"The
chip is going in."
Nightingale,
dressed in her customary black, leaned towards the glass
and looked down at the patient lying stiff on the operating
table. The doctor leaned over, holding what looked like
delicate tweezers. She squinted, trying to see the tiny
chip the surgeon was carefully placing inside the patient's
skull.
"And
this one will work Jacques?"
Nightingale's
companion sat in the corner, a circle of smoke drifting
lazily from the cigarette he held in his hand, his ruby
ring flashing in the light. She hated when he smoked
inside, but knew better to ask him to stop, let alone
march over and stub out the damn cigarette herself like
she really wanted.
"Dr.
Kharchenko thinks this is the best proto we've done
so far. His prognosis is good."
It
wasn't total personality control they were looking for
as much as being able to control the personality at
will. In all of the participants so far had a flaw:
they weren't able to return to their original personality.
Each test subject had become hostile to his or her controller.
Nightingale had started carrying a tranquilizer gun
to every activation. In the end, the subjects were eliminated,
but not all of them: there were uses for hostiles. They
had kept those few out of the reports to the Council.
Now
they needed one success. One patient they could control,
then they could go after their ultimate prize. Once
they were done, the Council would have the Legacy under
their control. Complete control.
"So
when do we switch the chip on?"
Jacques
did not respond. He stood up and went to stand next
to her at the window. His tongue came out to lick dry
lips.
"The
perfect specimen."
Nightingale
stiffened at the hunger in Jacques' voice. You will
not satisfy your appetites with this one. The subject
was the perfect specimen, but not in the way Jacques
was thinking.
"When
do we switch on the chip Jacques?" Nightingale repeated;
her voice was low and deadly. Their latest subject was
not just a play toy and Nightingale would do anything
to insure completion, even go up against Jacques DuPre.
He should not underestimate her.
What
Nightingale didn't know was that he never would underestimate
her.
Jacques
smiled his reflection pale and ghostly in the glass
that looked down onto the theater. He turned to look
at her, the smile still there.
"Tomorrow
night, darling." Jacques purred, stroking her cheek
with his fingers, his ring scraping slightly against
her skin. Most women would recoil at his touch. Nightingale
stood still showing nothing, feeling nothing. "Tomorrow
night it will all start."
Scene
II
Dishes
clinked, people talked until a slight buzz filled the
room. To his left a young couple gazed into each other's
eyes over their pastries. A waiter dropped a glass.
None of the background noise could distract Philip from
the worries that were running through his head.
The
Bulgarian report was bothering him. He hadn't been able
to shake the chill that ran through him as he realized
that Gia Doyle was setting him up. For the first time
in months something had managed to pull his mind off
Katrina, Declan and the project that the Snake had pulled
him into. He'd almost cancelled his trip to Paris. He
was glad he hadn't.
"You
seem distracted."
"What?"
Philip's head jerked in surprise as the person sitting
opposite of him broke into his thoughts. Fiona Adams
looked across the table, kindness in her eyes.
"It's
not the first time I've been left for the organization."
She laughed a little, then a shadow crossed briefly
over her features and Philip knew it was Liam. "And
as long as you are in my life, darling, it won't be
the last time."
They
were sitting in a Paris café, drinking cappuccinos,
or at least Fiona was. Philip had barely touched his.
"So
tell me what's bothering you pussycat."
Philip
smiled at the endearment he would only let Fiona use
with him.
"You
only come to me when you are in trouble anymore."
It
didn't used to be that way. There had been a time, after
Liam's death, before Fi decided to start working for
Sinn Fein, when he would come to her because he wanted
to be close to her, because it was what felt right…Philip
shook his head. It was a long time ago and wasn't worth
remembering.
Philip
picked up his spoon and started to absently stir his
cappuccino, staring down at the swirling brown liquid.
"Things
are falling apart Fi. I'm involved in something..."
The snake rose in Philip's memory. "Something terrible."
It
had been six months ago that they'd approached him about
the project. At first he'd refused. It was too sick,
too diabolical. But the Snake said they had files, information.
Philip had said no. He would risk his career. Then The
Snake had held up the carrot they had intended to dangle
all along. They would give him the one thing he wanted
more than anything, the one thing he could not have.
Somewhere, in the darkest part of his soul, something
crept out, a selfish terrible part. A part of himself
that Philip had vowed to control, to never let control
him.
"I've
betrayed someone. Someone I love very much."
Philip's
jaw clenched visibly and a vein popped out of his forehead.
Fiona put her hand over his.
"Philip...please...I
can tell whatever is going on...it's tearing you apart.
Tell me....
"No."
Philip bit out. "If I do, they will kill you and I have
enough blood on my hands at the moment. Anyway, if you
knew what I've done, you wouldn't be able to look at
me and I don't know if I could bear that."
It
was only later that he discovered it was the Council.
When he did, Philip had run to the toilet and retched
into it; as if emptying his insides would cleanse his
soul. Katrina had come running in, asking if he was
okay. Yes, Philip had answered, his head hanging in
the bowel. He asked her to leave him alone. She turned
and left the room, her hand to her head. Another headache,
she said. She was going to lie down. Philip grimaced.
He would bring her some special tea. He'd been bringing
her a lot of tea lately.
"I
don't understand, Fi. Legacy Directors aren't supposed
to have attacks of conscience. We aren't supposed to
have a conscience at all. I've seen so much, done so
much, you would think one more terrible act wouldn't
make a difference, but it does." Philip looked at Fiona,
his eyes serious. "I put my gun to my head last night
Fi, but I can't even find the courage to pull the trigger."
"That
is not the answer darling." Fiona's voice was soft and
concerned. "If you've done something so terrible, you
must try to stop it."
The
walls were closing in. Involvement with the Council
would mean immediate termination for any Legacy agent,
even a director. Gia was making a move against him,
Katrina's anger had become out of control, and now Ethan
was stranded in Bulgaria. There was no escape. He was
trapped between the Legacy and the Council, his love
for Katrina and what he was willing to do to keep that
love. Never in his life had Philip felt so powerless.
"They
will kill me Fi." As if I am not already a dead man,
Philip thought as he heard the words come out of his
mouth.
"Yes,
Philip, they might kill you...."
It
was such a Fiona-like response: cool, right to the point.
He knew there was a reason he fell in love with her
all those years ago.
"...But
that's not what's important." Fiona paused, the silence
stretching between them. Her green eyes were serious
across the table and filled with concern for him. Philip
knew that her concern for him would remain as long as
he made sure she didn't find out certain things.
Was
it only three years ago when Declan O'Conner sat in
his office, asking to get out, intent on going to find
Katrina? Philip had almost given in just because he
reminded him so much of Fiona, but his plan for the
blonde down in psyche had kept him from telling O'Conner
that what he wanted to find was only a few hallways
and a left turn away. He didn't even give Declan the
choice between the woman he loved and the organization
he served.
What
Philip knew and O'Conner didn't was that it was only
the illusion of choice anyway, that the Legacy was like
a brand on your soul that the strongest love would never
defeat. This was what Fiona must never know; that he
had single-handedly crushed her son's heart.
"Oh
darling, I worry about you." Fiona's voice brought Philip
back to the present as she let go of his hand and brought
hers up to stroke his face. "The most important thing
is can you live with what you've done?"
More
importantly Fi, can I live without what I've done?
"If
you cannot, Pussycat, go fix it. I don't believe there
is so little left of the Philip Lancaster I loved so
long ago."
Scene
III
It
was the setting sun shining through a crack in the curtains
that woke Katrina up. Her head was pounding, like someone
had used a jackhammer on it the night before. She stared
at the clock. It said 3:45 p.m.
She'd
gone to bed at 8:30 the night before. Her encounter
with Arleen O'Conner had left her emotionally and physically
drained. After getting Arleen the information she needed,
Katrina had returned to the apartment she and Philip
shared to find a bottle of wine on the table and a note.
Gone
to Paris. See you tomorrow night.
Love, Philip
Katrina
had poured a glass of wine, turned on some Miles Davis
then crawled into bed. It had felt cold and empty. As
much as she detested Philip, she missed his warmth by
her side, missed wrapping herself around his body. Slowly
the wine took effect and she'd slipped into a deep and
still slumber.
Now,
as the evening sun threw shadows on the wall, she realized
she'd been asleep for almost twenty-four hours. Gingerly
Katrina slid out of bed and tried to stand only to have
the room sway around her. She reached out for something
to hold onto, her hand grabbing the chair next to the
vanity.
"Philip?"
Her voice sounded strange and weak in the silence. There
was no answer back. Where was he? Her whole body was
shaking like she had a fever. She'd been having headaches
for the last six months, but never anything like this.
She stood, holding onto the chair, until the room stopped
moving, then started towards the bathroom.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Pain
stabbed into her temple like someone driving a needle
into her skull. She fell to the floor, her body rocking,
as if she could expel whatever was eating away at her.
Slowly, she drew herself up onto her knees and stared
at the door to the bathroom.
"Philip?"
she called again, her voice barely a whisper. He would
help her. They may have grown to hate each other, but
he would never leave her in pain. She needed meds, doctors,
and a safe bed in the white and sterile Legacy infirmary.
"Please,
Philip, help me."
He
wasn't there. Katrina tried to stand again, but couldn't.
Slowly she dragged her body back towards the bed. Breathing
hard, she stopped when she got to the dresser next to
the bed.
You
can do this Bradley.
All
she had to do was get to the top of the dresser. Taking
a deep breath, Katrina pulled herself up by the side
of the bed, then fell against the dresser, letting it
take her weight. Her head felt like it was going to
explode. Katrina closed her eyes for a moment, then
grunted. All the years in the Legacy, all the training
to withstand torture, to not break under pain, kicked
in. The pain was excruciating as Katrina felt around
the top of the dresser until she found what she wanted
then fell to the floor, breathing hard. In her hand
was a small black pager-like device with only a red
button on the top. With the last ounce of strength in
her, Katrina pushed the button, then everything went
black as her head slowly .
Scene
IV
Philip
strode purposefully down the halls of the Legacy headquarters.
He now knew what he had to do. He had to stop this here
and now. He burst through his office doors.
"Ms.
Maxwell, what time is it?" he barked as he rushed past
her desk.
"Ten
to four, sir." She said, her voice betraying her astonishment
at seeing her boss rushing in like a madman.
"Call
operations and tell them I need to pull in Agent A right
now. It may not be too late."
"Yes
sir. Oh, and sir...."
It
was too late. Ms. Maxwell stood staring at the closed
door, the information about the emergency signal from
Agent Bradley on the tip of her tongue.
Scene
V
"We
have a problem."
Nightingale
burst into the Council meeting room where Jacques had
just poured himself a bourbon.
"I
just got a call. The subject has sent out an emergency
signal. We're going to have to activate sooner than
21:00.
"Shiest."
Jacques muttered. He had a proclivity towards swearing
in German since his parents had decided that German
military school was the place for little boys who liked
to kill small animals. "It may be too early. This one
may end up as a hostile too."
"We'll
have to take the risk." Nightingale snapped, heading
towards the table where the control unit lay. She picked
it up and stared fiddling with the unit.
"Did
Kharchenko show you how to do it?"
Nightingale
nodded and returned to the control unit.
At
that moment Jacques' cell phone rang. He glanced at
the display. It was a secured call from Legacy Headquarters,
and could mean only one thing.
"Hello?"
he said shortly.
"Stop
the project."
Jacques
smiled. He had expected this.
"Its
too late Lancaster. We've gone too far to stop."
"Stop
the project or I go public with everything I know. And
I mean everything...the project, what you did to Fairchild...the
Council's involvement with this. I've cooperated too
long and I want it stopped. NOW."
"Idle
threats Lancaster. We cannot stop, and if we go down,
you will go down with us. You're in too deep now."
Jacques
looked over at Nightingale who was staring at him, the
control unit in her hands. Turn it on he mouthed to
her. Nightingale flipped two switches on the right side
of the control unit and watched as the display screen
lit up.
"You
will have your beloved Katrina." Jacques said into the
phone quietly, "and so will we."
With
that, Jacques clicked off his phone. The conversation
was useless and had become tiresome. He turned to Nightingale
who was still fiddling with the control unit. She looked
up, worry in her eyes. For months it had been about
finding the perfect candidate, then implanting the chip.
Now it was about waiting. Only a few more hours and
they could start switching the subject over to the Paris
personality. Only a matter of hours before they knew
if they had finally found success.
Scene
VI
"Hello!
Hello!"
The
line was dead. The Snake had hung up on him. Philip
ran an agitated hand through his hair. What was he going
to do now? Franklin and Benoit had been killed by the
Council. Gia was not to be trusted. If he revealed what
Agent A was up to, he would be dragged down with him
and would be of no help to Katrina.
Knock
knock
The
timid knock on the door could only be one person, his
mousy but efficient secretary trying to get his attention.
Philip didn't have the patience to deal with her today.
"What
IS it, Ms. Maxwell." Philip roared. Her face appeared
around the door.
"Its
Katrina Bradley, sir. They received an emergency call
from her about ten minutes ago and they are on their
way in ...I...I" Ms. Maxwell stammered as she remembered
the one time she'd walked into Philip's office without
knocking and was rewarded with a good view of Katrina's
sweaty and naked backside. "I thought you would like
to know."
It
had started. Philip stood in the middle of the room,
staring blankly. I'm sorry Fi. I wasn't able to stop
it. Katrina was under the control of the council now
and there was nothing he could do about it.
"Sir?"
Philip
jerked back into reality. There was one thing he could
do.
"Get
me Declan O'Conner, Ms. Maxwell."
It
was time to blow this whole thing wide open.