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The isolation ward was frigid, dry, and smelled of formaldehyde and antiseptic in equal measures. The Pretender lay still, ostensibly unconscious. When he concluded his countdown from eight hundred thousand, he discreetly fondled the adhesive skin-tone communications device located behind his ear. "Broots, come in."

"Yeah, I'm here- uh until they find out what we're doing anyway and then- - and this should go without saying- - I won't be here. I won't be anywhere. Because I'll be dead."

"There'll be plenty of time to soil yourself later, Mr. Broots." Jarod assured. "Right now I need to know: how are you coming with the cameras?"

"Five minutes to showtime."

"And how is Miss Parker getting on with Dr. Cox?"

Broots keyed the handheld device, observed the footage, frowned.

"She's smiling at him." Broots groused and then pouted, sub voce: "She never smiles at me."

"She's never deceived you either." Jarod reminded.

Broots brightened, declared gaily:  "Hey, you know something: you're right."

"Well", Jarod grinned impishly, into his pillow, "I am genius."

"I certainly hope you are", Broots returned, dryly, "because my daughter needs her father. Hey! Okay, here we go. Cox is on the move. And Miss Parker is stepping into her car."

"Tell her to pull over in a mile and check for bugs."

Broots obeyed, came back a moment later: "Uh, I can't repeat what she just said."

"Just tell me one thing: was she smiling?"

"Uh, that's a negative."

"Good." Jarod grinned. "Now: I want you to keep your eye on her until she rendezvous with Dad at the lodge."

"And then?"

"Keep me posted."

"Won't you be busy?"

"How are those cameras coming, Mr. Broots."

"You are clear."

"Finally." Jarod murmured and then groaned and tugged the painfully adhesive, self-resealing hazmat bag from beneath his faux leather jacket. The particular item was as absorbent as it was uncomfortable. Extremely. Jarod was wearing some of Raine's drug despite Parker's impeccable aim with the needle; not even a drop had entered his body, however, and there had been no pooling of the drug on the floor- - which would have been damning evidence against Parker- - or on his clothing.

"The door should be unlocked now." Broots advised.

"Guards?"

"Everything is going according to plan, Jarod." Broots assured the Pretender. "You have a fifty second window."

"Left, two rights, maintenance access shaft. Correct?"

"We rehearsed this a thousand times." Broots berated rarely severely; his unease increased exponentially, audibly. "Please, don't screw this up, Jarod." Broots cautioned. "Syd, Miss Parker and me- that's it, Jarod, that's all my daughter has."

"Have I ever let you down, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, playfully, rhetorically, and then, finding the door unlocked, opened it and slipped into the empty corridor. "Do you have Cox's twenty?" Jarod inquired coolly.

Broots feverishly pressed several keys, studied the red indicator on the map.

"Uh, yeah, I do. GPS is tracking him through downtown Blue Cove."

"Switch to channel eight, antenna cam; I want the real time visual."

"Done. He's in his car, just passing the old water tower, his window is down and he is uh- he's miming a song."

Jarod moved stealthily towards the shaft entrance. "Initiate interior audio. I've just got to hear this." Jarod chuckled.

"Devo." Broots chortled. "He uh, he's", Broots shook his head, "the man is singing Jocko Homo." He announced with a frothy smile.

"Mm, I've always been curious about the musical preferences of sadistic assassins."

"Well, now you know." Broots said.

"And I wished I didn't." Jarod said flatly. "Okay, I'm in the shaft. If we lose the signal, give me twelve hours to re-establish contact before you call in reinforcements."

"Miss Parker will kill me if we deviate from the plan and I don't tell her immediately, Jarod."

"And they will kill her if they discover what she has done. And then they will come for you. Is that what you want?"

"Uh, no, it's not, but-"

"I'm nearing wing C. You still have eyes on lock up?"

"Yeah. The isolation ward is clear. Do you think you can hurry it up, Jarod. I- I feel sick."

"I'm on wing C. Is the cargo elevator clear?"

"Uh, yeah, you're all clear for lift off. Hurry, Jarod."

"How are things looking on sub-level twenty-three?"

"Sector eight, corridor eleven is uh, hold on, Jarod. Two sweepers at the end of the hall uh, are- they are moving east, turning the corner."

"Seen any good movies lately?" Jarod asked, blithely.

"Very funny." Came the tech's dry reply. "They are stepping on the elevator. You are clear." Broots advised.

"How is our egress coming?" Jarod asked.

"First things first, Jarod."

"Door 1689. I'm here."

"Disengaging lock."

"Do we have eyes inside?"

"Affirmative. Thermal infrared. The hostage is alone. He appears to be sleeping."

"Let's just hope that he isn't sedated." Jarod said and then unceremoniously opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Please!" J.R. exclaimed and bolted upright. "I don't know anything! I don't know. I-" The young man dropped his hands from their defensive position and then blinked in disbelief. "Jarod?"

"There isn't time to explain-"

"Then don't bother. Let's just get the hell out of here."

"Sydney? Major?" Parker surveyed the seemingly empty lodge, and then reached around for the gun. "Sydney?" She called again and started when the bathroom door slightly opened.

"Back here, Elaine." Jarod's father shouted over the running water. Parker resumed her entrance, closed the door on a darkening cerulean sky, and then came to an abrupt halt. Elaine? Her mother's middle name. Parker swallowed a harsh gasp, knitted her brows (and unbeknownst to her, Sydney paused in his ablutions to frown similarly).

Jarod apparently felt that it was safe to share her secret- - her lie- - with his father. All the years and strong boxes and wonderboy still doesn't know the truth.

The memory fled its too shallow grave, returned fresh, raw. Haunted her. Another game. Another lie. A simulation. Mandated by her father.

The kiss. The questions. The lies she'd told. What's your name? Your real name?

The Major's voice shattered her reverie. "Elaine, are you all right?"

"Fine." Parker returned with a reticent smile that didn't meet her eyes.

"Good. Uh, Sydney needed a hand with his sponge bath. We'll be right out. Oh, and I hope you brought food. We're starving!" The Major exclaimed.



The woman had brought a feast. And no one was more appreciative than Jarod when he arrived with a confused, but alive, J.R. in tow.

"Pizza, burgers, hotdogs, and uh, salad." He scrutinized the carrots and grape tomatoes, directed a frown at the latter- - which seemed to cause his previous excitement to briefly wither- - and then bypassed the greenery (as if it were instead poison ivy) and loaded a small pizza box with two of each of the former.

"I see that your return to the Centre hasn't diminished your appetite." Sydney observed Jarod with a smile of faint amusement tugging at his lips.

"I'm- mm- mmm- I'm starving." Jarod declared between large bites, and then turned to Sydney. "Broots is planting my fingerprints in security?"

"Parker telephoned while you were showering. Broots is ahead of schedule."

"Good. I don't want any loose ends." Jarod managed between bites. "Did she remind him to upload the patches to the bug tracking systems in the library database and embed the codes into  the mainframe?"

Sydney shrugged. "She didn't say."

"Did she have any new information?" Jarod inquired.

"Information?"

"Anything on Cox? Potential snags? Any hint of raised suspicions?"

"Son", The Major answered, "she dropped off the food and the Vicodin and then she left. I'm sure if there were any issues, she would have alerted us."

Jarod frowned, rose, dialed her number. "This is precisely why I asked her to stay until I arrived."

"You also advised her to create a paper trail that puts her away from the Centre at the time of your escape", Jarod's father said, placatingly, and then after a glance at his watch added: "Which will occur in less than four hours."

"Ten minutes to brief me. That's all I asked of her." He argued defensively. "Why the hell isn't she picking up the telephone?"

"There was to be no contact from us- that was your rule, Jarod." Sydney reminded gently and then observed in growing concern as J.R. Miller paced his way to the front door and back again. The Major followed his gaze, frowned and then addressed the young man: "Don't you want another slice of pizza?"

"I can't stop thinking about my mom. She's probably worried sick."

"She is." Jarod confirmed. "The FBI is working the case."

"Oh, God." J.R. erupted, exasperated. "I haven't even been gone that long!"

"Your mother loves you." Sydney grinned at the young man's discontent.

"Yeah. And she's overprotective. And I think I know why." J.R. shook his head morosely, "It probably has something to do with you and that brunette and this Cox person you speak of- who ever the hell that is. Look, Jarod, I'm grateful to you for finding me a heart but I- I want to know more about the person it belonged to. Was it that man? The one that tied up Mrs. Delmont in the desert? Is that why the Centre wants me? He worked for the Centre too, right? So it makes sense that-"

"I told you before, J.R.-"

"But you didn't tell me why I was shot with a tranquilizer dart and carted into that place with a hood over my head? What other reason could there be?"

Jarod rose and retrieved a photograph from his black duffel. J.R. studied the photo, shook his head and met Jarod's tear-filled gaze. "I don't understand." J.R. said haltingly. "Why do you have a photograph of Doctor Kyle with you?"

"Doctor Kyle?" Jarod inquired, his voice colored with skepticism.

"Kyle." Parker breathed the name, shook her head. "Is alive?" Her brows were arched high in surprise, disbelief.

Jarod nodded. "He's been planning this since we were children!" Came the whispered exclamation.

"Planning what, exactly?" Parker inquired and then observed as Jarod fondled the silicon face mask and blond wig he held in his hand. He nervously toyed with the latter, unceremoniously shoved it into the back pocket of his janitor uniform, and then observed as Parker studied the astonishingly life-like mask intently.

She'd seen that face before somewhere, and wondered if he'd kept tabs on her? He could have been anyone, could have gone anywhere, could have walked beside her on a busy sidewalk, confidently, without fear of detection.

"Well, he was rather vague with the details; he did, however, mention taking down the Centre." Jarod answered and then grimaced and smiled, sympathetically.

"Excuse me?" Parker exclaimed.

"I attempted to dissuade him."

"Tell me that you succeeded." Parker remarked dryly and then pressed her palms into her lower back. Jarod observed in faint amusement as she pivoted around to face the mirror and make a quick adjustment to hair.

"No. No, I didn't. Not exactly." Jarod answered.

Parker's indignant gaze met Jarod's in the mirror.

"Your hair is lovely." He commented sweetly and offered her a rather urbane smile.

Parker managed an indulgent, tired smile, and then thrust a finger at his reflection. "Flattery will you get absolutely nowhere, Mister." She informed him brusquely. "What does "not exactly", she mimicked, "mean?"

To which Jarod shrugged. "He actually provided a cogent argument."

A burst of hilarity erupted from Parker's throat. "Perfect."  She purred with a roll of eyes and pithy smile. "You ambushed me in the ladies room to tell me this?"

"Yes. And to thank you for helping me rescue J.R.- I couldn't have done that without your help." He explained, and then added in a voice textured with reverence and sympathy, "your mother would be very proud of you."

Jarod observed as she pivoted, retreated, came to an abrupt halt and tossed her head back in what many people would describe as frustration. She released an audible breath, folded her arms across her chest, fashioned an expression of malevolence- - to no doubt mask her true emotions- - and whirled around to face him.

"I've been appointed chairwoman." She announced without further ceremony.

"I know." Jarod said, softly. "And I imagine that it's going to be rather difficult for you to cope with additional responsibilities, and especially now. You're not a child anymore, Miss Parker, you're not naive or stupid, and your father is no longer here to pacify you with lies. You know the truth about what they do."

She knew. She knew everything, knew because Jarod had poked large, gaping holes into her veil of cognitive dissonance. Parker swallowed the riposte, couldn't quite stomach the taste of denial, or the same old rusty but trusty: "that's a lie and you know it" on her tongue.

She couldn't defend Mr. Parker. He might not have been a monster, Parker opined, but he sure as hell wasn't Mr. Rogers. The truth still hurt, nevertheless. She loved her father, missed him.

Consequently, she wanted to hurt Jarod, hurt him the way he hurt her when he disparaged her career, emphasized the Centre's crimes, highlighted her father's faults.

She knew it was pointless to attack. Maligning Jarod with her malicious barbs had never benefited her in the past, even when she had truly believed that he was the monster.

She recalled her father, his lips pressed into a tight line, the overt hostility towards Jarod, the dictum of disgust. The lies. Monster. He's a monster. Jarod perpetuates lies. Lies about your mother.

Those words were patently untrue. If only I'd known that back then.

"They." Jarod repeated. "They. I've been grateful that, to date, the distinction has not become blurred", he explained, and then, as an afterthought added, "well, not so blurred that I can't see the real you. In time, however, I'm afraid that when I refer to the Centre, it will be impossible for me to distinguish you from your brother, from Raines. I don't want to lose a friend. And I- I can't help but to imagine what your mother would have to say about your chairmanship if she were alive."

"Don't." Parker cautioned tremulously. "Don't you dare use my mother to advance your argument. I", Came the snarled invective, "am not her." She reminded sullenly, somewhat abstractedly, and bristled beneath his rapt gaze.

No, not Catherine Parker. Loving mother and wife, philanthropist. Sweet Catherine with her kind heart and warm smile. No. Never her. Catherine had suffered terribly, suffered from misplaced trust, manic depression and perhaps a pinch of Nostalgie de la boue tossed in for good measure.

"I'm not arguing, Miss Parker." Jarod assured her with a tight smile. He was pushing, perhaps pushing her too hard, however, he was certain that he had made some progress.

Notwithstanding the difficulties, lies, the manipulations and setbacks, he'd always been able to reason with her to, at least, a certain extent, either by employing his skills as a Pretender, or by sheer luck, or, by way of variation, sometimes an equal amalgamation of both.

"I know that you often wish she were here to advise you. I know that you did when you were younger, and it's obvious that you still do. Don't you?" Jarod inquired. "And don't you wonder what she would say? Or- or how she would react to the news that you are Chairwoman of the Centre? I certainly do."

"And I think", he added with a wistful smile, "that she would laud you for helping me rescue J.R. and she would say that you-" Jarod dragged in a breath, continued unblinkingly, "you've taken an enormous first step, you've launched a true strike against the Centre. I believe that she would ask you to take another step, and another, and see yourself clear of the Centre and the Triumvirate. She wants what all loving parents want for their children, what Broots wants for his daughter: security, happiness, love, marriage. A life. Something more than this- this perennial stasis."

"Something more." Parker slung the words back at him, twisted two rather benign words into some sort of perverted vernacular that was not altogether unpleasant. "Something more?" She screamed at Jarod-  Jarod with his éclat and posturing and aggrandizements. Damn him!

"You interrupted my date for this." Parker accused flatly, her voice liquid, anguished. "To proselytize." She tacked on in wide-eyed disbelief.

"I'm simply asking you to follow through. I'm asking you", Jarod smiled gently, "to do what your mother", he said with that familiar modulation in his voice- the one reserved soley for Catherine Parker, "died trying to do. Finish it. Destroy that place before it destroys you."

"I don't know the details of her plan, Jarod." Parker blurted, deflated, and then observed the inquisitive tilt of his head. "I don't know what she wanted or the unfinished work she was referring to or-"

"And so your answer is do nothing?" Jarod interrupted, his voice was grainy, wheedling, filled with anguish, his eyes were soft and hard, challenging and sincere. "To continue to do nothing? To devote your life to that place, to the people who killed your mother and killed Thomas?" Jarod inquired, his voice edging anger.

Parker was clearly incensed by the accusations, the painful truth in his words. She felt her confidence wither and her anger deflate beneath the intense scrutiny of his dark, doleful gaze. "She died trying to rescue you, Miss Parker. You are the unfinished work. Nothing else could have been more important than saving her little girl. Nothing."

"What if you are wrong? What if it's something else? What if Raines knows the truth?" Came the litany of hypothetical forebodings. "What if-"

"What if I'm right?" He asked softly.

"But what-"

Ever the tragedian, Miss Parker. Jarod shook his head and raised a finger to silence her.

"What if her plan begins with you? What if the end of the Centre marks the beginning of her plan, the beginning of your new life?" He posed gently, and then grasped Parker by her bare shoulders, ignored her protracted gasp, and spun her around roughly to face the mirror.

She - -  owing wholly to the unexpectedness of the gesture and the subsequent lightheadedness- - came to a rather ungainly halt on precarious heels; she could do little more than sag against Jarod for support and gape at herself in abject disbelief.

"What if the answer is right in front of you?" Jarod continued, impassioned.

Their eyes met again in the insipid light of the ladies room. "What if you and Broots and Debbie, and Kyle- what if we fight and win and walk away to live a life of our own choosing?" Jarod asked softly, and then, decidedly resolved, simply commanded:

"Let me help you."

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