Section III

Part One

When Parker rose from bed on Friday morning, half of their group had departed for Denver. Ben had taken Debbie on a walk to gather dried herbs, an excuse for Sydney to have time to sit with Parker.

“How are you feeling this morning, Miss Parker?” Sydney had watched her as she stumbled into the kitchen, pouring herself a mug of coffee. Choosing not to advise her to limit her caffeine intake so early in the day, he opted for the standard question.

“Like I swallowed a roller coaster,” she groused over the rim of the mug, inhaling the steam as it rolled over the dark liquid.

Chuckling, the psychiatrist shook his head. “While I’m certain that’s an unpleasant experience, I meant how are you feeling, Parker. About the situation.” His eyebrows arched slightly as she snorted in response. “Your emotions have been rather unstable of late.”

The brunette let out a bark of laughter, “Ya think?”

“My life has been uprooted – I’m in the middle of nowhere pregnant with some unknown specimen’s offspring, and I’m hearing voices and seeing ghosts at every turn. The only person who might possibly understand it – my little brother – may be on a suicide mission, and I’m stuck here being useless,” she stated, barely restraining herself from slamming the mug into the table. “And to top it off, I’m vomiting at every turn and can’t seem to stay awake more than a few hours at a time. I’m just dandy, Syd.”

“I see you’re still not a morning person,” Sydney commented dryly before switching to an earnest tone. “I can understand your feelings, Parker – at least on an intellectual level. I merely want to help you in any way I can. We all do, it’s why we are here.”

Blowing a long breath between her lips, sideswept bangs fluttering, Parker nodded. “I know, Syd. But it’s not that simple. Every time I feel like I’ve conquered one part of this…” she waved her hands aimlessly in the air, “debacle, something else pops up in its place. One piece of the puzzle fits and the next one doesn’t.”

Nodding sagely, the older man commented, “For the first time in your life, Parker, you have the opportunity to sit and analyze these pieces, as you call them. Your emotions, your dreams, the visions and voices. Once the child comes, you may not have that opportunity again for many years.”

Sighing, Parker took a long swallow of the coffee. “Being on the run kind of puts a halt on introspection, eh Freud?”

Chucking, Sydney shook his head. “No, but being a parent certainly limits it for at least eighteen years. Parker, if this works out – if we’re able to gather enough information on the Centre to keep them away from us, we won’t be running for the next eighteen years. Not in earnest. I rather relish the thought of being Uncle Sydney, the gray old man who lives next door to the young one.” The Belgian’s most charming smile had stretched across his face.

Unable to resist the grin, she offered one back. “I can just see it now,” she toasted the air with the mug, shaking her head. Sipping at the coffee, the brunette paused for a few minutes to put her thoughts together. “Sydney?”

“Yes, Miss Parker?” he replied, tone sincere as he sipped his mug of tea.

“I’ve been thinking… about these visions and voices. I think maybe I’ve been seeing things, hearing them, longer than I realized. Some of the dreams I’ve been having lately have been so familiar. Not the dreams themselves but the way they… feel. When Tommy died, I saw him so clearly. I came to you and we discussed unfinished business. But I think it was more than that. I think he was there, the same way my mother is sometimes, the way Faith was there when I was hospitalized. And before that, there were times when I just knew things, without any rhyme or reason. Where Jarod was at a given time, what Angelo was feeling, things like that. Did my mother… did she mention anything like that?” Her eyes had opened wide and she held his in her gaze as she spoke.

Sydney reached a hand across the table, placing his over the one not wrapped around her coffee mug. “I’m afraid not, Miss Parker,” he shook his head. “But your gift, your Inner Sense… I think it’s stronger than your mother’s was, and it’s coming out in you without most of the training your mother had.”

“Training you gave her,” she pointed out.

Nodding, he continued, “Yes. Your mother had a vision here and there, and she began hearing the voices when she was pregnant with you. Mostly, she just felt things. Trouble, danger. She had a heightened intuition, you could say. That’s…” he sighed, “that’s how she explained it to me, anyway. I’m afraid she did not give me the sort of details you desire.”

“But how is my Inner Sense,” she paused, blinking at his expression of sincerity. “How is my Inner Sense stronger than hers? Sydney, I’m projecting images to other people! Do you think it has something to do with my father?”

“Truthfully, Miss Parker, I have no idea what to say about the occurrence on Tuesday. It sounds rather like a form of empathic telepathy, but as an isolated incident it gives me little to go on,” the older man sighed. “As for the strength of your gift being related to your father: quite possibly. Genetically speaking, it would make sense if your father were a carrier of the particular variant of the Pretender gene that enables the Inner Sense in women.”

“Guess that narrows the possible list of candidates,” she took another swallow of her coffee, savoring the taste before swallowing it. “Not that it helps much.”

Sydney watched her, knowing it was the first time since Carthis that she had openly questioned her own paternity. “Miss Parker…”

Shaking her head against what she knew was coming, Parker slid her hand from beneath his and held it in the air. “No, Syd. Really, it doesn’t matter. Maybe someday I’ll know, but right now, we have more important things to worry about. Like what Illusion is, if the Centre had any contingency plans for it, and what the point of this entire thing is? I hate to say this, but I’m with Jarod. I don’t think they want him back just because he’s a pretender anymore. Or me. Or Ethan. There’s something else going on and I’m determined to find out what it is.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, Sydney polished off his cup of tea and again placed his hand over hers. “Won’t that be easier once we have the information from Denver?” He watched her shoulders visibly lower, her ire deflating slightly. Her eyes slipped from his, darting to the side. “Or is it just easier to think about what the Centre is doing than what you are doing separate from it?”

“Nothing I do is separate from the Centre,” she bit back, then sighed as he moved slightly sideways to try and capture her eyes with his own. “Right now, Syd, all I know is we have a really big mystery on our hands that needs to be solved.”

“And the child?” he asked, expression remaining unchanged as she jerked her hand from beneath his again and cradled her abdomen with it. The psychiatrist did, however, note that she seemed not to notice the gesture.

“What about it?” her voice was cautious, low. “Still don’t know who the father is. Voices aren’t revealing that sort of information. All I know is Raines was behind the insemination.”

“Are you going to keep it, raise it?” Sydney asked, knowing the answer before she even opened her mouth.

Somewhat defensively, Parker replied, “Yes. I’m thirty-nine years old, Syd. It’s sort of the end of the line for me on this one.”

“I wasn’t aware you wanted children, Miss Parker.”

Chuckling quietly to herself, “Neither was I, Syd. I don’t, really. But this is already said and done, so what the hell?”

He could not help the grin that graced his face at her forced nonchalance. Eyes drifting deliberately from her face to the hand over her flat stomach, then back to her face, he let out a small laugh. Rolling her eyes, Parker removed her hand and placed it back around the empty coffee mug. Leaning forward slightly, she sighed. “It wasn’t something I was very likely to ever do on my own, no. But when I began to suspect – before I left the Centre a few weeks ago – the idea struck me as kind of appealing. Despite the circumstances,” she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “I… when Tommy was alive, he mentioned it a few times. Jokes, suggestions, comments. Nothing serious, really. I was more than slightly disturbed at first but the idea grew on me. After he was killed, when I delivered Brigitte’s baby, there was a moment there - as I held him in my arms - that I thought about taking him and running for the door. It was fleeting.”

“Your mother had similar doubts,” Sydney nodded, “but never once did she doubt her capacity to love you. She was, however, terrified.” Parker nodded to herself, ingesting the thought. “Had Thomas lived,” Sydney began, “and the two of you had moved to Oregon as planned, do you think you would have wanted children?”

Without a thought, the word slipped from her lips. “Yes.” Eyebrows arching at her own words, a small smile crossed her face. “But that was with Tommy.”

“You loved him very much,” Sydney observed, not for the first time. “This child… while it may not be his biologically is, in many ways, your dreams of a life with Thomas coming to fruition. Freedom from the Centre, a family of your own.” Her surprised, puzzled expression did not phase him. Nor did he give her time to digest it. “What if the child’s biological father is someone you know? Perhaps even someone living in this house?”

“You mean Major Charles,” she commented, the expression of intrigue from his earlier statement still not completely faded from her eyes. If anyone had finished reading the files she’d brought with her, it would have been Sydney. And if he read the files in their entirety, he knew about the Centre’s failed attempts with surrogates and artificial carriers. Fingering the handle of the mug, Parker looked at the drying stain on the inside. “I don’t know. And if it’s Jarod’s? I still don’t know. That’s the monkey wrench, Syd.”

Nodding, the older man stood and lifted both of their mugs from the table, leaving her hand to palm the bare wood and her nails to tap against it. “That will come with time, Parker. What matters is that you know where you stand with the child, and with the people involved. If not now, then before you have your answers as to paternity. This ambivalence toward Jarod, while not unfounded, can’t be healthy. Sort of like this coffee.”

Offhand, Parker commented, “Don’t think for a minute that I didn’t notice the Major switching that bag for the decaf he brought the other day. My hellish mood is attributed in large part to the removal of all vices from my life.”

Sydney’s eyebrows rose in unison as he took in her comment. “I wasn’t aware he’d done such a thing, Parker.” A smirk drew across his lips, “It sounds very much like something Jarod might have done.”

“Ain’t genetics a bitch?” Miss Parker’s words were dry as she blew out another breath of air through pursed lips. “Jarod has strung me along for six years, Sydney. We’ve been at an uneasy truce since Carthis, but I wouldn’t call us friends. Somehow, I doubt I’m going to just up and forgive him for this cat and mouse game he’s been playing with information on my mother’s murder and my father’s identity, in addition to every other little wild goose chase he’s sent us on. Besides, I think he has some romantic idea that he’s going to lead me to the answers and I’m going to run like the thankful damsel into his waiting arms.” Her words were followed with a somewhat disgusted snort. “I’m not in need of a rescue and there are a lot of things he’s done to piss me off that I’m not very likely to forget in this century.” With her back to Sydney, she could not see the surprised expression that flickered across his features. The detail of the near-kiss at Ocee’s and Jarod’s longing, sad phone calls both prior to and afterward had not been disclosed.

Rinsing the mugs with warm water, Sydney reminded her, “You were friends as children.”

“Things change, Syd,” Parker replied, turning to face him and stretching her arms over her head as she stood to her feet. “Deb and Ben outside?” At his nod, she turned back around, heading for the kitchen door.

“Friendships don’t have expiration dates, Miss Parker. After all, I’ve known you even longer than Jarod.”

Tossing him a small smile over her shoulder, she pushed through the door. Her step, she thought, felt the smallest bit lighter.

--

The air, Broots noted, was thinner in Denver. “Guess that’s why they call it the mile-high city,” he mumbled to himself, not realizing that his words had attracted the attention of Major Charles’ youngest son.

The four men had just disembarked from the Cessna the Major had traded his helicopter for in Cheyenne. He’d filed a flight plan for Reno and phoned in a favor to a friend at a private airport in case the Centre somehow picked up on their trail. The men had each packed one carry-on sized bag. They did not, however, contain the typical supplies for an overnight trip out of town. Instead, Broots’ and Jim’s bags were filled with computer tools, the component parts necessary for their trip, and a set of dark clothing each. Major Charles and Ethan split the task of carrying the first aid kit, an electronic device set to open the keypad enabled locks at both facilities, and weapons.

Curious to see if Broots would mumble any other strange phrases, Jim walked next to him with bag in hand, his father and brother on the opposite side.

“Motel first,” Major Charles stated, nodding toward a run-down building at the opposite side of the tarmac. “Then we have about two hours to run through the plan again and review the blueprints before it’s time to go. We’ll grab some food on our way to our rooms and work through dinner.”

Broots caught his toe on a crack in the asphalt, stumbling forward a few steps. “Are you okay, Mr. Broots?” Jim asked, quickly grasping the other man’s elbow.

“Y-yes. I should be used to breaking into places like this by now. Miss Parker, well, she sends me to do a lot of things I probably shouldn’t do,” he shifted his bag to his other hand.

Major Charles chuckled, reaching around Jim to pat the technician’s shoulder. “She’s the sort of woman many a man would do foolish things for, Mr. Broots. No shame in that!” The scarlet that burned up the man’s neck and onto his cheeks caused the oldest of the four to laugh even harder.

“She’s my friend,” Broots defended, taking a deep breath and preparing to launch in her defense.

“I know, Mr. Broots,” Major Charles spoke, patting his shoulder. “She’s the reason we’re all here. I dare say none of us would have attempted something of this magnitude without damn good incentive.”

--

The three men were dressed alike – dark turtlenecks, slacks, and ballcaps – as they edged toward the door of the building. The Major had insisted they wear slacks in case of close calls – ordinary fabric, he had told them, ripped much easier than denim. They had taken two cars, one parked a half-block from the satellite office, another parked several blocks away. Major Charles had instructed them to head to the first car unless they encountered trouble inside. An influx of sweepers on the inside would indicate that the first car had probably already been found.

Darkness had fallen several hours earlier, shortly after the four had landed. Jim was stationed in the hotel room, hacking into the Denver mainframe from the outside in order to turn off the cameras and microphones. The entire operation was planned to take only minutes.

Ethan slid around the corner toward the back door, fitting the small mechanism against the card slot on the lock. Within seconds, a short beep was heard and the red light flipped to green. Pulling the door open, the three men slid into the dark hallway with small flashlights at their sides. Major Charles led the way toward the center office, Broots in the middle with Ethan bringing up the rear. On sight security circled every seven minutes. They had allowed for the guard to enter two minutes ahead of them, giving them less than five to access the necessary terminals.

Upon entering the dark room, Broots took a deep, shaky breath, sliding toward the computer nearest the back exit. Removing a small screwdriver from his pocket, he forcibly steadied his hand as he twisted the screws left, pulling the cable loose from the mounting bracket. Ethan stood over his shoulder, accepting the box he was handed and passing another one to Broots. The blue box Broots reconnected was merely a decoy. When the system attempted to back itself up the following night, it would fail without the necessary passcodes. Electronic alarms would sound, but with no one to monitor the equipment overnight, the disruption would not be discovered until the next morning. Pushing the new box back into place, Broots followed Ethan and Major Charles swiftly to a side corridor, entering the main office as soon as Ethan deactivated the electronic lock. The technician crouched under the solid oak desk, entirely too reminiscent of Raines’, he thought, and twisted loose the screws on the back of the tower. Popping the right side loose, he pushed the small chip Major Charles slipped from his pocket into the open card slot and flipped the short antenna up, pressing a small button until a low light flickered at the end of the card. Finally, Ethan slipped a sticky device to the office camera, just under the microphone. Major Charles pushed open the first floor window and watched as Ethan attached a transmitter to the upper corner of the window casing, hidden by the mounting hardware of the vertical blinds. The three men slipped quietly outside with flashlights now turned off, none of them having spoken a word. Closing the window behind his father, Ethan slid the electronic locking device back through the card once more, watching as the light switched from green back to red.

Broots let out a barely audible breath – the one he felt he’d been holding for the last four and a half minutes – and barely held back the yelp he nearly uttered as the oldest of the three men grabbed his arms and tugged him to the side and down between the shrubs and the building.

Holding two fingers in the air, then pointing at the open palm he held furthest from his face, the Major signaled that the guard would soon be returning and that they should maintain their positions until after he had passed. Again, Broots drew a deep breath and squinted, afraid the whites of his eyes would give them away. Moments later, he heard Ethan’s low whisper at his ear. “Breathe, Mr. Broots.” As his eyes opened the rest of the way, he saw Major Charles gesture them onward, and the three men departed for the car parked on a side road less than half a block away.

This, Jim had told them, would be the easy part: quiet and simple, easy to plan. The Centre storage facility they would need to gain access to the following night had both night guards and a skeleton crew of staff available at all times. Broots swallowed as Ethan tugged him toward the car, wondering exactly how they were going to get through the next phase of their plan without any undue surprises.

--

Somewhere in Kansas, Jarod smirked, Mr. Lyle was fighting mad. He had crafted a false trail for Parker, Sydney and Broots that led the again-thumbless man to a wheat farm. If his plan had operated properly, the man was currently trapped in an empty grain silo and would not be released until the wee hours of Saturday morning when an anonymous tip led a sweeper team to his make-shift cell. His father had left him a recorded video message in a mailbox Jarod kept for just those instances. It had been purely happenstance, the pretender figured, that he had thought to check the box on Thursday morning. Major Charles had told him little of what was going on, but the look in his eyes was extremely grave.

“We’re moving the plan forward, Jarod. We’ll be acquiring some materials from several Centre satellite locations Thursday-Saturday morning. Any false leads you can provide for the Centre would be appreciated. Throw them as far and wide as you can, son,” he had instructed, not revealing their location or the identities of the satellite offices mentioned. Jarod knew, of course, that the numbers neared the triple digits in the US alone. “If there were any other way to go about this…” The recorded Major Charles paused, shaking his head lightly. “For now, this is the safest way. I promise to give you more information as soon as it’s feasible, son. Everyone here is doing well, and we all wish you the best. Ethan and Parker say hello. Jim recommends you try sour gummy worms and chocolate covered espresso beans. He found them at the grocery store this week. Thank you for your help,” the older man offered his son a loving smile before reaching forward and flicking the camera off.

I’ve been asked not to interefere, and against my better judgement I’m going along with it. Only because it’s Dad that’s asking. But it’s time I figure out what they’re doing and why Parker is with them. Jarod’s thoughts wandered into territory he had forbidden himself from in the weeks prior. He tapped his finger against the blank space below the keyboard of his laptop. He knew accessing the Centre mainframe was a bad idea, just as trying to track his father and Parker was. If he found them, the Centre would undoubtedly be able to pick up the trail as well. He had never met a trail he could not track, but if Parker and his father were working together, there was likely no visible trail to follow. It had literally taken him years after his initial escape to find his father, and even then it was largely coincidental.

This Centre project to replace Baby Parker, Gemini, and Ethan clearly has something to do with it. I guess what I saw in that planted file was correct and Parker got wind of their plan to use her as an incubator. I wonder whether they intended to simply harvest her genetic material or simply impregnate her using a surrogate? Either way, Parker would never consent to an insemination or giving a child to the Centre, not after everything she’s learned about that place in the last few years. Jarod lifted a handful of chocolate covered espresso beans to his mouth. His clone had good taste in junk foods, he recognized, smiling as he felt the continued influx of caffeine race through his blood.

Miss Parker loved her little brother – she’s undoubtedly pretty pissed that the child was murdered. I wonder if she knows it is because his potential skills as a pretender were proven dormant? Snorting to himself, I wonder if the baby was even any relation to Parker at all. Sydney said when they checked Mr. Parker’s genetic material that the motility was so low as to make him virtually sterile. But Raines’ little swimmers checked out fine… This time, his hand strayed to a plastic bag of sour candy next to the espresso beans.

“That,” Jarod murmured allowed, staring blankly at the empty computer screen, “is a whole other…” smiling at the phrase, “bag of worms.”

Maybe if I can access the donor file for Baby Parker and determine his paternity, Parker will be willing to trade some information. Nodding to himself, Jarod closed the laptop screen and slipped it into the briefcase at his side. Grabbing a pair of glasses and an ivy cap, he trotted out the hotel room door, leaving the keycard on the nightstand. Time to lay a few more trails. Then back to business.