinean sub-server!" a tech yelled.







"Emily no, it’s too dangerous. What if she turns out to be just like her father?"

"Or maybe she’ll turn out to be just like her mother," Emily argued. "Catherine had her for the
first ten years of her life, and you know that’s when the basic personality is formed."

"Her father was around then, too," Margaret replied. "And he’s had years to counteract
Catherine’s influence. Look at what she did. She didn’t destroy the Centre, she took it over.
When she was a little girl that’s all he wanted her to do when she grew up. Catherine wanted to
destroy it."

"Only after she realized what the Centre had become, what her husband had become." Emily
ran her fingers through her hair and gave a frustrated sigh. "The only reason she tried to
destroy it was because she didn’t have enough power to change it. Miss Parker does. Now."

"And the power to make it even worse." Margaret replied flatly.

"If she wanted to do that, would she have done it this way?" Emily countered. "The Centre’s in
every newspaper in the country and half the ones in the rest of the world. There’s a Senate
subcommittee meeting next month to look into exactly how much influence the Tower has. If
she wanted to keep things as they are, would she have exposed all that?"

"Her father was a master at sleight-of-hand, of letting you see only what he wanted you to see."
Margaret shook her head. "This is still the Centre. Never trust what you see."

"So, what," Emily retorted. "We run, and hide, again? Damn it Mom, don’t you see, I’m tired of
this. I’ve spent my whole life running, and hiding, and wondering if the next person I meet is
going to be a Sweeper in disguise. I want to be able to live without looking over my shoulder all
the time. I want to go to a store, or to a restaurant, and be greeted by people who have known
me for years. I want a relationship that lasts longer than six months before I have to disappear
because somebody in a suit happens to drive a black limo through town. I want a normal life. Is
that too much to ask? Just a normal life."

Margaret shook her head. "It’s too risky."

"Well, maybe it’s time we started taking some risks," Emily argued. "Look, Jarod’s helping her,
right. That has to mean something. And," she took a deep breath, "while I’d like your support,
I’m prepared to do without it."

Margaret looked sharply at her daughter. "You’re serious, aren’t you?" Emily nodded. "I’m not
sure your brother’s emotions aren’t clouding his judgement."

"I didn’t plan to waltz right in and say ‘Hi, I’m Emily’. I’m going to try and find some way I can
observe them without them knowing about it."

"When you say ‘them’, do you mean Jarod as well?"

Emily smiled wryly. "You said it yourself. We can’t be sure his judgement isn’t affected."







"The main African server just went off-line," Broots announced. "We did it," he continued as the
room erupted in cheers. "I don’t believe it. We took out six servers with one."

"Believe it, Mr. Broots," Jarod replied. "Get ready to take her off-line," he added. "I know she
wants you doing it."

"Um, Jarod?" Broots asked as Jarod turned away. "Can I, can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"I saw the files, you know. The red files." Jarod nodded in reply. "Her file, it was marked
Ongoing."

"And?"

"The only other file marked Ongoing was yours. Everything else was marked Concluded
Satisfactory or Concluded Unsatisfactory."

"Your question, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, allowing a hint of impatience to creep into his tone.

"I mean, she’s not a Pretender," Broots said, "but what is she?"

Jarod smiled. "The Centre never came up with a name." He shrugged. "Call her a Leader. It’s as
good a term as any."

"If you two morons are done gossiping," Miss Parker called, "I could use a little help here."







Lyle sat patiently, allowing his seatmate’s chatter to wash over him as the prison transport
rolled through the low-lying countryside. His nose twitched at the stench of the chicken farms
to either side.

The driver saw the flashing lights in his rearview mirror and pulled over. The state police officer
got out of her cruiser and hurried up. "Thank God. I got to you in time," she gasped as the
driver leaned out of his window. "We just got word there’s going to be an ambush to free one of
the prisoners. We tried to let you know, but we couldn’t raise you on the radio."

"She’s right," the guard replied. "I’m not getting anything, not even static."

"Do you know where this ambush is supposed to take place?" the driver asked.

"Yes," the officer replied, raising her gun and shooting both men through head. "Right here."
She opened the sliding door of the van. "Mr. Lyle, if you would be so kind as to drive the van
into that barn over there?" Lyle nodded and held out his hands for her to remove the cuffs. "As
for the rest of you, there’s $500,000 each plus a chance at a new life in a country that doesn’t
have extradition if you cooperate."

The other prisoners looked at each other, and at the cooling corpses of the two guards. "Works
for me," one said. The others quickly chimed agreement. Lyle shoved the driver aside and drove
the van into the barn. The officer followed and motioned Lyle to shut the door behind them.
She went over to box by the wall, opened it and pulled out two AK-47 submachine guns. She
handed one to Lyle and they both turned and sprayed the van with bullets until their clips
were emptied.

"Asshole talked too much anyhow," Lyle remarked.

"Incendiaries under the floor," the officer replied as she tossed her gun on the floor and walked
out the door. Lyle quickly followed her out to a nondescript sedan parked outside. Looking back
as they drove off, Lyle could see the flames beginning to emerge from the sides of the barn.



Comments? Opinions?

Disclaimer and Distribution notice in Parts 1 and 6.

COPYRIGHT 2000 by R. Franke




LAVENDER
Part VII
by R. Franke




One month later

Jarod answered the ringing telephone. "Simulations-R-Us, how may I help you?"

He could hear Parker’s snort of amusement as she replied. "You’re not seriously going to name your company that, are you?"

Jarod smiled. "Worked for the giraffe, didn’t it?"

"Yeah, and he’s got a lot of high-priced lawyers who are going to want to talk to you," Parker said. "But that’s not why I’m calling. I’ve checked Centre records. It was Lyle in that barn."

Jarod shifted uneasily in his chair. "Maybe I’m being paranoid, but this is too easy. Why kill Lyle? And why haven’t we heard anything more from the Triumvirate?"

Parker sighed in frustration. "I’ve been asking myself the same questions. But there are no missing bodies, and I had Angelo make copies of everybody’s medical records before I came back, just in case my little trick gave anybody else ideas."

"That reminds me, where is he? I thought he’d come back when Debbie and the twins did."

"I thought," Parker answered slowly, "he was doing something for you."

"I haven’t asked him to do anything," Jarod replied.

"Debbie told me he left as soon as Father Moore came."

Jarod swore softly. "Any ideas?"

He could hear Parker’s muffled voice as she covered the mouthpiece of the telephone. "Ben, no. Put that down. I said, put it down now. I said now, young man." She uncovered the mouthpiece. "At this point, no. Are we still picking you up tomorrow?"

Jarod grinned. "Sounds like loads of fun at the Parker place. And yes, I will see you tomorrow," he added quickly as Parker growled impatiently. He hesitated. "Good luck with the kids," he added as he hung up.

Jarod picked up the letter on his desk. I believe a meeting between us could be to our mutual benefit. Board the Cape May-Lewes Ferry tonight. Tell no one, especially Miss Parker. Crassus. He tapped the letter against his teeth in contemplation, then grabbed his jacket and left.

***

"Mrs. Matheson?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

The woman at the door showed her identification. "I’d like to ask you a few questions about Delilah. And Samson."

***

Sydney stopped as the guard led him into the Visitor’s Room. "Caesar," he said flatly.

"Sydney," Caesar smiled. "That’s hardly the joyous greeting I’d hoped for, old friend."

***

Parker picked up her mother’s journal. The Bowmans do seem to be wonderful people, she read. Lyle Bowman especially seems to be a fine, upstanding, salt-of-the-earth type. I am sure they will be wonderful parents for my child, whichever one does not stay with me. I wish we could send both, but the Triumvirate will be suspicious if both of my children are stillborn. We have decided that whichever twin is born first will stay with me. I just hope that I will be able to protect him, and give him a life that is even a quarter as wonderful as the life my youngest will have.

Parker sighed. "You never were very good at reading people, were you Mother?" She continued to read. Although I could say her as well, as it appears I will have a son and a daughter, instead of two boys as we thought originally. One more month, and we will know for sure.

***

"I’m curious," Jarod said as the heavyset man stopped beside him. "Why would the number two man in the Triumvirate want to meet with me? I can’t exactly be considered a friend."

Crassus smiled. "All three members of the Triumvirate have equal amounts of power and responsibility."

"But some animals are more equal than others," Jarod answered. "That still doesn’t answer my question." Crassus took a photograph from his coat pocket and handed it to Jarod. "A very pretty young lady," Jarod replied, handing the picture back.

Crassus smiled again as he replaced the photograph in his pocket. "My eldest granddaughter. She and her husband are about to have their first child. I haven’t seen her since she was five years old."

Jarod’s eyebrows rose. "A very lucky young lady as well."

"There’s no need to be insulting," Crassus commented mildly.

"True," Jarod replied.

Crassus turned to look out over the rail. "My son left," he continued, extracting a cigar from his pocket and lighting it, "after my daughter and her husband were killed in an explosion meant for me. He said he didn’t want his children raised in the same poisonous atmosphere of suspicion and hatred he grew up in. It’s strange," Crassus mused, "up to that point I’d considered myself a fairly decent father. Their mother had left when they were fairly young." He smiled ruefully. "She had this image of herself as a glamorous jet-setter. Two young children and a husband who has always been something of a plodder didn’t exactly fit the lifestyle she thought she should have. Her jet crash-landed eventually."

"A touching story," Jarod replied evenly.

Crassus turned to face Jarod. "You’ve been a doctor. Diagnose me."

Jarod raised his eyebrow. "Well," he said, "judging by the fact that you’re at least 150 pounds overweight, smoke vile cigars, drink heavily, and have very poor blood circulation, indicated by the blue tinge to your lips and fingernails, I would have to say you’re a heart attack waiting to happen. In fact, I’m surprised you’re even alive at your age."

"Very good. In point of fact, I’ve had three bypass operations and a pacemaker installed within the last five years."

"I can’t pretend to work miraculous cures," Jarod replied. "Or rather, I could, but it wouldn’t work."

"I’m not asking for a miracle, just for a chance to get to know my grandchildren and great-grandchild before I die." Crassus smiled with bitter humor. "If I died on this accursed boat, the only mourners at my funeral would be my colleagues making sure I was safely dead."

"So you want out of the Triumvirate," Jarod stated. "That still doesn’t explain why you contacted me, or why you don’t want Parker involved."

Crassus shrugged. "I contacted you because you’re the best. As for Miss Parker," he removed another picture from his coat and handed it to Jarod. "Let’s just say there were reasons the Triumvirate didn’t interfere with her takeover of the Centre."

Jarod gripped the photograph in his hands tightly. "There has to be a reasonable explanation for this."

Crassus shrugged again. "Perhaps. Nevertheless, the fact remains that Cox has often acted as a sort of Minister without Portfolio for us. Now he is meeting with Miss Parker, a meeting I imagine you were not privy to."

Jarod shook his head. "There has to be a reasonable explanation," he repeated.

Crassus tossed his cigar over the rail as the ferry pulled into its slip. "As I said, perhaps."

***

"Good morning, Miss Parker."

"What do you want?" Parker growled.

Mr. Cox smiled. "Aren’t you going to invite me in?"

"No," Parker replied shortly. "Why are you here?"

"Proof," Cox answered, holding up a manila envelope. "I took these photos aboard the Cape May-Lewes Ferry last night." Parker snatched the envelope from him and ripped it open. "I presume you recognize the man Jarod is meeting with?"

"Crassus," Parker breathed. "That son of a bitch." She looked sharply at Cox. "Who are you working for? Pompey?"

Cox raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I’m working for the Triumvirate?"

Parker snorted. "I didn’t say you were working for the Triumvirate as a whole. Despite the monolithic image they try to project, most of the Triumvirate’s time is spent trying to get power over each other." She smiled grimly. "I grew up in the Centre, and worked there my entire adult life. Believe me, you didn’t survive long if you couldn’t learn to detect the stench of Triumvirate infighting. Now get off my property," she snarled, slamming the door in Cox’s face.

Parker looked again at the pictures Cox had given her. She shook her head sharply, then grabbed her gun and began fastening her holster in the preferred position at the small of her back. She stood for a moment, then replaced her gun and drew out two small, non-metallic throwing knives. It took her only a moment to strap one to her back so the hilt was just covered by her collar. She strapped the other one to the inside of her right thigh, high enough to be concealed by her skirt, yet low enough for her to reach easily if she needed to. A quick check in the mirror detected no betraying glimpses of the knives as she moved. She grabbed her keys and rapidly walked out the door, absently noting the double beep as the alarm system automatically engaged.

Parker started the car and just sat for a moment, listening to the low rumble of the V-12 engine. She put the car in gear and backed out of her driveway. She drove sedately through the streets of Blue Cove until she came to Broots’ house. An impatient blast from the horn brought the technician scurrying out.

"Miss Parker, you’re driving?" Broots asked. "Where’s Sam?"

"It’s his son’s birthday," Parker replied. "He’ll join us later. Get in." Broots reached for the passenger-side door. "In the back," she ordered.

Broots scrambled into the back. "I never knew you had a Jaguar."

"It was my father’s. He never drove it." Parker pulled up in front of Jarod’s apartment building. "Go fetch the lab rat."

"There’s no need," Jarod answered, slipping into the passenger seat. "The lab rat’s right here."

"Sleep well last night?" Parker asked.

"Like a baby," Jarod replied.

***

"You’re looking well."

"So are you. Being a Senator’s wife must agree with you, Liz."

Liz looked away. "Please don’t, Sam. Not today."

Sam looked at the ground. "You’re right. I’m sorry." He took a deep breath. "How are the boys? Ethan started school this year, didn’t he?"

A small smile flitted across her face. "Yes. Andrew’s walking now," she added.

"Good, good," Sam replied. He looked up at Liz. "You ready?" She held out her hand for him to take. They walked across the grass and knelt down by the polished marble gravestone.

***

"How’s it going, Bronkoski?"

"Morning, Lieutenant," Bronkoski answered. "Kind of slow. Had one old boy doing eighty in a Mustang, but everybody else’s been keeping it below sixty-five."

"Oh well," Lieutenant Mauldin replied. "It’s early yet. Wait until-" he stopped as a Jaguar rocketed past them. The two officers looked at the radar display. "Go," the Mauldin ordered. Bronkoski nodded, flipping on his lights and siren as he pulled out in pursuit.

***

"Shit!" Parker cursed as they police cruiser she had just passed erupted from the median strip, lights blazing. She quickly slowed and pulled off to the side of the road. "Registration’s in the glove compartment," she snapped as she pulled out her license. Jarod silently handed her the registration. She held them out the window as the state trooper approached. "How fast, officer?"

Bronkoski took the two items. "I clocked you at one hundred and nineteen miles per hour, Ms," he glanced down at the license, "Parker?" He peered closely at Parker. "If you’ll pardon me for a moment, ma’am?" he touched his fingers to his hat brim and nodded, then walked back to his cruiser.

Parker smiled slightly. "It seems Gary Cooper is alive and well."

"If I hear ‘Do not forsake me, O my darling’, I’m out of here," Broots declared. Jarod and Parker chuckled, then sobered as they watched an unmarked police car pull up behind the cruiser.

"How many points is this, Parker?" Jarod asked.

"Too many," she replied.

"If they take your license away this time, they might not give it back," Jarod commented. Parker said nothing as the two state troopers walked back to her car.

"If you’ll sign these two ma’am," Bronkoski said. "I’m citing you for two counts of failure to wear a seat belt, one for you and one for your front seat passenger. The penalty is twenty-five dollars per offense and no points on your driving record," he recited. "Signing is not an admission of guilt but merely acknowledges that I have given you these citations and explained the charges to you." Parker looked down at the seat belts stretched across her and Jarod’s bodies, then took the citations and the pen Bronkoski offered. She signed and handed them back to him. "Thank you, Miss Parker," he said, taking the citations and returning her license and registration.

"A while back," Mauldin spoke, "I had to tell an elderly Oriental couple we’d found their youngest daughter’s body. They’d scrimped and saved for years to get to this country so their children, including Mai Lin, could grow up healthy and safe." The lieutenant paused, seeming not to notice Parker’s sharp intake of breath or the look exchanged by Broots and Jarod. "I can’t bring their daughter back, but recently I was able to let them know that the man who had hurt her would never be able to hurt anyone else, ever again. Hopefully it provided a modicum of comfort in their grief."

"I just wish I could have done something sooner," Parker replied.

Mauldin smiled wryly. "There are a lot of cops in the jurisdictions around here who are grateful for what you’ve done. In this county alone we’ve been able to close almost a third of our unsolved case files."

Parker blinked in surprise. "I hadn’t realized."

"Stop by the Brick House up in Blue Cove, or Snug Harbor here in Centreville, or any of a dozen other cop bars in the area, and you’ll find somebody who’ll buy you a beer or two," Mauldin said. "In the meantime though, I would appreciate it if you kept your velocity at a reasonable level, at least while you’re in my jurisdiction."

"Of course," Parker answered. "And Lieutenant? Thank you."

"Ma’am." Mauldin and Bronkoski touched their fingertips to their hat brims in salute as Parker pulled away.

***

Broots twisted in his seat to watch the dwindling forms of the two officers. "Huh," he commented. "Miss Parker-"

"Not now, Broots," Parker said distractedly.

***

"This plan of yours has too many variables in it, Lyle," Crassus spoke, puffing nervously on his cigar. "If Parker and Jarod don’t react the way you’ve predicted-"

"Then we’re dead," Caesar snapped. "There are too many people out there who want our heads to even think we’d have a chance at anything resembling a peaceful retirement."

"Gentlemen, please," Lyle said. "My sister and the lab rat both grew up in the Centre. Believe me when I say there is no better place for inculcating an almost pathological level of paranoia, especially about your nearest and dearest. We merely set the stage. Their own fears will do the rest. Then, while they’re occupied with trying to destroy each other, we move back in."

"I’m still not comfortable with that freak being here," Crassus growled, jabbing his cigar at Angelo, who smiled tentatively back at him.

"He is quite safe," Cox answered. "With my new techniques his loyalty to the Triumvirate is assured."

"At least, that’s the theory," Caesar said wryly. "What I’m more concerned with," he added, "is whether your new techniques really will ensure their loyalty without the concomitant loss of their abilities. Success with a brain damaged empath is hardly what I would call the most convincing of examples."

"Oh, believe me," Cox smiled. "When I’m finished with them, the only difference between the old Jarod and Miss Parker, and the new, will be their complete and total loyalty to the Triumvirate."

Disclaimer: Jarod, Miss Parker, et al. are the property of Steven Long Mitchell, Craig W. Van Sickle, MTM Entertainment, NBC, the actors, writers, and all other persons known or unknown with a legal claim upon the characters. All characters unique to this story are the property of R. Franke. This is a story of fan fiction, written for the purpose of personal satisfaction and the enjoyment of others, and monetary or other compensation is neither expected nor desired.

Copyright 2001 by R. Franke

Permission is given to archive this story, provided it is archived without alteration, including this disclaimer and copyright notice, and the author is contacted at

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Blame Cate for this. I started this back in 1999, then stopped when what I had planned for my story diverged too greatly from where the show went. Then Cate wrote to me and made me feel guilty for abandoning it. So I decided to continue on as I had originally planned and call it an alternate universe, breaking off from the main Pretender universe sometime shortly after Wild Child. Therefore, no Parker/Brigitte bonding moment over the birth of the baby, no Ethan, no Alex, and no voices in Parker's head telling her what to do. Instead, I will be offering up my own theories on the origin of the Centre, and of the Tower, and the truth behind the deaths of Thomas Gates, Catherine Parker, and JFK.





LAVENDER
Part VIII
by R. Franke






Jarod snapped his fingers. "Knives."

"What?"

"Your knives, Parker," Jarod elaborated. "I know you. You didn't bring your gun, so it has to be your knives."

"They're at the hotel," Parker acknowledged. She raised an eyebrow at the doubting expression on his face. She gestured forward, towards the Capitol Dome just becoming visible in the limousine's windshield. "Do you really think I'd try to bring a weapon in there?"

"Sometimes," Jarod replied, a touch of sadness in his voice, "I have no idea what you would do."

Parker started to speak, then turned away, studying the people on the sidewalk instead.

"You done with the sports yet?" Sam asked, quietly breaking the silence.

Broots started. "Uh, yeah, yeah. Hand me the front page, will you?" The two men traded sections of the paper, sharing a worried glance as the other two passengers stared out of opposite windows.

Jarod broke the silence as the limousine pulled up in front of the Capitol. "Are you ready for this, Parker?"

"I don't have much choice, do I?" Parker replied as the driver opened the door.

"How tough do you think they'll be on us?" Broots asked.

Parker smiled grimly as she stepped out and eyed the rapidly assembling crowd of reporters. "That depends on how many of them have figured out the Centre will not be contributing to their re-election campaigns this year."

**

"Something's going on," Emily mused. "Something I just can't put my finger on."

"What-" Margaret stopped when one of the other spectators glared at her. "What do you mean, something's going on?" she continued, lowering her voice.

"I don't know," Emily replied. "But watch them, especially Parker and Jarod. They both seem, I don't know, sad. Or resigned. But only when the other one isn't looking." The two women turned their attention back to the hearing.

"You've told us a fascinating tale, Miss Parker," the Chairman's voice drifted up. "But by your own admission, you've worked for this here Centre your entire adult life. Now, I can understand you not knowing about some of the nastier goings-on when you first joined, but you were far too high up for far too long not to have suspected something."

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you how seductive that level of power and knowledge can be, Senator," Parker replied with saccharine sweetness. "And how tempting it can be to close your eyes to the true costs of that power."

"I need a break," Margaret whispered to her daughter. "Be right back." She stood and left the Visitor's Gallery. Her footsteps echoed as she walked down the marble corridor to a small, unmarked door. "I don't like lying to my daughter," she growled as she went inside.

"You're the one who didn't want her involved."

"I know." Margaret's shoulders slumped. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Trust me," Cox smiled. "Have I lied to you yet?"

"I don't know, have you?"

***

"Missing your lollies, Bridey?" the guard asked quietly. Brigitte stiffened but did not look up from her sewing machine. "Lyle says hello," the guard added before continuing on her rounds of the prison workshop.

"Take me with you." Brigitte looked up to meet the eyes of the woman sitting at the machine across from her. "Take me with you," the woman demanded. "Please," she added, her eyes falling back down to her work.

Brigitte narrowed her eyes. "I don't do anything without a name."

"Oh," the woman smiled brightly. "I'm Alice."

***

"Jeez, I thought the T-board was scary but that," Broots shook his head. "I mean, I know the T-Board could of had me killed and all that, but still, you know?"

"Thank you for that scintillating analysis, Broots," Parker snapped. "What happened is we just had our asses thoroughly chewed. And you know what makes it even better? It all happened on national television."

"Take it easy, Parker," Jarod said evenly. "We knew this was one of the more likely possibilities."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Parker growled.

"Then you shouldn't have baited them like that," Jarod snapped.

"They represent the metaphysical weight of our entire society," Sam commented. "I read it somewhere," he added defensively as the other three stopped and stared at him.

Parker muttered something under her breath and stalked off, heels clicking on the marble floor.

Jarod eyed her retreating figure. "Parker and I have an appointment tomorrow morning. The two of you will be on your own until we can get here."

"But what if the Committee has more questions?" Broots asked.

Jarod smiled and patted the smaller man on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, Broots. Just don't act nervous or they'll think you're trying to hide something," he threw back over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Well, that's a lot of help," Broots muttered.

Sam snorted. "Guess we start earning that big pay raise tomorrow. You wanna go grab a beer or something?"

Broots shrugged. "If you think we can find anything around here other than that five dollar a bottle imported crap."

"Let's see if we can get past those reporters outside first," Sam replied.

***

"Deppie!"

Debbie Broots barely got through the door before a pair of squirming toddlers filled her arms. "Hey, Katie-cat," she greeted the girl, rubbing noses with her. Katie giggled and covered her face with her hands. Debbie looked over at the boy. "Rowf," she growled.

The little boy grinned. "Awf, awf," he barked in reply.

"How was your game?"

Debbie grinned. "Great, Miss Mary. We won 5-3. I scored once and had two assists."

The older woman beamed. "That's wonderful, dear. Supper is almost ready, why don't you wash up?"

"I'm just going to call Daddy first, let him know what happened." She kissed the children and shoved them gently away. "You two go with Miss Mary now, okay? I'll be there in a few minutes."

Ben nodded vigorously. "'Kay."

"Jussa fu mint," Katie added.

***

"You'll need to speak with your regular physician back in, where was it again? Delaware? Set up a schedule of regular-"

Parker winced slightly as she pulled her jacket on. "My regular physician is no longer available, Doctor," she interrupted. "That's why I came to you."

"That is unfortunate," the doctor replied. "Considering what you've told me of your previous medical history, I'd advise seeking someone out as soon as possible."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The doctor cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. In any event, may I offer my con-"

"No, Doctor," Parker interrupted coldly as she turned to leave. "You may not."

***

"What's the story with blondie over there?" Brigitte asked, motioning with her head to where Alice sat at a table by herself.

Her tablemate looked up from her tray. "Shit, girl, you ain't heard about her? Bitch stabbed some guy. Say he try and rape her."

"Heard she cut the bastard's dick off," another prisoner chimed in.

"Jury didn't believe her?" Brigitte asked.

"Not after the cops done pulled another seventeen dicks outta her freezer."

Brigitte's eyes widened. "That's her? What the hell is she doing here?"

"The good people of the State of Delaware say she ain't crazy. The good people of the State of Delaware is fucking nuts."

"Great," Brigitte muttered. "Just what I needed. Another damn psychopath to deal with."

***

"Bye, sweetheart. Love you too."

Sam waited until Broots had put away his cell phone before picking up their conversation. "All I'm saying is, sometimes you've got to wonder how tightly wrapped the guy is. I mean, come on, if I escaped a place like the Centre the last thing I'd be doing is leaving clues behind all the time." He raised his beer to his lips and swallowed.

Broots studied his own bottle. "I don't think there's anything we can do. I mean, their relationship, well," his voice trailed off.

Sam took another swallow. "Yeah."

***

"Mr. President," Jarod smiled. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

"The two of you are kicking over a lot of rocks," the President replied, raising his eyes from Parker's legs. "Rocks that might have been better left undisturbed."

Parker raised her eyebrow. "Oh don't worry, Mr. President, we've been very selective about which rocks we've decided to kick over. Much to my colleague's displeasure."

Jarod's smile hardened. "Personally, I rather enjoy seeing despicable little men scurrying for cover." Parker laid a gentle hand on his arm. "But that's not why we're here," he continued smoothly.

"I'm a busy man-" the President began impatiently.

"HAVOC," Parker interrupted. "We know what it is, Mr. President. What it really is."

"What do you want?"

"Just for you to consider your next moves very carefully, sir," Jarod replied. "And who you want to be associated with if certain things ever come to light."

"The HAVOC Project was in place before I ever took office."

"We know," Jarod answered. "And we know the kind of damage that could be done to the prestige of this office if the public even suspected. We'd rather not see that happen."

"So the two of you are here out of the goodness of your hearts? As patriotic, upstanding citizens?"

"Hardly, Mr. President," Parker replied. "We're here because the HAVOC Project is bad for business."

"Is that what this is about? Money?"

"Isn't everything, Mr. President?" Parker purred.

***

"Odious little creep," Parker muttered.

"Hey, you voted for him." Jarod replied teasingly.

Parker rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me." She leaned back in her seat. "How long do you think before that little scene gets back to the Triumvirate?"

Jarod flipped on the blinker and negotiated the intersection. "Oh, at least thirty-seven seconds by my calculations. Possibly even as long as forty."

"That long?" Parker asked, widening her eyes in exaggerated surprise. "Oh my." She and Jarod shared a grin, then Parker's face fell. "Pull over," she demanded in a strangled voice.

"What-"

Parker clawed at the door handle. "Pull over, damn it." Jarod pulled into a Metrobus stop as she flung the door open and vomited into the gutter.

"Here."

Parker took the handkerchief Jarod handed her and wiped her mouth. "You'd better get moving," she said as the Metrobus driver behind them angrily beeped his horn.

Jarod pulled out of the Metrobus stop and back into the flow of traffic. "How long have you been having symptoms?"

"I've been nauseous for a while now," Parker admitted. "But this was the first time," she waved a hand back in the direction of the Metrobus stop. "I went to a doctor last night," she blurted. "Last evening, I guess I should say."

"I know," Jarod said quietly. "I followed you."

"So you know then," Parker replied.

"It's not exactly a surprise," Jarod answered. "Given your history."

"My history?" Parker repeated.

"Yes. I mean, after all-"

"Jarod," Parker growled. "Shut up and drive."

"Parker-"

"Let's just get there before Broots starts blubbering," Parker interrupted, turning away from Jarod to stare out the window. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

***

"I don't believe it," Lyle said.
"What's so difficult to believe?" Crassus asked. "They wouldn't be the first people whose ethics turned out to be a little more elastic than everyone thought."

"I know them. If Parker's ethics were that elastic we'd never be in this situation. And as for the lab rat," Lyle shook his head. "They're up to something."

Crassus raised his eyebrows. "Does it matter?"

***

Brigitte waved at the rapidly fleeing figure. "Ta, luv. Hope you find Mr. Nineteen soon. After all, the more of them that are out looking for you, the less looking for me," she muttered. "How far was it again, Em?" she asked the woman beside her.

"Little over a quarter mile," the guard replied.

"Well then, let's go." Brigitte turned to leave, only to be thrown down by a blow to the small of her back. She reached back with her hand and felt the sticky wetness on her back. She looked up to see Em standing over her, shotgun cradled loosely in one arm as the echoes from the shot died away.

Em squatted down, meeting Brigitte's uncomprehending gaze. "I despise women like you. You've got brains, you've got drive, you've got moxie. And what do you do with it? How do you get to the top?" Em snorted. "You fall on your back, spreading your legs for whatever scraps the big boys deign to give you." She leaned in closer, until she and Brigitte were nose to nose. "I worked my ass off to get where I am today, to get them to take me seriously, and cunts like you just made it that much harder."

Brigitte spat. "Fuck you."

Em smiled as she stood and wiped her face. "That's your department. Luv." She looked back over her shoulder towards the prison. "They might get here in time, or they might not." Her smile grew as she watched Brigitte claw at the ground. "But even if they do, well, you'd just better hope your next sugar daddy has a thing for wheelchairs."
Brigitte slumped as she heard Em walk off, her breath coming in ragged gasps. By the time the dogs found her, her body had already started to cool.

End Part VIII


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Copyright 2001 by R. Franke

Legal disclaimer and archival notice in parts one and eight. Author's note at end.



LAVENDER
Part IX
by R. Franke



"What the hell did you do to her?" Sam growled as he shoved Jarod up against the wall of the corridor.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Broots tugged at Sam's arm.

"Damn it, I didn't do anything," Jarod snapped as he broke Sam's grip on his collar and slammed the other man against the opposite wall. "I don't-"

"Like hell you didn't," Sam shot back, twisting out of Jarod's grip and drawing back his fist. "You don't get it, do you? This is real fucking life, not one of your-"

"That's enough, damn it," Broots roared, interposing himself between the two larger men. "That's enough," he repeated. "Whatever the hell's going on won't be solved by you two trying to beat the crap out of each other." He watched as Jarod and Sam each took a step back and straightened their clothes.

Jarod ran his fingers distractedly through his hair. "I followed her," he said softly, his eyes focused on some distant point. "I followed her."

"What do you mean, you followed her?" Sam challenged.

Jarod eyed them with a bitter smile as he slumped back against the wall. "When we were in DC, Miss Parker went to see a doctor. Dr. Irwin Renninger."

"What- what kind of doctor is he?" Broots asked, his voice filled with trepidation.

"Dr. Renninger," Jarod replied slowly, "is one of the world's leading specialists in cerebral oncology."

"A brain tumor?" Broots gaped. "We thought-"

"Hell, we didn't know what to think," Sam interrupted. "Is it fatal?"

"I don't know," Jarod replied. "But Catherine Parker's twin sister died of a brain tumor as a child, and this," he hesitated slightly, "this sort of thing does tend to run in families."

"I guess the ulcer and everything doesn't help matters much, does it?" Broots asked. The other two men were silent.

"I still need to escort you out," Sam said finally.

"I know," Jarod replied.

"Can't they treat it?" Broots asked. "Drugs? Radiation? Cut it out? Something?"

"Depends on the type, and how advanced it is." Jarod sighed. "I'm heading back to DC to try and get a look at Renninger's files. I'll let you know what I find out." The three men were silent as the rode the elevator down to the main lobby of the Centre.

Broots stopped Jarod with a touch on his arm as they stepped off the elevator. "Are you- I mean is this-" the tech stuttered.

Jarod smiled sadly. "It's real, Mr. Broots. There'd be too many questions if we tried to fake Miss Parker's death a second time." Jarod looked at them gravely. "You both know how she is. She won't ask for help until it's too late. Don't say anything, but just," he smiled sadly, "try and be there for her, as much as she'll let you." Sam nodded, his face expressionless as Broots slumped against the wall and nodded weakly. Jarod shuddered as he walked across the Centre's lobby, leaving the other two standing by the elevator. "Hate this place," he muttered darkly. "Burn it."

***

Mr. Parker eyed the figure standing against the far wall as he sat down at the plain metal table. "Angel-" he began as the guard left the interview room, closing the door behind him.

"It's a damn good thing I look like her," Parker interrupted, contemplating her reflection in the mirrored surface. "The subject is to be raised in a supportive and loving environment, simulating a normal family as much as possible," she quoted. "All tests and simulations are to be disguised; as games, chores, and by modifications to the standardized tests administered to all home-schooled children until the subject's abilities have been fully tested and trained."

"The Tower had your scores," Mr. Parker defended himself. "Your mother and I had to convince-"

"Spare me," Parker snapped, whirling to face her father. "Doctor Jamison wrote that little gem almost five years before I was born. The two of you must have been absolutely thrilled when I tested out so well." She snorted in self-derision. "It never occurred to me why Mama and I played Let's Pretend so much. Or why none of the other kids in that hellhole you sent me to knew any of the games we played."

"Youngfield's is one of the finest girl's schools in the country."

"Yes, it is. Perhaps if I'd grown up normally it wouldn't have been so bad. But girls that age are vicious little beasts, ready to tear apart anyone who doesn't fit in. I was three years younger than any of them and still managed to maintain the highest GPA in the school. And that was my introduction to the real world." She laughed bitterly. "At least Jarod always knew he was a goddamned experiment. Me? I thought I came from a normal loving family. After all, don't most fathers warehouse their children so they'll have more time for business?"

"It wasn't safe," Mr. Parker blustered. "I did the best I could. Sydney couldn't handle both you and Jarod, not to mention you started having your- those-" his hand fluttered helplessly. "Damn it, I wasn't about to turn you over to Raines. Not after the Angelo fiasco."

"And of course," Parker went on as if he hadn't spoken, "the fact that I spent every holiday and semester break at the school just meant I had more time to study. An MBA, a law degree, OCS, a master's degree in Sociology, and a doctorate in International Relations," she listed. "And all before my twenty-fifth birthday. Then you snapped your fingers and I came running back, hoping that maybe, this time, you'd be proud of me. That maybe, we could be a real family, instead of two people who just happen to share a name."

"I've always been proud of you," Mr. Parker replied thickly.

Parker closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "Every man in my life wants me to be something I'm not." She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Jarod wants the little girl he fell in love with. The one who fell in love with him. Sydney, of course, wants my mother back so he can stop feeling guilty for at least one of his failures. And you-"

"Angel-"

"You wanted a son. A little you to whom you could pass on your kingdom. Well, guess what, Daddy?" Her gaze came down to spear her father. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not my mother. And I can never be your son." She smiled mirthlessly. "Considering how Lyle turned out, maybe that's not such a bad thing after all." Her face grew pensive. "Tommy wanted me. That's all. Just me. And it cost him his life."

"I am sorry about Thomas, believe me. He was a good man."

"Don't. Don't say another word or I swear, father or not I will rip your throat out." She gave a bark of laughter as she turned away. "God, what I wouldn't give for Ben Miller to have been my real father."

Mr. Parker winced. "I never meant for Thomas to die."

"Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?" Parker quoted softly as she moved over to the door. "I know you never ordered him killed. You didn't have to." Her hand slammed against the door. "Guard!" she yelled. "The sweeper who killed him has been taken care of," she continued quietly as the guard opened the door. "Don't expect another visit from me anytime soon. Daddy."

Mr. Parker hung his head as he listened to his daughter's retreating footsteps.

***

It must further be stressed that the necessity for information that is as complete and accurate as possible is an absolute requirement in order to achieve the desired results. Failure by the client to provide complete information, not to mention the use of information known by the client to be of doubtful provenance, is the most probable cause for the failure of Simulation 67-85.

Jack Lisle, US Attorney for the State of Delaware, closed the folder and rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Jenny Blackstone stuck her head around the door. "Hey, Jack. Got something I think you should see."

"What is it?" he replied as an evidence technician brought in a DSA player.

"Watch," Blackstone said, pressing the play button on the machine.

"What the hell?" Lisle watched in silence. "Get me Parker, now," he growled when the DSA ended.

***

Sam looked down at the glass in his hands. "After Jimmy died, I went a little crazy. Did some pretty stupid things, ended up wrecking my marriage and getting kicked out of the Corps." He snorted and set his glass on the table. "The only reason I didn't get tossed in the brig is because my CO went to bat for me. Even found me what looked like a hell of a job, especially with my record."

Broots gave a wry smile. "Tell me about it." Sam took a swallow of his drink and looked at him inquiringly. "I hacked an ultra-secure server at NSA, back when it was still 'No Such Agency'."

"How'd they catch you?"

"My wife needed some money," Broots answered. "A lot of money, fast. I hated the gambling, but I was still in love with her then, and well," he shrugged. "I tried to sell what I found to the wrong people. I didn't realize I was selling myself until it was too late." He took a swallow from his drink as Sam nodded in sympathy. "So how'd you end up working for Miss Parker?" Broots continued.

"I was down at the firing range, getting some practice in. I was just about to start my third go-round when this woman walks up beside me and empties her clip into my target."

Broots laughed. "You're joking, right? You mean she really-"

Sam grinned and held up his hand. "Hand to God, I did not know what to think. I took a couple steps back, aimed my gun at her and yelled 'Who the hell are you, you crazy bitch?' or something like that."

"What'd she do then?"

"She ejected the old clip, put a new one in and holstered her gun. Then she steps forward until my gun is dead center not more than an inch from her chest and says, 'Your new boss.' Then she hits the button to bring the target back and walks off." Sam held up a finger. "And get this, the bullet holes made the letter P. Impressed the hell out of me, let me tell you."

Broots laughed. "That sounds like her."

"Yeah." Sam's tone grew pensive. "But you know what really got me?" he continued. "About three months after I started with her we were out in California, I forget what for, but whatever it was, it was supposed to take two, maybe three days at the most, and we'd already been out there for a week. It would have been the first time I'd missed Jimmy's birthday since he was born."

"Would have been?" Broots prompted gently as Sam fell silent.

"Yeah," Sam continued. "I never told anybody back then, just made sure I had the day off so I could head down to Norfolk and visit with him." Sam tilted his head back and swallowed the last of his drink. "5:30 that morning, Miss Parker summons me to her suite, hands me a plane ticket to Norfolk and tells me I have less than an hour to catch my flight." Sam chuckled. "I tried to thank her and she told me she was taking the cost of the ticket out of my pay and the time it took out of my annual vacation. I still don't know how she knew, or even why she bothered to find out. None of the other Centre big shots ever did." He looked over as Broots stiffened and drew in his breath sharply. Sam followed Broots' eyes to the door. "Willie," he said neutrally.

"Mr. Broots. Sam," Mr. Raines' former sweeper returned as he walked across the restaurant and sat down at the bar.

Broots nodded shortly then turned back to Sam. "Why the hell isn't he in jail?" he hissed.

"No proof," Sam replied. "He says Raines forced him, and with that second chance policy Miss Parker's instituted I don't have a choice, unless I can catch him doing... something," Sam trailed off.

"He was 'just following orders' then?" Broots asked. "Nothing he did was his fault? He doesn't have to take responsibility for anything?"

"Weren't we all?" Sam replied.

***

Margaret fiddled nervously with the bottle of hair dye. "I wish you would reconsider."

Emily glanced in the mirror and adjusted the bangs on her now-blonde hair. "The only way to get any definite answers is to go inside the Centre, and you don't have the skills to pull it off." Emily sighed and continued in a gentler tone. "I promise, Mother. I will stay as far away from Parker and Jarod as possible." She paused as she picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. "Dad and Jimmy are in Dover now." Margaret turned her head away and studied the pattern of the wallpaper. "It's been twenty years," Emily said quietly. "Maybe it's time you forgave him."

Margaret remained unmoving until she heard the door click softly shut. "It's not him I can't forgive," she whispered to the empty room. "It's myself."

***

"Because Parker and Brigitte had a hate-on for each other like you would not believe," Lyle snapped. "I just cannot believe she would do something that stupid."

"Believe it," Em replied. "I tried to talk her out of it, but maybe that explains it."

Lyle eyed the blonde askance. "Explains what?"

"She let her hatred of Parker cloud her judgement," Em smiled thinly. "In this business, that'll get you killed."

"It was Parker's judgement I wanted clouded," Lyle groused. He blew out his breath with a huff and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, Emma-"

"Em," she interrupted. "I prefer Em."

"Sure, fine, whatever," Lyle replied. "The important thing is to get close to Parker. If I'm to get the kids I need as much information as possible."

"I know my job, Mr. Lyle," Em replied coldly.

"Then try not to get the wrong person killed this time," Lyle snapped as he stalked out.

Cox appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "Is everything all right, Em?" Angelo scuttled in behind him.

Em snorted. "Fine. Mr. 'I coulda been a Pretenda' just had another of his little snit fits."

"He is a necessary evil if the Temple is to rise again," Cox replied. "Try to keep that in mind, Sister."

"Deo volente," Em murmured as she knelt before Cox. "Your blessing, Father."

Cox smiled as he made the Sign of the Cross above Em's bowed head. "Dominus vobiscum, my child."

"Et cum spiritu tuo," Em replied. She remained kneeling, waiting until Cox and Angelo had left the room before allowing the corners of her mouth to curl up into a smile. "Fool."

***

"Betray you," Angelo commented quietly as they walked down the hall.

"I know," Cox responded, raising his eyes to Heaven. "He hath told me. She shall burn."
Angelo shuddered. "Hellfire."

Cox smiled. "Purification," he corrected. "The world shall be purified in Holy Fire."


End Part IX


Author's Note: Miss Parker quotes the purported words of King Henry II of England to her father, words that led directly to the murder of Thomas a' Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury. See http://www.ibis.com/becket.htm for more information, or watch the excellent movie Becket, starring Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole. Em also quotes, or rather misquotes, Marlon Brando's famous line from Elia Kazan's On the Waterfront in her conversation with Cox.

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