Chapter 33

She had to go find him.

Normally, she’d take the fact that Broots wasn’t hovering outside her office on a Monday morning as a good sign.  No Broots meant no looming crisis to start the work week.  But today she’d been hoping to find him waiting for her, eager to give her a progress report on their efforts to free Jarod.

More like lack of progress, she thought grumpily, which explained why Broots was nowhere to be seen, the coward.  It had been almost a month since Jarod had been taken to Africa, and they still had no idea how to bring him back.  It was a well-known fact by everyone at the Centre that the Triumverate had a secret research facility in Africa.  Unfortunately, no one knew exactly where this compound was located.  They thought it was in equatorial Africa, but that area included several countries.  Ones with unstable governments where warlords like Mutumbo could operate with impunity were the likeliest spots for the Triumverate’s base of operations, but that only slightly narrowed the list of possible countries.  The recent virus outbreak had been in the Congo, so they’d been focusing their search on that nation.  Broots had been searching through any Centre files that dealt with the Triumverate – a slow process since those records were all encrypted - but so far he’d come up with nothing that would pinpoint where Jarod was being held. 

Broots was definitely avoiding her.  Which meant she had to go looking for him. 

Miss Parker strode across the Main Concourse, ignoring the now-familiar furtive glances from Centre employees.  She’d never been one to make idle small talk with fellow employees in the halls, but ever since she’d been targeted by the Triumverate, it was like she moved with an invisible force field around her; no one wanted to be seen being friendly with someone who had angered the Centre’s overseers.

She jabbed the down button to call the elevator and folded her arms, letting her irritation show, hoping it would create an aura unpleasant enough to back off anyone who wanted to use the elevator right now.  When the doors opened and she saw that no one was inside, she breathed a sigh of relief.  She didn’t need company on the ride.

She got aboard quickly and stabbed the button for the sub-level where Broots’ office was located.  Time to see if his recent efforts had produced anything useful.

The irony of this whole situation wasn’t lost on her.  Now that Jarod had finally been caught, she was still hunting for him.  Only this time she didn’t have the Centre’s permission, so the search had to be done in secret when time allowed.  Since she didn’t have an actual assignment at the moment, her cover was that she was helping Sydney and Broots put the files on all of Jarod’s Pretends in order, updating and adding to her reports on all of their failed attempts to capture him. 

Miss Parker had been doing most of this work at home so she could avoid any chance meetings with her father.  He’d made a few half-hearted attempts to apologize and try to explain his actions – he’d had no choice, the Triumverate had ordered him to turn her over, he would never have let them actually take her to Africa, blah, blah, blah.  She’d thrown away the flowers he’d sent and deleted the messages he’d left in her voice mail.  He hadn’t actually shown up at her door, and she figured he was too much of a coward to do that.  She preferred to put off any confrontation – hopefully forever.  His betrayal was like an open wound that wouldn’t heal, and she didn’t really want it to.  The constant, nagging pain served as a reminder of how wrong she’d been about her father, how Jarod had been right about him all along. 

The fact that she couldn’t do anything but wait around while Broots sifted through computer files looking for a clue grated on her nerves.  At least when she was pursuing Jarod on the Centre’s orders, she was kept busy traveling around the country to his various hide-outs.  She desperately wanted to hop on a plane to Africa, but the lack of a specific location kept her here.  She’d even had the crazy idea to do something else to piss off the Triumverate, but she knew that getting herself thrown into the same prison as Jarod would not help matters and would make his sacrifice for nothing.  She tried to use the “WWJD” code of behavior – What Would Jarod Do – to guide her actions.  His most successful Pretends were those in which he planned and executed detailed schemes.  When he’d deviated from his normal behavior and let emotions rule his actions, look where it had gotten him – some dungeon in Africa.  As hard as it was, she had to stay calm and wait for the right opportunity to act.

She hated waiting.  As the days, then weeks, had gone by, she’d grown more and more agitated, spending her days in quiet desperation and her nights in restless slumber filled with dark and troubling dreams.  At least she’d successfully fought against the temptation to have a drink.  Alcohol had been largely responsible for her insane decision to murder her brother, and she wasn’t going to let it take control of her life again.

The elevator finally came to a halt.  Miss Parker strode swiftly down the corridor to the tech lab, her high heels beating a staccato rhythm on the tile floor.  As the door of the lab whooshed open, she caught the end of what Broots was saying to Sydney:  “…not going to like this.”

“What am I not going to like?” she demanded as both men looked up quickly, startled by her sudden entrance.  “The fact that you still haven’t located the Triumverate’s research facility?”

Broots started his usual string of stammering.  “No, I m-mean, yes, I mean, n-no, I haven’t found the Triumverate’s base of operations, but I do know where Jarod is!”

Miss Parker couldn’t believe he paused after dropping that bomb.  “Where?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“He’s here, Miss Parker,” Sydney said, coming around in front of Broots’ desk.

She needed clarification.  “Here, as in here in the country or here at the Centre?”

“Right here at the Centre,” Broots said, “back in his old room or cell or whatever you’d call it.”

“They must have brought him in over the weekend when there was only a skeleton crew on duty,” Sydney said.

Miss Parker looked at both men and wondered why they didn’t seem more excited by the fact that Jarod had made it safely back from Africa.  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked slowly.  Then she remembered they’d been studying the computer when she’d come in.  “What aren’t you showing me?” she amended, quickly pushing past Sydney to join Broots behind his computer.  She was disappointed to see nothing but a stupid spaceship screen saver on the monitor.  “What were you watching a minute ago?”

Broots squirmed in his seat.  “Miss Parker, I really don’t think you want to see–”

She fought the urge to throttle him.  “How many times have you said that to me, Broots?  How many recordings have I seen of Jarod being tortured?  I’ve seen him tortured right in front of me.  Hell, I even saw him die!  I can certainly handle whatever it was you and Sydney were looking at just now.”

Sydney nodded solemnly at Broots, and with a small sigh and a defeated slump to his shoulders, the techie pulled up a file and opened it. 

As he pushed the Play arrow, Miss Parker braced herself.  Would she see Jarod chained to the wall, bruised and battered from torture?  Had he been permanently disfigured?

What she saw was darkness; the lights were off in Jarod’s cell.  But she heard a voice say, “Long time no see, luv.”

That simpering, fake accent set her teeth on edge.  Bridget.

The lights came on and she could see Jarod lying on his back on his cot, looking relaxed.  His ankles were loosely crossed, and his hands were clasped behind his head.  She couldn’t see any cuffs or shackles.  “Brigitte,” he said.  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He was speaking in his casual, lofty manner that was anything but genuine; Miss Parker hated it when he used that tone with her. 

His visitor didn’t seem to mind.  “I’m the welcoming committee,” she crooned, coming into view of the camera.  She was wearing one of her usual too tight and too shiny strapless mini dresses.  She approached the bed.  “How does it feel to be home, Jarod?”

He didn’t change position as he gave the room a dismissive glance.  “I thought I’d have better accommodations this time around.”

“Well, this has to be better than where you just came from,” Brigitte said.

The camera was too far away to see Jarod’s face.  After a long moment, he said, “True.”

Miss Parker could read all the suffering he’d experienced over the last month in that one word.  She felt her hands clench down at her sides.

Brigitte settled herself on the edge of the cot.  “They say you’re a new man.”

“Do they?” 

Was that a trace of amusement in his voice?

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Brigitte confided, resting her left hand on his thigh and slowly walking the fingers of her right hand up the front of his drab Centre-issue t-shirt.  “I rather liked the old Jarod.”

Miss Parker couldn’t believe he could just lie there and let that skank touch him like that.  His skin must have been crawling. 

She could see the slight smile on his face.  “I’m still that man,” he said, “just more… open to all of the possibilities for someone with my genius.  I’m now ready to grasp all manner of opportunities that present themselves.”

Brigitte was caressing his stubbled cheek.  “Oh?” She draped her body over his.  “And what about opportunities you ignored before?”

“Especially those,” he said and grabbed her by the hair.

Miss Parker thought he was going to thrust the bitch away from him, but instead he yanked her even closer and kissed her…hard.

Passionate wasn’t the word to describe their embrace.  Miss Parker knew how a passionate Jarod acted, and what she was witnessing now wasn’t it.  The man and woman in that cell were locked in a fierce clinch, all hungry mouths and frantically roaming hands.  She felt slightly queasy watching the disgusting display and finally had to look away.  She lifted her eyes from the screen and met Sydney’s scrutinizing gaze.

Damn.  Not sure she wanted him to see whatever was showing on her face, she quickly turned her back to him and took a few unsteady steps away from the computer.  She pressed the palms of her hands against the back of her neck to try to stave off the headache she felt forming at the base of her skull.

“Broots,” Sydney said.

“What?  Oh, oh, yeah, sorry.”  He tapped a key and the soft sounds of pleasure emanating from the surveillance video mercifully ceased.

            “Um, Willie and Tony came in a minute later and took Brigitte out of there before… um, before anything further could happen,” Broots offered.

            It helped to know that… but not much.  The stupid blue squares decorating the back wall of the tech lab began to waver in front of Miss Parker’s eyes as her head swam with questions.  Why would Jarod act like that?  As far as she could tell, he hadn’t been restrained in any way.  How could he let that woman touch him?  How could he be the one to kiss her? 

            Now the silence in the computer lab was becoming oppressive.  Miss Parker knew that the men were waiting for her reaction to that recording.  She didn’t want to turn around to see the dread on Broots’ face and the concern on Sydney’s.

            Time for some handy sarcasm. “They bring Jarod all the way back from Africa and the first thing they do is sic that tramp on him?  Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.”

            “I believe they sent Brigitte in as a test to see how Jarod would react to her advances,” Sydney said.

            “Well, he acted like any red-blooded male would,” Broots murmured.

            Now Miss Parker did turn to give him a dirty look.  “Well, obviously Jarod was fak- pretending,” she said.  Next she appealed to Sydney.   “Haven’t you always said that Jarod couldn’t be brainwashed?”

            “That’s true,” he admitted slowly, “but the Triumverate may have brand new methods of mind control at their disposal.  I’ve heard reports of some experimental drugs that have the potential to affect the pre-frontal cortex in an unusual way.”

            “What does that mean?” she asked.  “Jarod’s become like his brother Kyle was?”

“Perhaps.  It appears that his memory is intact, but his personality has changed,” Sydney said heavily.

            “He’s Bizarro Jarod,” Broots muttered.

            She refused to believe it.  “But he was only gone for a month!” she protested.  “I don’t care what Mutumbo and his gang did to Jarod, there’s no way they could undo a lifetime of good behavior and create a monster in that short amount of time.  It’s far more likely that Jarod is just pretending to have changed.  He was putting on a show for the camera.  As hard as it would be to… to act like he’s attracted to that tramp Bridget, he could pull it off.”  A bit too convincingly for her taste, she added to herself, trying to stifle the twinge of jealousy she felt.

            Sydney folded his arms and looked thoughtful.  “I agree there’s a definite possibility that Jarod is pretending to be who the Triumverate wants him to be.  But-”

            “Exactly!” Miss Parker said.  “Pretending that the Triumverate’s brainwashing worked would be the fastest way for Jarod to get the hell out of Africa and back here where he has a better chance of escaping.” 

            “But Mutumbo would expect Jarod to try something like that,” Broots put in uncertainly.  “I mean, it’s a no-brainer that he’d try to fool them in that way.”

            “That’s why they’re testing him,” Miss Parker said. 

            “Well, I intend to meet with him once I get clearance from the Tower,” Sydney said.  “As a psychiatrist and his former teacher, they can’t deny that my assessment of his ‘new’ personality would be invaluable.  I should be able to determine if he has truly changed.”

            “You’re a good shrink, Syd,” she said, “but Jarod is an expert at becoming his chosen persona.  If he sees an ink blot as a snake instead of a butterfly, what can that really tell you?”

            Sydney made a face at her comment, but his tone was mild when he responded, “I won’t be making my analysis solely from a psychiatric point of view.  He’s like a – I raised him, and I can use that personal connection to more accurately read his behavior.”

            “Well, he’s not going to drop his Mr. Hyde personality as long as the cameras are on him,” Miss Parker pointed out.  “Broots needs to work his magic and loop the feed or scramble the video or whatever he does to shut off the recording.  I shouldn’t have a problem getting permission from my fa- from the powers-that-be to visit Jarod.  They’ll want to see how he reacts to me, the woman he gave up his freedom for.”

            “Miss Parker, whether Jarod has been brainwashed or not, you’re probably not going to like what he has to say when you meet with him,” Sydney warned.

            “I may not be a Pretender, but I can certainly put on a convincing act for the camera.  Then, once Broots has tampered with the surveillance equipment, I’ll be able to talk to Jarod in private.  He’ll tell me the truth.”

            Broots looked like he wanted to say something but stayed silent when she sent a sharp glance his way, daring him to contradict her plan.

            Sydney, on the other hand, had no qualms about pointing out a potential problem.  “What if the truth isn’t what you want to hear?” he asked quietly.

            She met his sober gaze for a few defiant seconds before she had to look away.  She realized she wasn’t prepared to answer that question.  Hopefully, she’d never have to.

Work his magic.

            Broots was flattered by Miss Parker’s description of his skills, but any halfway decent hacker could manipulate the image being fed to a security camera.  The real trick was doing it successfully and not getting caught in the process.  With electronic eyes and ears everywhere at the Centre, that was no easy task.

            When he’d taken the position here as an IT specialist, he’d assumed his days would be spent helping stuffy executives retrieve reports they thought they’d deleted, getting rid of pesky internet viruses, or (hopefully) showing attractive, computer-illiterate secretaries how to hook up new hardware to the network.  He’d never imagined how dangerous his job would become.  Forbidden forays down onto SL-27, breaking into Raines’ office, being grilled by a T-Board while clad only in pajamas, being forced to go on the run and then almost shot by a psychopath, helping Jarod escape, posing as Miss Parker’s husband at a class reunion… 

            Broots reluctantly stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the Main Concourse level.  As the doors shut, he could feel himself start to sweat.  He tried to take the stairs whenever possible, but he knew Miss Parker was waiting for him in her office, so he had to take the quickest route. 

            He still had nightmares about the time he and Miss Parker had almost died in this elevator.  Managing to regain control of the car’s fried circuits before they plummeted to their deaths – now that had been a bit of magic.  He didn’t think Miss Parker had ever thanked him for saving her life.  At the time she’d been a bit distracted by a bullet wound courtesy of Brigitte and her frantic rush to rescue her father from a bomb planted on go off when his helicopter came in for a landing.  He could understand that.

            Although it would have been nice if, after it was all over, she had sought him out to personally express her gratitude.  Exhausted but victorious from her rooftop battle with Brigitte, she would have found him back in the tech lab.  He would have praised her for the tremendous strength and bravery she’d shown that day, all the while noticing (but not saying) how incredibly beautiful she looked despite the ordeal she’d just gone through.  He’d never forget the sight of her setting off on the 26-story climb through the boiler; in a black lace camisole top and tight leather pants, she’d been a Xena-like vision.  The only thing that could have topped that would have been if Miss Parker had told him how he was the true hero, how impressed she’d been by his amazing ability to perform under pressure, how she couldn’t believe he’d stopped that elevator from its free fall.  Maybe she would have gifted him with a rare sincere smile, one that could light up the darkest corner of the Centre’s sublevels.  Perhaps she would have even allowed him to take her in his arms…

Broots shook off the recurring fantasy.  How many times did he have to remind himself that he had no chance with her?  Miss Parker had made it clear to him that they would never be more than friends, and depending on her mood on any given day, even that classification of their relationship could be considered optimistic.  Besides, she had someone else in her life now – Jarod.

And no one could compete with Jarod.  He had looks, brains, brawn, and the classic tragic hero backstory.  What woman could resist that?  Heck, even he sometimes felt like he had a man crush on the guy.

Broots fidgeted and wondered why the elevator’s ascent seemed so slow.  It had only been a few hours since Miss Parker had announced her plan to speak privately with Jarod, but he knew she’d already want an update on how he was going to make that possible.  Actually, she wouldn’t want to know how exactly since techno speak made those big blue eyes of hers glaze over; he knew what she really wanted was assurance that it could be done.  Fine, he could give her that, but he wouldn’t guarantee that she’d get the results she wanted from a few minutes of alone time with Jarod.  He didn’t know the details of what had been done to the Pretender in Africa, but no one had ever come back the same after a stay at the Triumverate’s secret facility.  Look at Raines; he’d gone from a freakin’ mad doctor to a benevolent evangelist.  Even Mr. Parker had been a little balmy upon his return, spending weeks hiding out in homeless camps. 

Broots couldn’t believe that man had turned his own daughter over to Mutumbo, especially after having had first-hand experience of the treatment she could expect in Africa.  He knew that betrayal must be eating her up inside, but she hadn’t said a thing to him.  He supposed she could have spoken to Sydney about it and made him keep it confidential in a doctor-patient capacity, but he doubted it since she’d always distrusted Sydney’s shrink side.  Broots had been on his esteemed colleague’s couch a few times – usually to talk about his futile romantic feelings for Miss Parker – so he knew how hard it was to expose your inner demons.  And he knew Miss Parker had a whole horde of those.

Which was why she and Jarod would be so good together.  Even through the green haze of jealousy, he could see that those two were meant for each other.  They had a bond forged by similar painful childhoods when they’d been each other’s only friend.  The fact that they had spent most of their adult lives as enemies didn’t matter; he’d never believed that Miss Parker hated Jarod as much as she proclaimed.  Her breakdown after his “death” just proved how much he meant to her.  When he’d let Jarod take her away on the day she’d killed Lyle, Broots had suspected that the two of them would finally admit their feelings for each other once they were alone on the run together.  Obviously, Jarod cared very deeply for her, or he wouldn’t have turned himself over to Mutumbo in exchange for her freedom. 

But Miss Parker was still here, and Jarod was back but not the Jarod she wanted, not the Jarod anyone wanted except the Triumverate who probably had a whole bunch of evil deeds lined up for their new Pretender to do, and everything was a mess and as usual, he was right in the middle of it with Miss Parker expecting him to circumvent the security cameras without getting caught, and he was really getting tired of putting his life on the line without receiving even the tiniest bit of gratitude when he pulled off the impossible, the least she could do was treat him better, would that be so much to ask? 

Broots let out a frustrated sigh.  Okay, so he’d never be Miss Parker’s hero.  He could live with being her friend.  And as her friend, he just wanted her to be happy.  So, he hoped she was right about Jarod pretending to be bad.  Their love story deserved a happy ending. 

But this was the Centre.  Even as the elevator rose, Broots couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that things would not work out the way they should.

The car came to a stop, and the doors opened on the Main Concourse level.  And there was Brigitte.  Broots felt his face grow hot as he remembered how he’d last seen her in that amorous clinch with Jarod.

Accustomed to this reaction from him, Brigitte greeted him with a flirtatious grin.  “Well, hello, Mr. Broots.  I haven’t seen you in a while.  Been keeping yourself busy?”

“Well, yeah, you know, no rest for the weary.”  He gave a nervous laugh that dissolved into a small cough.  As he tried to move past her, she held the doors open with one hand and  reached out to straighten the collar of his green polo shirt with the other, her fingers lingering, warm against the skin of his neck.

“No one appreciates all the hard work you do,” she murmured.

Was she reading his mind?  Broots could feel his heartbeat quicken, and he wasn’t sure if it was from nervousness or excitement.  He didn’t really care which.

“Take your filthy paws off him, Bridget.”

The teasing glint left the blonde’s brown eyes in a flash.  She released him and swung around.  “Miss Parker, what a surprise.  I didn’t think you still worked here.  Now that Jarod’s safely back where he belongs, I would think there’s no longer any need for your services.”

Miss Parker bared her teeth and responded with equal saccharine.  “And just what services are you offering to keep your job?”

Brigitte took a step towards her, and Broots ducked through the doors just before they closed.  Then he wondered if maybe he should have gone back down to his office; he could tell a nasty confrontation was brewing.

“Mutumbo personally assigned me to work closely with Jarod on his next project,” Brigitte said, sounding proud of that fact.

As his guide to the dark side?  Broots wondered but wisely kept that thought to himself.

“Oh, I saw exactly how close you’d like to get to Jarod,” Miss Parker said and took a threatening step towards her nemesis.

Unconcerned, Brigitte glanced at Broots.  “So Mr. Broots used his considerable hacking skills to already download a bootleg copy of the surveillance video from Jarod’s cell?”  Her eyes locked again with Miss Parker’s.  “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it yet.  How did we look together?  I imagine Jarod and I make a lovely couple.”

“In your dreams,” Miss Parker growled.

Broots took a careful step away from the women.

Brigitte smiled.  “I don’t have to dream about him anymore.  Today I had a taste of the reality, and it was even better than the fantasy.”

“Jarod wouldn’t give you a second glance if he was in his right mind.”

“What’s the matter, Miss Parker?  Don’t like seeing someone else play with your boy toy?  Didn’t your Mummy teach you how to share?”

Even though he’d been expecting trouble, Broots was still shocked when Miss Parker hauled off and hit Brigitte.  It was a solid punch to the jaw, and it sent the blonde staggering backwards.  Miss Parker followed up by slamming her against the closed elevator doors, bracing her forearm under Brigitte’s chin to hold her in place.

“Broots!” she ordered, jerking her head towards the call button on the wall.

He darted forward and pushed the button.

The elevator doors slid open almost immediately, and Miss Parker simply let go, allowing Brigitte to tumble to the floor of the car.  “Going down, luv?” she mocked before the doors closed on her furious opponent struggling to get to her feet.

She snapped her fingers at Broots.  “My office.  Now!”  Then she swiveled on her six-inch heels and struck out across the Main Concourse.

Broots meekly followed in Miss Parker’s wake, keeping his head down as an example to the sea of curious onlookers that had gathered.  He hoped no one would meet her eyes right now; in her present mood, she might take it as a challenge and lash out – verbally or physically – at some poor secretary or accounting clerk.  He knew the meeting in her office was not going to be pleasant, but he was used to her abuse.

At least his downward-directed gaze gave him a nice view of Miss Parker’s long legs as she set a fast pace through the crowded corridor. 

His job did have some perks.