Chapter 32

            As the Centre jet taxied down the runway towards him, Jarod wished he’d had a chance to fine-tune this plan.  He’d been focused solely on getting here before Miss Parker could be taken out of the country and hadn’t done his usual prep work with careful attention to details.  Thankfully, a thunderstorm had delayed the plane’s departure and allowed him to arrive in time.

            Now, as he stared at the rapidly approaching airplane, the roar of its engines covering the frantic thudding of his heart, he was reminded of another desperate standoff on another runway.  That time he’s wanted the plane to take off, as it was the only means of escape for his father and Gemini clone.  Using a wounded Miss Parker’s gun, he’d pumped a whole clip of ammo at the helicopter that was blocking the way, forcing it to retreat and giving his father the chance to get away.

            This time Jarod had no weapon.  He hoped that just the sight of him would be enough to stop the airplane.

            It was almost on top of him.  Jarod’s muscles tensed and he was wondering if he was about to lose this game of chicken when the jet suddenly veered to the right.  It was slowing as he trotted after it, determined to get Miss Parker off that plane. 

As the aircraft came to a complete stop, Jarod heard the squeal of tires behind him.  Whirling, he saw a black Lincoln town car come speeding from the direction of the hangar.  The car screeched to a halt a short distance away.  Instantly, Willie and Tony got out of the front seat, their guns drawn, while Mr. Parker slowly climbed out of the back.

            With the Sweepers flanking him, he moved a couple of steps closer to Jarod, his face slack with disbelief.  “My God,” he uttered.  “You!  But you’re… you’re…”

            “Alive,” Jarod supplied then quickly added, “I’m not a ghost, not a clone, and not recently revived at the cryonics facility.  I faked my death so that you people would finally leave me alone.”

            “Which begs the question, why have you decided to reveal yourself to us now?”

            The distinctive accent identified the speaker even before Jarod turned to see Mutumbo striding towards them across the tarmac, which was still slightly steaming from the rainstorm.  Two of his men were right behind him, weapons at the ready.

            Jarod had never met the Centre’s African overseer.  The tall, broad-shouldered man was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie and looked like any other CEO, except for the decorative sash trailing down over one shoulder that displayed his tribal colors.  But Jarod knew that this man was no ordinary businessman.  Like Mr. Parker and Lyle, he played that role perfectly, but a sinister nature lurked just beneath the smooth façade. 

            Mutumbo went to stand beside Mr. Parker, who seemed to pull himself together, as if being in the mere presence of his superior gave him confidence.  Or made it imperative that he at least act composed.

            Jarod made sure to project his own air of confidence as he spelled out his proposal. “I’m here for Miss Parker,” he said.  “A simple trade.  Let her go, and you get me.”

            “It seems we already have you,” Mutumbo said smoothly.

            Jarod was aware that the four goons had quietly spread out, forming a loose semi-circle around him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another man in the hatchway of the plane with a high-powered rifle trained on him.  Mutumbo himself carried a silver-topped ebony walking stick that would serve as an effective weapon in any hand-to-hand combat.  Jarod knew he wasn’t going to be able to fight his way out of here.

            Good thing he hadn’t planned on doing that.  He’d come here to do exactly what he’d just said: trade himself for Miss Parker.

            “Why should we release Miss Parker?” Mutumbo asked.

            Even though he didn’t intend to make any sudden moves, Jarod made sure to stand perfectly still and keep his gaze locked on the African; he didn’t need a trigger-happy bodyguard taking a shot at him.  He knew they wouldn’t shoot to kill, but any bullet wound would severely limit his future options.

            “Because you only want to punish her for killing Lyle,” he said.  “Revenge is nice, but it doesn’t have long-lasting benefits.  Sure, you can make an example out of Miss Parker, demonstrate what would happen to other Centre employees who thought of defying their… masters.”  He thought he detected a ghost of a smile on the African’s face at that description; Mr. Parker also found it accurate, as indicated by the uncomfortable look on his face.  “But I’d be a much more valuable captive,” Jarod went on. “Just think how impressed everyone would be to know you’d captured me.”  He paused.  “Of course, then you’ll have to deal with the shame when I escape.”

            Mutumbo quickly extinguished the flare of anger that lit his dark eyes, but that brief loss of control confirmed Jarod’s belief that this man could be manipulated.

            The Triumverate’s representative studied Jarod for a long moment before finally saying in a conversational tone, “You don’t know how pleased I am to finally have the chance to meet you, Jarod.  I was truly saddened to learn of your demise.  And to think you’d been killed by something as pedestrian as a simple gunshot?  Such a disappointment.  Glad to see I was mistaken.  I look forward to hearing exactly how you planned and executed such a magnificent Pretend.”

            Jarod remained defiant.  “What makes you think I’ll tell you?”

            “Oh, you’ll tell me that and many other things.  We have some new techniques that I cannot wait to try on you.”

            Jarod knew he could withstand torture and Sydney had always maintained that brainwashing wouldn’t work on him.  But it still took an effort to respond with confidence.  “I look forward to the challenge,” he said evenly.  “After you release Miss Parker.”

            When Mutumbo raised an eyebrow at this impertinence but said nothing, Jarod started to worry in earnest.  Time to try something else.  “Surely you don’t want to upset your greatest ally here in the States,” he said.  “I’m certain Mr. Parker would prefer that his daughter be returned to him unharmed.”  He shifted his gaze to the Centre’s Director, who squinted vaguely in his direction.

            Mutumbo stroked his beard thoughtfully.  “Very well,” he finally declared.  “I do not believe she would satisfactorily suit our purposes anyway.  Miss Parker has already proven she has a penchant for violence by killing her own brother.”  Jarod saw Mr. Parker wince. 

“No, we need a test subject who is inherently good,” Mutumbo concluded.

            Jarod was glad of the slight breeze ushered in by the recent storm; he didn’t want these men to see him sweat.  “We’ll see,” he said tightly.

            Mutumbo accepted the challenge with a slight nod then gestured towards the plane.  Jarod looked that way.  It seemed like an eternity, but in what was probably less than a minute, a guard appeared in the hatchway and began to carry an unconscious Miss Parker down the set of stairs.

            “What have you done to her?” Jarod asked in alarm.  His agitation put the goons around him on instant alert, so he forced himself to remain still.

            “We just gave her something to make the flight more comfortable for her,” Mutumbo said dismissively.  “Don’t worry, we’ll extend you the same courtesy.” 

            Jarod was so intent on watching Miss Parker, he almost missed the signal the African warlord gave to one of his men.  Too late, he realized the danger and had no time to react before he felt the sting of a needle in the side of his neck.  “No,” he gasped, fighting the drug, but his arms and legs were already growing heavy as he vainly struggled against the arms that tightly gripped him.

            As he was slowly dragged towards the plane, he heard Mr. Parker say with grim satisfaction, “Bon Voyage, Jarod.”

            Sydney walked quickly through the halls of the Renewal Wing.  He had never liked this section of the Centre, which had little to do with rebirth or restoration.  A handy place to stash anyone from outright enemies to disgruntled employees, this secured area was more a prison ward than a place to get a new lease on life.  Ever since Sydney himself had been a “guest” here after he’d set off the bomb on SL-27 and temporarily lost his sight, he’d tried to avoid this part of the complex.  Too many bad memories.

            But nothing was going to keep him from visiting the Renewal Wing today.

            The guard at the door let him pass without comment, and Sydney felt a sense of relief that he didn’t need to sneak in here.  To the contrary, he wanted this visit to be on the record.

            Miss Parker was sitting sideways on the cot in the corner of the small room, her back against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head resting on her folded arms.  For a second, Sydney thought she was sleeping, but she looked up quickly when he entered.  When she saw who it was, she relaxed – slightly – but still scrambled to her feet.

            “Sydney, what the hell is going on?” she asked.

            “How are you, Miss Parker?” he inquired mildly, closing the door behind him and coming farther into the room. He could instantly tell that a calm demeanor was going to be necessary for this conversation.  Since he felt like a bundle of nerves himself, he was going to have to rely on all his psychiatric skill to stay on an even keel.

            “Confused,” she answered, dragging her hands through her hair which looked unusually limp and greasy.  Sydney wondered how bad he’d looked when he’d been confined to the Renewal Wing; his temporary blindness had spared him the added indignity of viewing his reflection when he’d finally been released.

            Miss Parker started pacing.  “After one of Mutumbo’s goons gave me a shot of something that knocked me out, I thought for sure I’d wake up in Africa.”

            “You almost did.  There was a last-minute change of plans.”

            She stopped and turned to give him a searching look.  “Do I have you to thank for that?”

            “No.  Miss Parker, I need to tell you something that will come as a shock to you.”  He motioned for her to sit down again.  Once she’d reluctantly perched on the edge of the cot, Sydney positioned himself between her and the surveillance camera.  “Jarod is alive,” he said.

            Her reaction was one of shock, her eyes growing wide at his pronouncement, and he knew this was in response to him revealing the secret to the invisible watchers at the Centre.  As she started to wonder why he had done that, he saw a shadow of dread come across her face.  “That… that can’t be true,” she said slowly.  “I was there, Sydney.  I saw him die.”

            Silently applauding her ability to play along, Sydney squatted in front of her and took one of her hands – ice cold, he noted – in his.  He knew the camera would now have a clear view of her face, but he felt she needed the physical contact right now.  When she didn’t pull away, like he’d half-expected her to, he knew his instincts had been right.  “I don’t know the details,” he said, “but apparently Jarod figured out a way to fake his death.”

            “But… how do you know this?”  Her voice trembled slightly.

            “Because he showed up at the airport yesterday and traded himself for you.”

            He’d spoken as gently as he could, but she still winced as if he’d slapped her.  She closed her eyes briefly, and he could see the sheen of unshed tears when she opened them again.  “Why would he do that?” she asked in a small voice.

            Was she afraid he’d announce to anyone listening the true depth of Jarod’s feelings for her?  Or was she afraid of accepting that those feelings meant Jarod would always be willing to risk his life for hers?

            Well, their love – and he was certain they loved each other – was not a topic he would discuss on camera.  “You and Jarod were friends as children, and you still have a special relationship,” Sydney said, declining to spell out just how far he suspected they’d recently taken that relationship, “so is it so hard to believe he’d want to help you?”

            Miss Parker angrily swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.  “Yes, Jarod is a chronic do-gooder, but after all the years I spent chasing him for the Centre, I should be the last person he’d want to save.”

            Sydney had to smile, if somewhat sadly, at her apt description of Jarod.

            “Well, the last time they tried to ship him off to Africa, he managed to escape,” she went on with a sniff and a defiant glance up at the camera.

            “Not this time,” Sydney said quietly.  “It’s been confirmed that Jarod has arrived in Africa and is locked up in the Triumverate’s facility.”

Miss Parker paled.  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

“Yes.  Mutumbo called your father just a short while ago to tell him.”

The hopeless look that came over her face made his heart ache.  He squeezed her hand.  “You should try to get some rest,” he suggested softly.

            She managed a weak, scornful laugh.  “You’ve been in this joint, Sydney.  You know the accommodations are less than ideal for a good night’s sleep.”

            “Then go home.”

            Miss Parker blinked.  “What?”

            He released her hand and stood up, a bit stiff from crouching for so long.  “You’re free to go.  Orders from the Triumverate.  Your father told me before I came down here.”

            He knew it was a cliché, but Sydney could have sworn he felt the sting of daggers shooting from her eyes.  She stood more quickly than he thought advisable after the shock she’d just had and strode to the door.  Finding it unlocked, she paused only long enough to send one final glare back at him before making a hasty exit.

            Sydney finally caught up to her after she’d turned the first corner in the hall.  “Miss Parker, we need to talk,” he insisted.

            She whirled to face him.  “I think we’ve said plenty,” she hissed.  “If you feel the need to analyze our little heart-to-heart, just watch the recording.”

            Sydney knew this stretch of hallway didn’t have any cameras, but he still moved close to her and spoke in a low, intense tone.  “You know I had to do that, and you know why.”

            “I don’t give a damn about plausible deniability!  Everyone now knows that Jarod is alive.  Who the hell cares who knew when?”

            “Jarod cares,” Sydney said evenly.  “He gave up his freedom to save you.  Don’t you think you owe it to him to at least try to stay out of trouble?”

            Her eyes flashing blue fire, she looked like she was about to make an angry retort, but she said nothing, and after a minute, she said quietly, “I can’t bear to think of what they’re doing to him.”

            He felt the same way, but he forced himself to stay in shrink mode and say what would give her – give both of them – some comfort.  “Jarod’s strong, and his brain is like nothing the Triumverate has ever seen before.  I’m confident he can resist whatever mind-control techniques they try on him.”

            She suddenly looked incredibly weary.  “I hope you’re right, Syd.  I don’t know.  I just want to go home, take a long bath, and change my clothes.”  She looked down at her disheveled outfit with distaste.

            Eyeing her casual tank top and wrinkled cotton pants, Sydney surmised that she would feel better once she was wearing one of her normal power suits.  Although, he reflected, the week she’d just spent far away from her comfort zone had probably been the best thing that could have happened to her at this time.  Hopefully, she wouldn’t be left with only memories of that rare respite from her normally dangerous world.  Damn it, they had to get Jarod back!

            She seemed to read his mind, because she said, with a spark of her usual determination, “And then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

            Sydney liked her attitude, but he had no idea what their next step should be.