Chapter 7

Author’s Note:  This story takes place about one year after “The World’s Changing” (the first episode of Season 4), but in this version Brigitte is not engaged to Mr. Parker at this point. 

            “Catching Jarod is one thing.  Keeping him is quite another.” 

            Lyle’s coat was off, his tie loosened, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, but he was all business as he sat forward in his black leather desk chair and studied the Centre blueprints for what felt like the millionth time.  “Containment is the key,” he went on.  “You need to pinpoint likely escape routes and cut them off.” He’d successfully done that a couple of years ago when he’d thwarted Jarod’s effort to escape, but even he wasn’t so arrogant as to believe that he could do it again.  “But since it’s not exactly easy to predict what a genius will do, the best course of action is to eliminate all possible exits.  That means guards at every door, alarms on every window, and extra surveillance cameras, including ones at every elevator.”

 He peered closer at the diagram spread out across the obsidian surface of his desk.  “I even electrified the damn ducts.  By the way, Angelo’s expected to make a full recovery,” he added.  “He got a pretty decent shock, but he’ll only need to be in the infirmary for a couple of days.  Maybe that crazy monkey will think twice before he decides to play jungle gym in the Centre’s conduits again.  And maybe others with clearer heads on their shoulders won’t even attempt it now that they know the whole labyrinth is booby-trapped.” He smiled, feeling fortunate that he’d been on one of the sublevels yesterday afternoon and close enough to hear Angelo’s agonized shriek when the jolt of electricity had hit him.  He knew Miss Parker and her crew had heard it, too, which just made it even sweeter.

He rolled up the blueprints and set them aside.  He didn’t need to look at them any longer; he was starting to see the maze of tiny squares and rectangles in his sleep.  At this point, he could probably race Angelo through every back corridor, ventilation shaft, and even sewer pipe in the place – and win.

“But if Jarod still manages to slip through the inner perimeter, I have the ‘little’ surprise supplied by the lovely Dr. Archer which should stop him in his tracks.”  Lyle felt an anticipatory glee bubbling up inside him.  “I can’t wait to test it.”  Then he sighed.  “But the good doctor said to wait at least a week until the implanted device fully integrates into Jarod’s central nervous system.  Whatever the hell that means. So I’m waiting.”  Which was not something he was particularly good at.  He’d stayed away from Jarod all week, knowing that he couldn’t trust himself to be in close proximity with the prisoner and not try out his new toy.  He hoped Jarod appreciated the reprieve.

“So, now that Jarod is contained, the challenge is to get him to perform.  The Triumverate only approved the funds for all these extra security measures with the understanding that we get our money’s worth out of Jarod.  They want results and they want them fast.”  Lyle pulled a manila folder closer.  He didn’t open it, just tapped it thoughtfully with his gloved left hand.  “This first project is of the utmost importance.  Not only because of its profit potential, but also because it’s my chance to prove that I can control Jarod and make him perform any necessary simulations.  If I can do that – when I do that – I’ll be golden, untouchable.”

And I’ll be able to relocate, he thought, looking around at his dark brown walls decorated with assorted African and Japanese art.  His location in the Tower was nice, but one day soon he intended to occupy his father’s opulent office, which had its own private washroom complete with a Jacuzzi tub.

He returned to his musings.  “So, how does one motivate a person like Jarod?  You can’t bribe him; I’ve tried.”  He thought back to his first one-on-one meeting with the Pretender, when he’d tried to cut his thumb off, but not without first offering to work with him.  It was a shame how that episode had ended.  If Kyle hadn’t thrown himself between Jarod and a bullet, things might have been much different.  In retrospect, Kyle was the one who would have been a better choice as a partner in crime because of his willingness to use violence when necessary.  In the end, Lyle thought, Kyle really did decide who lived or died.

“You could offer to give him more clues about his dear Mommy and Daddy.”  Lyle paused then shook his head.  “No, I’ve played the “I know a secret about your family” card one too many times, I fear.”  His mind returned unwillingly to the time in Appalachia when Jarod threatened to shoot him – had him on his knees truly believing he was about to be executed.  In a desperate attempt to save himself, he’d told Jarod that only he knew vital information about his parents and that information would die with him.  To this day, he still wondered if that was what had kept Jarod from shooting him.  “Plus Jarod wouldn’t do something he found truly distasteful for a selfish reason like filling in more branches of his family tree.”

“Torture – while entertaining – would be ineffective.  Jarod’s high moral standards won’t let him hurt others just to put an end to his own suffering.”  Lyle’s lip curled in disgust; he’d never understand these strong and silent hero types.  Why allow yourself to get beaten to a pulp, sliced open (he remembered with a wince the knife skills of Kyle and then had another twinge of regret that he and the ‘little brother’ had never been on the same side), or shocked with jumper cables (that memory brought a smile to his face)?  To withstand torture out of some over-developed sense of duty, honor, pride, or principle seemed foolish to him.  Better to give in before you were too battered; thoughts of future revenge could wipe away any shame in doing so.

“And there’s the answer: Jarod’s highly-developed sense of morality.  What most people would consider one of his best features I know to be his greatest weakness.  One that I will use against him to get what I want.”  Lyle spoke with determination, but he knew this first task assigned by the Triumverate would require all of his skills of manipulation and coercion to get Jarod to complete it.  It was a stroke of luck that they’d been able to find Jarod’s latest hidey-hole near the cemetery and retrieve his collection of DSAs.  Viewing the record of the final simulation for the Centre – or more accurately, observing the method an operative named Damon had employed to gain Jarod’s cooperation – had been invaluable in planning his own way of approaching this newest project.  He still couldn’t believe Jarod had given in to the Centre’s demands in a futile attempt to save the life of some mentally-deficient nobody.

Lyle smiled grimly.  If normal methods of persuasion failed and Jarod ultimately refused to do the simulation, he knew exactly how to make him change his mind.  Or, more precisely, who would change his mind.

He must have stayed silent a beat too long, happily contemplating several scenarios where Jarod would be forced to do his bidding, because the hands that had been gently massaging his neck and shoulders throughout his musings suddenly stopped.  “Sounds like you have it all figured out,” a voice purred in his ear.  “Don’t you think it’s time to take a break?” 

Lyle leaned back in his chair and drank in the sight of Brigitte in her skin-tight black leather jumpsuit as she glided into his line of sight.  “I guess I do deserve one,” he agreed.

With a saucy grin, she slid between him and his desk, leaned forward and began to unbutton his shirt.  Lyle caressed her short blonde hair.  “Have you ever considered dyeing your hair brown?” he inquired idly, remembering fondly the good times he’d shared with his Asian mail-order brides years ago.

“I’ve been a brunette,” she said, “but it’s true what they say.  Blondes do have more fun.”  She started to pulled back but was stopped by the sudden pressure of his hand on the back of her neck.  The teasing glint in her brown eyes faded, replaced by a look of uncertainty tinged with fear..

What was she seeing in his face?  Forcing himself back to the present, Lyle abruptly released her.  “Never mind,” he said, making an effort to keep his tone casual.  She instantly relaxed and leaned provocatively against his desk.  He yearned to reach out and grab the tantalizing zipper that traveled from neck to navel, but first:  “I do have one more bit of business to discuss with you,” he said.

Brigitte looked disappointed, but she waited obediently to hear what he had to say.

 “I need your help to make my plan a success,” he went on, as he gave in to temptation and stretched both hands out to slowly trace the curves of her waist and hips.

“I’ll do anything,” she said throatily.

He had no doubt she would.  “I may need to get my father out of town for a little while, and I thought a cruise would be nice.”  He paused.  “He’d be more willing to take a vacation if he had a beautiful companion with him.”

She pouted prettily.  “He’s so old,” she complained.

“My father is currently the most powerful person at the Centre.  And I know you find power attractive.”  He pulled her into his lap.

“Yes, I do,” Brigitte simpered, snuggling close.  She nibbled on his ear then whispered, “Is the door locked?”

“Does it matter?” he replied, arching an eyebrow.

Brigitte gave a long, low chuckle.

It was Saturday afternoon, and Lyle doubted they’d be interrupted.  He felt vaguely disappointed.

The fluorescent lights blazed on with a painful brightness in a room that had been mostly pitch black for seven straight days.

At the same time, the door to his prison opened for the first time in a week and someone stepped inside.  Jarod blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but he didn’t need clear vision to know who it was as the person said cheerfully, “Rise and shine, Jarod.  It’s a new day.”

He stayed seated on the edge of his cot, giving his heartbeat a chance to return to its normal speed.  When he felt certain he could keep his voice steady, he said, “Oh?  Is the world changing…again?”

Now that Jarod’s eyes had adjusted, he could see that the smile on Lyle’s face wavered slightly at this reference to the arrogant catch phrase he’d used the last time they’d been together at the Centre.  “I’m flattered you remember your last time here so well,” he said.

“I remember everything,” Jarod responded in a low voice, making sure the implied threat of revenge was evident in his tone.

A muscle twitched along Lyle’s jaw but his steel blue eyes didn’t flinch from Jarod’s own intense gaze.

Uh-oh.  He’s feeling awfully sure of himself.  Jarod sincerely hoped Lyle was suffering from delusions of grandeur, as usual, but would be humiliated when his prisoner made an impossible escape, as usual.

Now he just needed to figure out how in the hell he was going to do that.

Lyle took another step into the room, leaving the door open behind him.  Jarod didn’t see any Sweepers in what little he could glimpse of the dimly lit corridor outside.  Lyle was obviously emboldened by the fact that Jarod was still cuffed and chained and unable to make a run for it.  He looked cool and collected in his businessman attire, his burgundy tie matching the leather glove he wore on his mutilated left hand.  He glanced at the cramped confines of the room and inquired pleasantly, “So, how do you like your quarters?  I prepared them especially for you.”

Jarod wished he’d been able to study the room more thoroughly over the past week, but being left in the dark for all that time had made it difficult to learn the details of his cell and impossible to search for a way out.  He’d figured out quickly that the necessities – stainless steel toilet and sink of the type found in most jail cells – were close by, within the range allowed by his chains.  Food had been provided twice a day through a narrow metal slot in the door; he’d received pouches of ready-to-eat military rations and bottles of water.  But no utensils that could possibly be used as tools or weapons.  There was a small window higher up on the door with a sliding partition that had so far remained shut most of the time.   A couple of days ago he’d tried the old trick of yelling that he was sick and needed help – mainly out of sheer boredom and to give his vocal cords some exercise - and was shocked when he got a response.  A face he didn’t know had suddenly appeared in the window opening of the door but had disappeared just as quickly, the partition sliding shut with a decisive snap.  He figured that must have been a new Sweeper who didn’t fully understand the directive Jarod imagined had been handed down by the Tower: no contact with the prisoner.  He wondered if the man still had a job.

To Lyle’s question about his “quarters,” Jarod replied, “Does it matter?  You’ll be shipping me off to Africa soon.”

“Ah, no, we’re not outsourcing your talents this time, Jarod.  We’re going to get the job done right here in the good old U.S. of A.”

He wasn’t being sent to Africa?  That was a surprise and slightly unwelcome news; he’d been counting on the trip as his best opportunity to escape.  Now he truly was going to have to figure a way out of this damn fortress.

“And just what is the job?” Jarod asked, striving to keep his tone unconcerned.

He wasn’t fooling Lyle for a minute.  Obviously aware that Jarod was nervous about what task the Centre would ask him to complete, his captor refused to satisfy his curiosity.  “We’ll worry about that later, shall we?” Lyle said smoothly.  “First, we need to deal with some unfinished business.”

Jarod didn’t let the sudden queasiness he felt show as he said, “Another session with the jumper cables?”

An unholy joy shone briefly on Lyle’s face before he adopted a neutral expression.  “I no longer use such crude implements to get what I want,” he said.

That was a bit of good news, although Jarod couldn’t help but wonder what more sophisticated forms of torture Lyle employed these days.  He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Allow me to point out a few other changes since your last stay here,” Lyle went on pleasantly, sounding like a bellhop discussing a hotel’s recent renovations.  “You probably don’t know this, since you’ve mostly been unconscious or tucked away down here since your arrival, but the Centre has tripled its number of security personnel.  You won’t be able to find one single door in the place that doesn’t have at least one guard posted at it.  And where there isn’t a living person, there are electronic eyes in the form of surveillance cameras.  Everything is being recorded.” He glanced up at the camera in the corner of the cell and gave a little wave.

“What else is new?” Jarod asked dryly, keeping the bored look on his face while his insides churned.  Lyle was in too good a mood.  That did not bode well for him, not at all.

“As you can see, there is only one door in or out of this room.”  Lyle looked down then and reacted with mock surprise.  “And… oh, too bad! No drain in the floor leading to a convenient escape route through the sewer pipes.” 

The way Lyle was pacing back and forth in front of the open door, gesturing to the various ‘amenities’ suddenly reminded Jarod of a fascinating television program he’d first seen soon after escaping from the Centre the first time.  He’d been a doctor then and had viewed this show on the television sets in many of the patient rooms at the hospital.  Contestants had to guess the correct prices of products to win prizes.  For some bizarre reason, Lyle reminded him of the models strutting the stage on that program, showing off the wonderful items to be won.  Jarod wondered gloomily if he could ever win his freedom and if he could, what would be the price?

“But look!” Lyle pointed to the far corner of the room.  “A grate leading to an air duct!  Always a favorite means of escape.  But I wouldn’t try it this time, if I were you.”  He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  “Did you hear that scream the other day?  Poor Angelo was crawling around in the ventilation shafts again and I’m afraid he took quite a jolt from the new electric security grid I had installed.  He’s fine, though, already out of the infirmary and back in his space.”  He paused then shook his head in mock sadness.  “A shame the current didn’t fry his brain back to some semblance of normal.”

Jarod had heard a faint yell, but after days in a dark and silent cell, he had decided his mind was playing tricks on him. Comforting to know he wasn’t imagining things, but disturbing to realize his friend had been the source of that agonized cry.  And depressing to come to grips with the cold hard truth that he couldn’t expect a rescuer to pop through the vent in the wall.

“Let’s see if I have this straight,” Jarod said.  “All I have to do is take out the guards, disrupt the feed to the surveillance cameras, and shut off the current in the conduits.”

Lyle obligingly looked amused by the sarcastic summation.

“You forgot to mention these,” Jarod added, lifting his cuffed hands and rattling the chain for emphasis.  Being restrained for this long a period of time had left painful bruises on his wrists, but he refused to show Lyle his discomfort.

“Ah, yes, the shackles.  Have you tried to free yourself yet?”  Lyle paused as if waiting for Jarod to do just that.  “They’re not standard issue.  A note was put in your file last year about you being able to get out of regular handcuffs, so we decided to upgrade.  I guess someone realized you had past experience as a magician.”

Jarod highly doubted that Sydney would have alerted the Sweepers to his escape artist abilities, but he knew a certain long-legged brunette who would have no problem sharing that little tidbit of information with the Centre’s security personnel.  A few days ago he had made an attempt to wriggle out of the handcuffs, but he’d had no luck and decided he wouldn’t try again until a better opportunity for escape presented itself.

Even with guards in the hall, a camera on the wall, and tamper-proof cuffs, Lyle had still stayed close to the door throughout their entire conversation, Jarod noticed, just out of the reach allowed by the chains attached to his hands and feet.  For all his cockiness, Lyle was still a coward at heart.  Good to know.

“If you’re a very good boy, we might just let you out of those cuffs.  For short periods of time, that is.”  Lyle slipped his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, obviously pleased with himself.  “Now, shall we get this new day started?  I think a shower is in order,” he said.

He hadn’t been given any soap, just some moist towelettes with his meals.  Still, he’d tried to keep himself clean, although the chore was further complicated by the restricted movement of his hands and feet.  He hadn’t tried too hard, however, because he’d hoped his need of a trip to the showers might provide a chance for escape.  Jarod figured it had to work better than the last time he’d been at the Centre; he vividly remembered his harrowing trip down through the drain and maze of ducts, only to drop into a cage in front of a smug Lyle.  It seemed there was no way out of his cell this time, so he had to make his jailers take him out.

“And a shave,” Lyle continued, looking critically at Jarod. 

He doubted they’d let him get his hands – even cuffed – on a razor.  Jarod wondered who would do the honors.  Willie?  Maybe Sam.

“Shall we go?”  Lyle eyed the chains.  “Let me get someone in here to take you off your leash.”  He turned and took a step towards the hall.

Jarod stood up, eager to get moving.  During this week of solitary confinement he’d done whatever exercises he could to keep his muscles as strong as possible in the event he’d have to act quickly.  Maybe he could find and exploit a weakness in the Sweeper team assigned to escort him to the showers.

“Oh, one more thing,” Lyle said, turning back around.

The pain was so sudden Jarod had no time to prepare for it.  The intensity of it made him cry out and fall to his knees.  Dazed and shaken, he stared up at Lyle, who slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket and showed Jarod the tiny black box he held.

“How do you like my new toy, Jarod?  This security upgrade cost more than all the others put together, but I think it was worth it,” he said.  “If you try anything, all I have to do is push this button…”  He demonstrated.

Even with that slight warning this time, Jarod could barely stand the searing pain that shot through his body.  He clenched his teeth and just managed to keep from pitching forward and landing face-first at Lyle’s feet.  His eyes stayed riveted on the device in his tormentor’s hand; it seemed like an eternity before Lyle took his finger off the red button.  The agony subsided at once, but every nerve still tingled, and he was sweating as if he’d just run a marathon.

Lyle seemed to vibrate, too…with excitement.  He looked like a child who had just received the best present ever.  Blue eyes bright with undisguised glee, he said, “As I mentioned before, Jarod, it’s a new day.  Shall we begin?”

Still too rattled to think clearly, Jarod could only nod and hope that Lyle didn’t have any more new “toys.”