The
air was so thick that it stuck to you like a second skin.
Every breath meant taking in the dirt and the smells of
garbage and bleach that mixed into a sweet and distinctive
stench. At the moment it was especially strong as Declan,
head to toe in black, blended into the shadows by a dumpster
located in a long, narrow alley.
"Nothing
yet."
He
fingered his gun, ready for anything, as he stared at
the doorway he had been watching for the last hour.
Their mission was to take out the leaders of a militia
group who were responsible for a series of bank robberies.
The US government suspected they were going to use the
money to bankroll a large domestic attack, but hadn't
been able to gather enough evidence to haul the leaders
into jail and break up the organization. Like any government,
the end justified the means, and when they ran out of
legitimate means, they turned to less legitimate sources:
they called in The Legacy. Philip pulled him in from
Kazakhstan and told him he was heading towards the Big
Easy to do this job.
"Hell,
beats drinking in a bar."
"Have
we made contact, O'Conner?" A voice said smoothly in
his ear. "Oh, and I'll take you up on that offer later,
sweetheart."
"Just
talking to myself. "Declan said quietly. "Status report
remains the same."
The
New Orleans Legacy team wasn't too bad. Hell, after
virtual isolation for years, Declan was happy to be
working with anyone who was breathing and could hold
a conversation. It kept him from obsessing about Kat,
and the strange man in Burabai who had frantically tried
to whisper something to him as his life leaked out into
the snow. Well, as long as he was awake and busy working
on the mission. No job and no one's company could keep
out the dreams.
The
New Orleans House was a rag-tag team. Jonathan was the
head operative, backed up by Angelo, a Latino trained
in weapons, and Beatrice, a.k.a. Bruiser, a tough and
muscular woman who Declan knew could whip him in training
any day. The Controller was Camille, a leggy blond,
who in the right light, looked a little like Katrina.
He'd known the minute he set foot in the New Orleans
house that Camille was interested in him...
"So
how about that drink later?" Camille's soft voice interrupted
Declan's thoughts. "I'm game if you are."
...as
well as very obvious about how she felt...
Jonathan's
voice broke into the link.
"Cut
the chit chat, Cam. He's on the move,
Declan
tensed. This was the signal they'd all been waiting
for. He pushed himself off the dumpster and into a crouched
position, gun held softly his hand, muscles ready for
action. The air around him was so humid that it had
formed a warm haze, tingeing everything with a soft
glow. Declan slowed his breathing, feeling a strange
sense of calm wash over him. It had become habit to
find that calm just before he went into battle.
The
door opened and two husky men emerged into the alley,
deep in conversation. Declan knew they weren't paying
attention to their surroundings...the perfect time for
an ambush.
"I
have contact."
"Move
forward, O'Conner."
Jonathan's
voice crackled as their link faded a little. Declan
stood up from behind the dumpster and pointed his gun
at the men. He squeezed the trigger twice and the soft
THWACK of the silencer echoed off the alley walls, floating
up into the night air to mingle with the noises of the
evening revelry. As the men fell to the ground, Declan
turned, unscrewed the silencer, slipped it in his pocket,
and then tucked the gun into his waistband. He pulled
off his stocking cap, tossed it in the dumpster that
had been him companion for most of the night, untucked
his shirt and grabbed a half empty cup of beer that
he'd placed on the ground near the alley entrance earlier
in the evening. Stumbling out of the alley and onto
the street, he bumped into a woman and spilled some
of the beer on her. She shoved at him and muttered something
about the damn drunks. Declan smiled a little and stumbled
back towards the Legacy house.
Part
VI, Scene II
"Here."
Katrina had said, her voice terse. "He's in New Orleans.
Everything you need to know is in there."
Katrina
threw a plain manila envelope on the London cafe table,
then flung her lithe body into the seat across from
Arleen.
"I
knew I could count on you." Arleen said flippantly.
It had been a gamble, but she knew how much her little
brother cared for the blonde woman across from the table,
and she guessed the feelings were mutual. That meant
Katrina could be convinced to give Arleen what she wanted;
Declan's location. She'd been right.
"Don't
be so smug. I'm not some bimbo you can manipulate, Arleen."
Katrina bit back, her voice filled with anger, and something
else. Arleen may have guessed that Declan was her weakness,
but she suspected Katrina already knew that, and it
was time for Arleen to pay. Arleen sighed and prepared
to do verbal battle.
"So,
you know where he is, what next?" Katrina leaned forward,
staring into Arleen's eyes. Arleen stared back, not
blinking, not giving an inch.
"I'm
getting him out."
Katrina's
eyebrows raised in a smug look of mock surprise.
"And
what if he doesn't do what big sister wants...what if
he doesn't want out?"
It
was all there, floating up towards the surface. What
if he doesn't want out...after all, even Katrina's love
wasn't enough to tear him away from the Legacy, from
this demon that controlled all their lives. What if
Arleen could do what Katrina couldn't in Berlin? Arleen
knew about Berlin.
"You
need to learn to hide your weaknesses better Katrina.
So what if he didn't leave for you. You weren't willing
to pull a gun if you had to, weren't willing to do whatever
you had to...like I am"
Katrina's
eyes narrowed as she listened to Arleen's words. It
was time to make the final thrust.
"Maybe
things would have gone differently in Berlin."
"Shut
the hell up." She hissed across the table. "Don't you
think I've gone over this a thousand times? The truth
is that I didn't know what Declan was involved with.
I was still a junior level agent with the Knight's Foundation.
I still believed in things like free will, still believed
we could all walk away at any time and have normal lives."
"Still
making excuses, Katrina?"
Katrina
bristled at Arleen's words. Their eyes were locked,
hands under the table, ready to reach for their guns.
"What
about you Arleen, what about that little problem you
had with keeping Legacy secrets...the one that got you
kicked out?"
"It
was a setup." Arleen growled. "Someone wanted my hide
and they got it."
"Still
making excuses, Arleen?" Katrina said sweetly, her voice
mocking.
Stalemate.
The two women glared at each other across the table
as the air filled with tension. Both mentally checked
how many steps it would take to get out of the restaurant
and onto the street; how many paces to the park across
the street and how may people would think they heard
a car backfire as the gun went off....
"You
never answered my question, Arleen..."Katrina said quietly.
"What are you going to do if he says no?"
"I'm
taking him anyway."
"He'll
be as good as dead."
Katrina
was right. The Legacy was not kind to its defectors.
After all, they had hunted her down for years until
they decided to start hiring her for the occasional
job. In exchange, they took the Disconnect status off
her file and Arleen kept very quiet about her Legacy
involvement.
Arleen
didn't say anything, but took the packet and opened
it and started glancing at the papers. Finally she took
her eyes off the papers and returned to Katrina's face
that was staring at her in amazement. Amazed that she
didn't seem to care that she might be serving Declan
a death sentence by trying to save his life.
"Don't
worry, sister. I'll deal with that when I come to it."
Part
VI, Scene III
"We
will be landing shortly. Please return your seats to
the upright position and secure all carry-on luggage.
All electronic devices must be turned off at this time."
Arleen
glanced up momentarily and continued to work on her
laptop computer. Had it only been six hours since Katrina
flung barbs at each other in the London corner café
they'd agreed to meet at? It seemed like an eternity.
Arleen had hailed a cab and jumped onto the first flight
to New Orleans. Now, as they were about to land, she
knew she would have to move quickly. What Arleen didn't
know was that in London, Katrina Bradley was reaching
up for the emergency page as yet another wave of pain
stabbed through her head.
"That's
a cool computer. Where'd you get it?"
Arleen
looked to her left, ready with a few choice explanative
for whomever dared interrupt her when she realized it
was just a kid who had been on his way to the bathroom
when he saw her working on her laptop. Now he was staring
at her computer screen, the one that she'd used to access
the Legacy Intranet, using the password that had been
in Katrina's files.
"None
of your damn business." Arleen snapped the laptop shut
and glared at the kid. He was about ten years old and
too curious for his own good. "Go back to playing you
Gameboy and forget what you saw. If you don't, I'll
have to kill you."
It
was enough to scare him. The boy gave a nervous laugh
and moved away from the lady in black who meant business.
He would never know how close to the truth her words
were.
Part
VI, Scene IV
"Whoever
she is, she must have hurt you pretty bad."
They
were sitting on the porch of the New Orleans Legacy
house. Declan was nursing a glass of scotch as he watched
the sun peek over the rooftops of New Orleans. Camille
sat across from him, her feel propped up on the table,
occasionally flicking the cigarette in her hand into
an ashtray on the table. A nasty habit, she'd told him
the day he arrived, but when you've been smoking since
you were a twelve-year-old street kid, it's hard to
break. That was the essence of Cam. A twelve year old,
trying to survive on the streets, and now she was a
grown-up trying to survive the Legacy.
"I
mean, really, really bad, Mr. Tall, Dark and Silent."
Cam
leaned towards Declan, her eyes fixing on his.
"It
was more like the other way around." Declan muttered,
turning his face away from the woman across the table
who looked a little like Kat and acted so differently.
Katrina was sweet, kind, loving. Camille was hard as
nails.
"You
want to talk about it, big boy?"
Not
really, and not to you, Declan thought to himself, but
he just smiled a little and stood up. He opened his
mouth to give tell Cam that he was going to go to bed
when his cell phone rang. Declan looked at the display.
It was a call from London on a safe frequency.
"O'Conner."He
said tersely, giving an apologetic glance at Camille.
"O'Conner,
its Philip Lancaster. Whatever you do, don't indicate
you are on the phone with me."
"Yes
sir, I understand." Declan said carefully, glancing
at Cam through lowered lids as he moved to the other
side of the balcony.
"Listen
carefully to what I have to say, O'Conner." Philip's
voice sounded tired. "I need your help…you may be the
only person who can save Katrina."
Declan
froze at Katrina's name. What did Philip Lancaster have
to do with Katrina? As he listened to what Philip was
telling him, he felt the blood draining from his face
and his heart started to beat wildly. When Philip was
done, Declan clicked off the phone and turned to Cam,
who was still smoking on the other end of the balcony.
"Well,
I'm going to hit the sack."
She
nodded and said something about having a good night
without her if he could, but Declan didn't hear her.
He headed inside and towards the back of the house where
Philip had told him there was a way to get out unnoticed,
an old stairwell.
Part
VI, Scene V
Legacy
house, upstairs, computer room.
Lisette
went over the directions one more time in her head.
It was risky, Michela had told her, but they needed
this particular piece of equipment to link up to Eastern
Europe. Only the Legacy house would have it, and that
meant infiltration.
Infiltration.
Lisette laughed to herself as she shrunk up against
a wall, and peered both ways. Infiltration was like
a foreign language to her. She was a techie, a nerd,
a geek…not a Legacy super-agent, not even a Legacy super-geek.
She was only a low-level temp techie for the New Orleans
team, called in only when Cam couldn't pull a mission.
The only reason she'd agreed to help Michela was that
she needed information about her father and Michela
was the only way she could get that.
Lisette
felt the gun that was tucked into a holster under her
leather jacket. At least she knew how to use it. Her
father had made sure of that when they lived in Paris.
Lis, he used to say, you never know who is out there
or what they are willing to do. You have to be ready.
Oh
papa, I was ready, but not for you to disappear.
It
had been over six months since the last e-mail from
Benoit. At first Lisette hadn't worried. He'd disappeared
before, on missions, but he always found a way to get
in contact with her, to send a message telling her he
was okay and would return soon. Not this time. Finally,
Lisette had contacted Philip Lancaster in London, demanded
to know where her father was. Philip had nothing to
say, which said more than if he'd had bad news. Something
was going on. That was when Michela had contacted her.
She needed help and it had to be strictly hush hush.
Lisette agreed under one condition; when the job was
over, Michela would help her find her father.
That
was what led to the infiltration in-progress. Lisette
slipped around the corner and walked slowly down the
street that led to the Legacy House. Bottom left door,
Michela had told her…the one with the remnants of red
paint on it. It was an old servant entrance, not used
much, and it would get her into the house unnoticed.
Michela had sent a packet with the directions and a
key that would get her in. Slip in, slip out, and no
one would be the wiser.
Legacy
house, upstairs, computer room.
Lisette
scurried into the alley next to the Legacy house and
fingered the key in her pocket. She loosened the gun's
holster and walked casually up to the door, slipping
the key in, trying to give off the appearance that she
knew what she was doing. The lock clicked as the key
turned and she slowly pushed the door open. She was
looking up a long narrow stairway with paint peeling
off the walls and chunks of plaster hanging down. It
was like any other servant entrance in any other New
Orleans house. The well to do of New Orleans didn't
want the poor, black servants coming into their houses
from the front and often had entrances where they could
report to work unnoticed.
Lisette
paused. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she took
a few breaths to slow it down.
You
must never be afraid, mon cherie, fear will guarantee
failure.
I
am not afraid, papa. I am strong, for you.
Slowly,
Lisette started to move up the stairway, carefully keeping
her full weight off the balls of her feet. Every creak
as she put one foot in front of the other, seemed so
loud that she was sure it must have been alerting everyone
in the house, her eyes on the door at the top of the
stairwell.
Legacy
house, upstairs, computer room.
Then
she froze. The door at the top of the stairwell started
to shake, as if someone was trying to open if from the
inside. Lisette pulled her gun out of its holster and
stood there, pointing it at the door, waiting for it
to open.
Part
VI, Scene VI
"I'll
run from here."
Arleen
threw two twenties at the cab driver and jumped out
the car, flinging her laptop case around her shoulder.
It had been forever since she'd been to New Orleans,
but the city came back to her immediately. After all,
she'd spent her training time all those years ago in
this city and knew it like the back of her hand.
She
also knew the Legacy House like the back of her hand.
It had been sheer luck that Dec was sent here. It wouldn't
be hard to get him out at all.
It
wasn't crowded this early in the morning but still no
one paid attention to the wiry redhead who plowed down
the sidewalk. Stranger things certainly happened in
the Big Easy. Arleen rounded yet another corner, then
stopped at the entrance to a nondescript alley. Next
to her towered the Legacy house, shutters drawn, wrought
ironwork filled with leaves and pineapples, carefully
entwining to form the initials of some grand Creole
family long forgotten. Plants hung from the balcony,
lush and green in the heat, so overgrown that they almost
obscured anyone sitting and enjoying the night air.
It had barely changed.
Breathing
hard, Arleen turned down the alley and stopped in front
of a door. If you looked carefully, you could see that
it had once been painted, but now the paint peeled off
in great strips leaving only traces of red on the bleak
gray of metal. She reached in her pocket and pulled
out a small black case; her locking picking set, then
stopped. The door was already unlocked, unheard of at
a Legacy house. Something was going on.
Arleen
pulled out her gun and started to push the door open.
She peered around it into a stairwell. The air was filled
with tension. A woman was standing on the stairs with
her back to the door. She was dressed in black; a gun
pointed up at a man standing at the top of the stairs,
her hair pulled up in a loose knot on top of her head.
Arleen could barely see her face, but there was something
familiar about her...
"Jesus
Christ!" Arleen said, her voice breaking the silence,
causing the woman to whip around. "Really Lis, don't
you know you should never leave your back to an open
door?"
Part
VI, Scene VII
Green
eyes crackled and a slight smile of amusement spread
across the lips of the woman standing in the doorway.
"Arley?"Lisette
said slowly as the gun dropped to her side, her heart
still beating from the shock of seeing Arleen O'Conner
standing in the doorway.
"The
one and only, and I see you've made my job a little
easier." Arleen said, nodding up at the man standing
at the top of the stairwell. "Hey little brother."
Lisette
looked up at the man and could see the similarities...green
eyes, a narrow and shrewd face, wiry builds, the same
dark red fire that framed Arleen's face highlighted
in his hair.
"Arleen,"he
said his voice wary "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Hey
little brother." Arleen said, gesturing for him to come
down the stairs. "Don't be afraid of Fleur de Lis here.
She's usually in front of a computer, not pointing a
gun."
Lisette
glared at Arleen. She hadn't seen her since Paris, maybe
five years ago, maybe longer, and the last thing she
needed was Arley nosing into her business now. The man
who had been frozen at the top of the stairs brushed
past her as he rushed down them and stood next to Arleen.
They were so similar: bodies tense and on edge with
serious expressions.
"Maybe
you can help me, sis." There was something in his voice,
some kind of desperation or urgency, and Lisette watched
as some of Arleen's wisecracking bravado melt away.
Lisette knew something was going on and it was serious.
IT was the same tone of voice Michela had when she'd
called six months ago.
"Shit,
Declan, what's going on?"
"It's
Kat...I have to get back to HQ."
Words
came tumbling out of Declan's mouth, something about
the plane and needing to find a doctor they could trust.
Lisette watched the interchange between the siblings
carefully. Neither seemed interested in her or what
she was doing there. That was good because it was important
that seem innocuous as possible. She didn't want Arleen
or her brother asking why she was in an abandoned stairwell
in the Legacy house at 5:30 in the morning.
"Hey."She
said, her voice echoing off the stairwell. "What about
me?"
"Oh,"Arleen
said. "Well, either I kill you."
Lisette
smiled then glared.
"Or
you never saw us. I suspect no one here really wants
to know what the other is doing."
"With
those choices, I'll take option number two." Lisette
said, sarcastically. Arleen stared up at her and their
eyes met for a moment.
"It's
good to see you Lis." Arleen's voice was as serious
as her eyes looked. She took her hand off Declan's arm
and climbed the stairs to stand in front of Lisette.
Leaning forward, Arleen softly kissed Lisette's left
cheek, then her right. "Maybe we'll run into each other
again."
With
that, Arleen bounded down the stairs and followed Declan
out the door. The door shut with a soft click, leaving
Lisette alone, staring after them. She took a deep breath
and looked up at the door at the top of the stairwell.
Legacy
house, upstairs, computer room.