Nothing.
Arleen stared at the doorway of the apartment building
she’d watched her brother disappear through only twenty
minutes ago. Now there was nothing. No Declan, no Katrina
leaning on his arm…she was sick, he said as he whispered
through his secured cell phone…he would be down with her…could
Arley call the doctor, could he meet them earlier? She’d
barely had time to answer before the line went dead. Now
the doorway gaped, solid black in a night that seemed
to be filled with more grays than anything else. The sky
was a luminescent gray, the trees ghostly against their
winter backdrop, and the apartment building gaped, soul-less,
engulfing. Arleen fought the fear that was rising in her
throat, felt her hand instinctively feel for her gun,
shaking a little. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable for
a long time. Dec had a way of doing that to her. That
was why she typically stayed away from him. In her line
of work, vulnerability was death.
Then
it happened… a movement out of the corner of her eye.
Arleen’s head jerked up and she grabbed the high power
night vision binoculars sitting on the seat next to her.
They cut through the black; the trees now stretching against
the sky like lime green fingers as Arley focused in on
the entryway. A woman was in the shadows, shrunk against
the wall. As the woman moved out of the doorway, Arleen
could see the glint of moonlight off her blonde hair;
her familiar mouth set in a grim line and a strange sense
of purpose in her eyes. Arleen felt her heart sink as
what she was seeing became clear. The woman was Katrina
Bradley… a healthy, unhurt Katrina Bradley, and that could
only mean one thing. Declan was in trouble.
"Eternity."
Kat was whispering in his ear.
"We
will be together, my love," she said, her green eyes tilting
with laughter. It was a warm day, sunshine filtered over
them as Declan settled back into the grass of the meadow
they lay in. He wanted to stay forever, Katrina in his
arms forever. He closed his eyes and watched as colors
danced across his eyelids, reached out and took Katrina’s
hand in his…
When
will he come out of it?
Arleen?
Declan opened his eyes to find the source of her voice.
Kat leaned over him, placing her lips on his, soothing
him with her soft touch.
He
lost a lot of blood.
Another
voice, male, but Declan ignored it. Kat lay against his
side; her hands pressed him into the grass, strong, unyielding…
It’s
hard to say when he might wake up.
Katrina’s
hands kept pushing harder and harder. Gone was the loving
touch and Declan felt panic rise into his throat as he
realized that he could not move. All he could do was stare
up at Katrina, observing her face in a strange detached
way. The way her hair fell against her forehead, the blankness
in her eyes…then the meadow slipped away and he was in
a room, that room, with Katrina standing across from him,
her gun leveled at him. She fired…once, twice, three times,
but Declan stood paralyzed, each bullet ripping into his
body, pain searing through his chest, but he would not
fall, he could only hurt and bleed.
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!"
Declan
screamed again and again as the bullets ripped into him.
Then
he opened his eyes.
"…came
through the operation fine. He was lucky the bullet wasn’t
over one more inch. What he needs now is recovery time."
They
were blurred and dry, and Declan blinked…once, twice…staring
up at a great white expanse of ceiling. An antiseptic
smell flooded into his nostrils, clinks of metal far away
and the quiet moans of people…people dying.
He
remembered…memories playing like pictures in his head…the
room, the darkness. Lying on the floor, his blood warm
around him like water, sucking him down into the blackness.
He just wanted to lean back, sink into it, and let himself
go. It wasn’t the bullet that had hurt so much, but the
hand on the trigger. Katrina. Katrina’s hand on the trigger…
"Why
didn’t you let me die."
His
voice was raspy; his throat dry like sandpaper and his
voice leaked out in a whisper. The two people standing
next to his stared at him. He stared back, eyes angry,
accusing.
"Why?"
"Declan."
It was Arley, moving forward, taking his hand in his.
"You’re going to be okay."
Declan
couldn’t say anything. He’d watched his lover point her
gun at him, sending bullets that ripped through flesh
and bone, severing his heart and his soul. He didn’t know
if he would ever be okay again.
Jacques
paced across the floor of the control room; his steps
even and measured. His eyes flicked over to the panel
where the headset lay. He was waiting for contact. Every
second seemed to tick by for an eternity. That was when
the phone rang, and Jacques jumped across the room. Whoever
it was, he would have their head for interrupting him
at this crucial moment.
"DuPre."
He answered in his thick French accent full of irritation
and anger. "What is it?"
"Jacques,
darling."
"Nightingale."
Jacques sighed; his anger melting away as her voice came
across the line in honeyed tones, seductive and dark as
velvet. As always, Nightingale had a way about her, a
way of stopping him in his tracks, making him forget any
anger he had at her. It had saved her life more than once.
"Has
she made contact yet?"
"Oui,
she has. But I lost her and I'm waiting for a second contact
now."
"And…"
Nightingale's voice crackled across the satellite phone.
Jacques knew she was in Bulgaria now. "I don't have much
time Jacques. I need status."
"And
the Bradley woman seems to be completely under our control.
She blew away that rogue Irish agent lover of hers…should
make Lancaster happy. He'll get part of what he wants."
"She
killed O'Conner? Well, well, well." Nightingale's voice
was ripe with satisfaction. The Paris AI was fully implemented,
fully in control. The plan was working, and the Legacy
would soon be theirs to play with. "What a fool the old
man, Fairchild, was not to take you up on your offer.
I'm almost sorry you killed him. I had wanted to see his
face when he realized that the AI brought down The Legacy."
Jacques
was getting tired of the conversation. Nightingale didn't
usually call up to reminisce about their admittedly brilliant
plans. He let out a large sigh or impatience. It was time
for her to get to the point.
"I'm
surprised you have time for all this chit chat, considering
what has happened in Bulgaria. After Paris makes contact,
I will send her to you, Mon Cherie. She will be all yours."
"All
mine? I like the sound of that, Jacques. But I'm afraid
there's been a glitch in our plans. The second implant
has been taken from our control and Julian has ordered
us to send Paris to reel him back in."
Jacques
raised his eyebrows. Sending Paris on a mission so soon
might jeopardize the AI. He was about to question Nightingale
further when he saw the light on the panel across the
room start to glow amber, and a blip appeared on the screen
above.
"She
has made contact." He said tersely into the phone. "Fill
me in later."
With
a sharp click, Jacques closed his tiny cell phone and
slipped into his pocket. In two strides he crossed the
room and slipped on the headset.
"Paris."
He purred softly. "I'll guide you to the rendezvous point."
Jacques listened for a second and was met only by silence.
She was there; he could hear her breathing, but no answer.
"Paris."
He calmly repeated her name. "Stay with me Paris. Now
take a left at the next street you come to."
He
was still met with silence on the other end of the line,
but the blip on the screen slowly started moving the direction
Jacques had just pointed her towards. He smiled. Paris
was still in control.
I
cannot go on. I cannot…
Her
breathing was fast as she shrunk up against the lamppost,
blending into the shadows.
The
voice whispered in her ear, seductive, guiding her…left,
then right…down the alley, through that yard…. "Paris."
It said, "Stay with me Paris. Stay with me." The other
voice was there too…the one she didn’t want to hear anymore.
The
girl wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t stop screaming in her
head. And she kept telling the girl. So he's dead, get
over it. He is bleeding on the floor, life seeping out
of him. He is dead. Paris pushed back at the girl…you're
dead too if you don't shut up, she told her.
Her
head hurt. She wanted to stop and curl up on the pavement,
feel the coolness on her cheek, the grit of the city digging
into her skin, her eyes slipping shut.
"Help
me." She whispered, not caring who would wonder about
the tall blonde standing on the corner, talking to herself.
"Steady,
Paris." The voice in her ear whispered. "It will get better.
It’s just the transformation. The host will fight you,
but you will win."
Paris
shook her head, unable to concentrate as the girl's voice
still hissed in her head.
"One
more turn, Paris. You will see a silver car."
She
turned the corner and saw it gleaming eerily in the moonlight.
"Stop
by the lamppost and look in the case."
Paris
shrunk into the shadows once more and quietly opened the
case she'd been carrying since she left the apartment.
"Do
you see the gun."
Paris
nodded, whispering yes. She saw the gun, long and sleek
in the dim light. She pulled it out of the case and felt
it's coolness in her hand. Then she pulled out the silencer
and screwed it on.
"Good
girl." The voice said "Now, kill the man in the car."
She
dropped the gun's weight down to her side, feeling it
brush against her thigh as she moved out of shadows and
into the street. Looking around, she crossed over to the
car and tapped on the window with the barrel of the gun.
The man rolled down the window and she pointed the gun
at his face. The soft thwack of the silencer bounced into
the street and Paris felt dizzy. Without looking around,
she pulled the door open and pushed the heavy body out
onto the street, then settled into the driver's seat,
still warm from the heat of the man she'd just killed.
"Paris?"
Waves
of nausea coursed through her as she leaned her forehead
on the steering wheel. For a second, Paris felt like she
was floating, rising above the dust and grime that choked
the London air, the voice in her head grew distant and
she felt disoriented, strange…confused. Then it came to
her. It was the girl. The girl's anger at watching her
body kill again. Paris pushed back at the girl, pushed
hard, shoving her down into the dark recesses of her mind,
trapping her where she could not get out, could not make
her feel these strange things.
Slipping
into the driver's seat, she whispered to the voice.
"Where."
The
voice sighed across the line, a sigh of relief to hear
her stone cold, in control voice.
"We've
had a change in plans Paris. Return to home base at once."
"KATRINA!"
Arleen
sat straight up at the sound of Declan's voice. The hallway
of the infirmary was dimly lit, an effort to simulate
the darkness that was outside. After what seemed like
days, she'd finally fallen asleep, curled on a long bench
outside Declan's room. Still, it was sleep with one eye
open, her ear cocked, looking for sounds of trouble. Years
in the business had left Arleen jumpy.
Declan
yelled again. Leaping up, Arleen felt for her gun and
ran into Declan's room to find him wild eyed from a dream,
sitting up in bed.
"I
have to find her. Help me, Arley."
Help
him? Hadn't she helped enough? Arleen stared at him mutely.
It always came back to Katrina. She wished the blonde
had left her brother alone, stayed in the states, stayed
with her precious husband. She might be baking brownies
for the bridge club right now.
"Please,
sis."
God
knows Arleen wanted to walk away, to leave Declan to his
own devices and let him chase after his ghosts. But her
conscience tugged. Would he hesitate to help her if she
needed it? Did she want to keep her little brother safe,
or was she jealous that Declan had found the kind of love
that Arleen could never have? Arleen knew the answer to
both questions and she knew what she had to do. Swallowing
hard, she crouched down next to the hospital bed and put
her hand on Declan's arm.
"Okay."
Their eyes met and Declan understood what she was offering.
"But you have to promise me that no matter what I find,
you'll stay here and get better."
Jaw
tight with pain, he nodded in agreement. Arleen knew his
injuries hurt - that it was a mammoth effort just to sit
up. But she wasn't about to be easy on Dec.
"Say
it."
Declan
swallowed but didn't say anything. Arleen's gripped increased
on his arm. She meant business and he knew it.
"Say
it, Declan. Give me your word."
He
stared at her; his green eyes were flecked with gold,
and something else. He was bout to lie his goddamned teeth.
The minute Declan O'Conner could get on his feet he would
go after Katrina and would never rest until he found her.
He would die before he let Kat go. Arleen wondered if
anyone had ever mentioned obsession to her little brother.
"Okay,
Arley. I promise."
Arley
felt her jaw clench as anger rose in her throat. Damn
Katrina Bradley.
"Sis?"
Declan reached out and Arley recoiled from his touch.
She stood up and looked at Declan, pale against the white
sheets, dark circles framing the look of desperation in
his eyes. He needed her help. She wanted to walk out and
never look back, to pretend it never happened, but she
wouldn't. Even knowing her help might destroy her brother,
destroy the one thing in life she truly loved, she couldn't
walk away. Damn him.
That
was when she felt the tears. Arleen O'Conner was tough.
She had survived situations that would cause even the
most seasoned Legacy agent tremble with fear. Her world
was ugly and violent, and she had learned to be strong
and hard. Arleen O'Conner didn't cry for anyone, even
for her brother.
"Fuck
you Dec."
With
that Arleen walked out into the hallway and leaned against
the wall, feeling the cool white paint against her back.
Her mind was racing. She needed help, and she knew exactly
who could help her. Arleen breathed in deeply then she
pushed herself off the wall and turned to the young agent
who had been guarding Declan's room. It was time to start
the bluff.
"Get
me Lancaster." She said quietly.
"I’m
sorry…I…" he stuttered in surprise. No doubt he had heard
of rogue agent Arleen O'Conner and she was not the type
he was used to taking orders from.
Arleen's
hand went to her waistband and stroked the hard metal
of the gun she had tucked there. She saw the agent's eyes
flick down to her hand and back up to her face.
"Why
do you think I'm even here?" Arleen asked, her voice still
quiet. "Clearly I'm here with permission, and the person
who gave that permission was Philip Lancaster. I suggest
you call him right now, because if you think I'm pissed
off, wait until Philip gets done with you."
The
agent's eyes narrowed and Arleen felt her bravado waiver
for a moment. Bloody-hell, she thought, he's considering
going up against me. After a long moment, the agent pulled
out his cell phone and hissed his id code to the complex
operator.
"This
is 03726 level A clearance. Could I please be put through
to Director Lancaster" After a moment the agent looked
up and handed the phone to Arleen. She could hear Philip's
voice through the phone.
"Hello
Philip." Arleen said, smiling sweetly at the agent then
turning away. "I need to talk to you."
"I
don't think there's much more to talk about, Arley." Philip's
voice was stiff with irritation. "I gave you what I want,
let you stay with your brother. I should have thrown you
to the dogs."
Time
to let the ball drop. If she could find a weak spot with
Philip, she could get information on Katrina. She just
had to sound like she knew what she was talking about.
"Cut
the crap Philip. Something's fishy about this situation
and I want answers."
Arleen
paused, her mind racing. Why had Kat hurt Dec?
"Kat
Bradley, Declan's lover, almost killed him a couple nights
ago. Everything I know about Kat says this is something…"
She
paused again. Only days ago Kat had risked her Legacy
status to give Arleen information on Declan's whereabouts.
Then she pumps a gun full of bullets in him a few days
later? It was like Kat was a different person.
Arleen
could hear Philip’s voice on the other end of the phone
asking her if she had anything important to say. That
was when it clicked into place. The blood drained out
of Arleen's face and her hands felt like ice. Her whole
body started to shake and it felt like she was going into
shock.
"Everything
I know about Katrina Bradley says this is something she
would never do." Arleen said to herself, her voice quivering.
"It was like a light switch. One minute she's sick, the
next minute she's blowing away Dec…Jesus Christ, Philip,
I know what's going on."
It
was months ago, maybe even a year. Someone had been trying
to peddle Artificial Intelligence to the highest bidder,
but Arleen had also heard it was risky, unproven and hadn't
thought much about it. Strange things were bandied about
the underworld every day. It wasn't good business to listen
to everything people said. Now she wished she'd paid closer
attention.
"It's
AI, isn't it?"
Arleen
held her breath as she was met by a long silence on the
other end of the phone. She could hear Philip's breathing.
Part of her had wanted to be wrong, but the silence from
Philip told Arleen that she'd just stumbled onto the truth.
Finally, after it seemed that the silence would become
unbearable, Philip spoke.
"Don't
move Arley. I'm coming down."
Philip
had come down immediately after their conversation and
quickly walked her back to his office, his jaw tense and
his gray eyes stormy. Striding quickly past his surprised
secretary, he shut the door firmly and turned his back
to her.
"What
the hell is going on Philip." Arleen demanded. Her chest
felt tight, cutting off her breath.
"Pope."
Philip said softly as classical music swelled through
the room. "He was a great violinist who killed himself
because…"
Philip
paused and turned back to Arleen, his face ashen. "Because
of love."
"What
does this have to do with Katrina Bradley?" Arleen asked
warily, circling around the desk. Face the enemy, O'Conner.
Don't let your guard down.
"Have
you ever loved Arley?"
Had
she ever loved? Arleen thought back to that night in New
Orleans. The taste of salt and lust in her mouth, her
breasts aching to be touched, not being able to breath.
The night was hot and sultry…
"Have
you ever loved someone so much, so badly that you had
to have them, had to possess them…."
No,
Philip, Arleen thought as she stared across the desk at
a man who was lost in his own thoughts, comforted by his
own words…I have loved enough to let go. Letting go was
something no one else around here seemed capable of.
"…to
keep her forever…even if it means destroying her?"
Arleen
began to understand what Philip was saying. Whatever was
going on with Kat, it was Philip's doing.
"My
God, Philip." Arleen spit out, "Are you saying what I
think you're saying?"
The
look on Philip's face answered her question.
"I
never expected it to go this far. I never thought…they
told me she would be okay…all I wanted was to get him
out of her head."
"So
you had her implanted with the AI?" Arleen sat down in
the leather chair in front of the desk and shook her head.
"Fuck, Philip, it's untested, It's unknown. Why did you
trust whomever put you up to this that it would leave
Kat okay?"
"I
don't know…"
"Fuck
if you don't know." Arleen's voice rose slightly. "Do
you realize what you've done? I saw her, Philip. She's
gone. Whatever is left of Katrina Bradley is buried so
deep, I would be surprised if she can ever get back. She
shot Dec in cold blood. Didn't pause to consider that
she was shooting her lover. She's one messed up bitch
and it's because of you. Hell, and imagine if the implant
had worked correctly…it could mean the end of the Legacy…"
Arleen
and Philip stared at each other as Arleen realized she'd
stumbled on her bargaining chip. Why would these people
help Philip try to erase Declan out of Katrina's mind?
She suspected they weren't into charity. The only explanation
is that they expected Kat to infiltrate The Legacy and
in turn the Knight Foundation. Arleen started to laugh.
"There's
nothing funny about this, O'Conner." Philip said shortly,
his voice betraying his irritation.
"Who
was it, Phil? I'd bet a million dollars…no, I'd bet my
reputation…the Council is behind this. I didn't get this
far on my own by being stupid. I also bet there would
be some people very interested to find out how far you
went for love."
The
last word was long and drawn out, full of sarcasm. Suddenly
Philip looked tired, the lines around his eyes deepening
in the dim light of the office. In the background the
music hit a particularly dramatic note and Arleen couldn't
keep the hint of a smile from playing around her lips.
"What
is it Arleen? Jealous I never cared for you in that way?"
He
was going to try to play dirty, but Arleen knew she had
the upper hand.
"You
betrayed me, Philip, and every day I thank my lucky stars
that I'm not still with a snake like you. You won't throw
me that easily. Knowledge is power, and it's also worth
a lot. I think what I know would buy me a nice vacation
villa and a pretty dress as well, but that's not what
I want."
Arleen
paused, keeping her eyes locked on Philip. No, darling,
she thought, that's not what I want at all.
"What
DO you want, Arleen?" Philip said quietly. He was up against
a wall and had no other option but to cooperate.
"All
I want." Arleen's voice was filled with saccharine sweetness.
"Is to save my little brother's life, and I know exactly
how you can help me."
Arleen
leaned in closer as she explained the details of her plan.
It was a plan that would free Declan once and for all
from the ghost of Katrina Bradley. It was a plan that
would kill what was dead already. When she was done, Philip
smiled.
"It's
a brilliantly evil plan Arley. I don't know why we let
you go." He said smugly.
"Ask
whomever ordered you to betray me, lover." Arleen said
sweetly. "Now, do you have any ideas who could help us
carry this out?"
"Of
course." Philip said, lifting the phone on his desk and
putting it to his ear. "Get me Camille. Agent CB0508 in
New Orleans."
They
were just a crack team in New Orleans…drug busts, local
mobsters…nothing exciting. That was why Camille perked
up when Director Lancaster called her into European Headquarters.
But this mission…well, it was strange. He had met her
at the airport in the lounge. Pretending to be two strangers,
he handed her a travel magazine.
"Check
out the article on Bali, since you're interested in travel."
he said, pressing the magazine into her hands. "I think
it will whet your appetite."
And
it had. Slipped into the spine was a microchip that Camille
had immediately put into her computer. When she saw her
mission, her eyes widened. She had memorized the mission
directions then swallowed the microchip. The she had left
her hotel to find a black Saab at the curb, just as she
had been told. The valet approached her, keys in his hand.
"You're
car, Ms. Jones." he said, handing her the keys. Once inside
the car, Camille had checked the glove compartment. In
it was a map and a long blonde wig. Quickly tucking her
hair into the wig, Camille became agent Katrina Bradley.
At least that was what everyone needed to think.
Dirk
Tappan sauntered out of his flat, adjusted the lapels
of his double-breasted blazer, and slid on his sunglasses
in the coolest manner possible despite the quickly dimming
evening light. His clothing fashionable and immaculate,
every hair in place, he projected the classic playboy
image. Passers by might think he had a lot of money but
he was far from rich. People with much more money than
him didn't have what Dirk had. It wasn't about how much
he paid for his clothes but how he wore them. He was an
expert at knowing what to wear, and how to wear it. Hell,
it wasn't even about the clothes. It was about attitude,
and Dirk had attitude to spare.
He
squinted through his glasses and glanced around him. The
night was young and the game was on. Then he stopped as
he watched a woman emerge from the building and brushed
past him. All of the sudden the world was looking to be
a much brighter place. Kit Kat was back.
She
was quite a stunner with those Ray Ban sunglasses, straight
long; blonde hair and enchanting twitch in her step. He'd
had his eyes on her since he moved into the building,
but she'd never given him the time of day. That had never
stopped Dirk before and it wasn't about to now. Smoothing
back a stray hair, he double-timed his steps to catch
up with her. As if par for the course of his day, he tripped
over a crack in the walkway and stumbled forward. Immediately,
he tried to make up for the fumbling but there was nothing
he could do. He knew he looked very... well, un-cool,
and Dirk Tappan, hated to look anything except perfect.
Regaining
his composure, he decided to start again, to pitch yet
another bid to woo the blonde amazon. He knew one day
he’d find a way to turn her around and bring her into
his life. Well, at least into his bed.
"Hey,
Kat…love," he yelled.
Kit
Kat didn't respond, but kept walking. Dirk stopped and
put his hands on his hips. The same old Kat, ignoring
him as usual. That was when Dirk called out to her again,
jokingly.
"One
night of passion and you forget me? Was it that bad, love?"
Kit
Kat stopped with her back towards him, then turned around.
"Hey
lover-boy." she practically purred. "I don't think I could
forget that night. Maybe we can do it again sometime."
Dirk
stared at the tall blonde, waiting for her to laugh. It
had to be a joke, but it wasn't. Dirk could tell from
the tone of her voice. Something strange was going on.
Kit Kat never bothered to give him the time of day before,
and now she was responding to his joke like they had slept
together.
""I…I
was kidding, Kat." Dirk sputtered. "You know I was kidding."
There
was a pause as Kat stared at him, her lips pursing together
slightly.
"Uh,
yeah."
With
that, Kat walked away and climbed into her black Saab
sitting at the curb, leaving Dirk standing in front of
the building, shaking his head. A bunch of woman jogged
by and waved to him, but he didn't even notice them. Dirk
shook his head, and straightened his collar. Oh well,
the night was young and the women were waiting. With a
spring in his step, he walked to the curb and hailed a
cab.
Camille
hit the gas and sped away from the building, leaving the
well-dressed man standing on the sidewalk.
"Damn,
damn, DAMN." she said, hitting the steering wheel as she
left the London city limits and headed out into the countryside.
She'd almost screwed up the whole mission. It had been
a split second decision. The man seemed to know Katrina
Bradley, and Camille decided to play along. It had been
the wrong decision, and she only hoped he would chalk
it up to a weird encounter and just forget about it. The
last thing she needed was to fuck up this mission.
After
an hour and a half of driving, Camille pulled off the
road at the top of a big hill and opened the trunk. Inside
she found a black bag and a body…a woman... Her face had
stitches all over it…a sign of the transplantation surgery
to give her the correct dental work. She was tall, slender,
her hair the same blonde as the wig Camille wore. Working
quickly, Camille pulled the body out of the trunk and
arranged it in the driver's seat, not bothering to fasten
the seat belt. Then Camille turned on the car and pushed
the gas pedal hard, hurling herself out of the way as
the car went careening down the hill. She would have stopped
to watch it crash but she had to get out of there before
someone came along.
Camille
ducked into the bushes and pulled off her wig. Opening
the black bag, she pulled out a bottle of liquid and poured
it over the wig, watching it disintegrate. Stripping quickly,
she pulled out a worn pair of worker's pants and an old
shirt. She also pulled out another wig, a dark one, pulling
it over her short, cropped hair. After a minute, she stood
up and stepped out onto the road. If anyone had been watching
they would swear that a tall blond walked into the bushes
and a slender boy emerged. Luckily for Camille, no one
was watching.
Reaching
in her pocket, Camille pulled out a tiny PDA and punched
a few things in.
"It's
done," she said quietly, shoving the PDA deep into her
pocket. As the sky started to turn light, she turned and
walked down the road, back towards London.
"It
is done."
Philip
hung up the phone and looked at Arleen who was sitting
across the desk from him. Her clothes were rumpled and
her face wore an expression of relief.
"You
work fast, Lancaster." she sighed, running a weary hand
through her hair. It had only been 24 hours since she'd
whispered the plan in his ear: a brilliant plan as far
as Philip was concerned. Kill Kat, Arleen had said quietly,
or at least make it look like she's dead. If she's dead,
there's no one for Declan to chase after. How, Philip
had asked and Arleen had laughed. It wasn't like The Legacy
hadn't faked deaths before. She was right. All it took
was a few well-placed phone calls to some trusted agents
and the whole plan was in place.
Now
she was dead. Well, dead to Declan O'Conner and dead as
far as the Legacy was concerned. They would pick the accident
up on the police wire, and someone, probably a Junior
agent assigned to the boring duty of tracking police activity,
would run up to his office, his face white. It was Katrina
Bradley, he would say. They found her car miles away from
London, the body was burned beyond recognition, but the
dental records have shown beyond a doubt that it was Agent
Bradley. This would all be said without surprise because
everyone knew that Katrina had been acting strangely lately.
Philip
would send a cleaning team to Kat's flat as standard procedure
and that's when they would find the note. It was a suicide,
the team leader would conclude. Everything had become
too unbearable, she couldn't live with herself after hurting
Declan, and it was time to end everything.
It
was brilliant, diabolical and seamless. The only person
who knew for sure what was going on was on a plane back
to New Orleans, and she had no idea exactly what kind
of top secret mission she'd just completed. Then, when
Philip finally found Katrina and got rid of the AI, there
would be nothing standing in their way.
Bloody
hell, Philip felt like celebrating. He walked over to
the liquor cabinet and started to pour himself a drink.
"Care
for one to celebrate a job well-done?" he asked, turning
towards Arleen. He turned to find Arleen standing right
behind him, her face angry, and a gun pointed at his chest.
He hadn't ever heard her get up and cross the room.
"Are
we celebrating?" She hissed, her hand shaking a little.
"You've always been an insensitive ass, Lancaster. I really
should blow you away right now, no one would really miss
you."
The
two stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
Then the phone rang, cutting through the tension and the
silence. Philip glanced at it, then moved slowly to pick
it up. Arleen dropped her gun to her side and paced across
the floor.
"That
was my secretary." Philip said as he hung up the phone.
"They're on their way up with the report."
Arleen's
eyes were large and dark in her pale face. In a moment
of clarity Philip realized that this was an extremely
difficult situation for her.
"Do
you want me to send someone down to talk to him?"
The
room was silent for a moment and it seemed like Arleen
was going to take him up on his offer.
"No."
she said shortly, brushing her hair back with her hand.
"I can't run away from this, Philip. I have to tell him
and pray that he never discovers the truth. If he does,
he'll never forgive me."
It
was a risk, Arleen thought. Either way, she could lose
her brother. If she hadn't asked Philip to fake Kat's
death, Dec would have left the Legacy to chase after his
beloved Katrina. This way he could grieve for someone
who technically was already dead. She was saving him.
He would understand that someday…if he ever found out.
She prayed to God he never did.
Arleen
was sitting on the bench outside Declan's room. He was
better, the doctor had said, he would probably recover
fully. Arleen had tried to smile, but she couldn't quite
do it. The doctor didn't know what she knew. Dec was about
to suffer a big setback
It
was time. Arleen stood up and wiped her hands on her pants.
It was only a few short steps across the hall but it seemed
like hundreds. Arleen pushed the door open. Declan was
lying in his bed. He seemed more alert; his face had more
color. Arleen cleared her throat and Declan looked up.
A small smile played across his lips as he saw her standing
awkwardly by the door.
"Hey."
he said, his voice still a little raspy. Arleen winced
at the sound of hope in his voice.
"Dec…"
Arleen started then couldn't continue. Declan's face fell.
"You
weren't able to find anything."
"No."
Arleen said, every word feeling like a stab with a knife.
"No, Dec…we've found her…it's just…"
"It's
just what?" Declan's voice was wary and his face concerned.
"What the hell is going on Arleen?"
"She's
dead, Declan." Arleen choked out, her gut twisting. "Katrina
is dead."
When
Arleen told Dec that Kat was dead, it felt like he was
falling down a hold, Arley's voice getting further and
further away.
"They
think it was suicide…there was a note."
He
barely heard her as blackness engulfed him. Arleen reached
out, her fingers brushing his arm. He pushed her away.
"Leave."
Declan grunted.
"Dec.
I'm sorry…" Her face was pale, he could see a tear slip
down her cheek. Arleen never cried.
"Goddammit,
Arleen, I said leave me."
She
nodded and turned to leave. Then she hesitated and turned
back.
"If
you need me, Dec."
"Sis,
please…" He could barely speak, agony weighing down his
words. "Just leave me."
Arleen
nodded and pushed open the door, leaving the room quiet.
Declan sat for a minute, just staring at the door. Then
his shoulders started to shake.
Kat.
His
hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into his
palms until they drew blood, but Declan didn't feel anything.
All he could see was her smile, radiant, full of life.
All he could remember was that night in Berlin, hear his
voice as he promised her they would be together. He felt
her body pushing against his as he drove deep into her,
her breath hot against his skin. And there was one thought
he couldn't get out of his mind.
It
was his fault.
Moving
slowly, Declan swung out of the hospital bed and walked
over a small closet. Opening it, he saw some of his clothes,
folded neatly. Lying on top of the pile was what Declan
wanted. He reached up and picked up his gun, feeling the
heaviness in his hand. Returning to the bed, Declan sat
down and placed the gun in his lap. The dull metal shone
in the dim light.
Closing
his eyes, Declan pictured Katrina, the way her eyes had
sparkled in that dim Berlin room, the way she gave herself
to him without thought to the consequence. He imagined
the betrayal she had felt when she woke up and found him
gone. It was time to end the pain.
"I'm
sorry Kat."
Declan
opened his eyes, lifted the gun and placed it in his mouth
and pulled the trigger.
"I’m
telling you, that was not the Kit Kat I know."
The
man at the desk looked vaguely irritated. He set down
his pen and started speaking very slowly, like there was
something wrong with Dirk's head.
"Mr.
Tappan. The body was burned beyond all recognition. The
dental records show it was Katrina Bradley in that car.
It wasn't anyone else."
Dirk
sighed loudly and wiped his hand on his now rumpled suit.
He'd come home early in the morning to find the London
police at Kat's door. After some convincing he'd gotten
information out of them. Car crash last night, they told
him: positive identification. Dirk had pictured the Kit
Kat, racing off in her black Saab.
"But
that wasn't her." he blurted out to the officer.
Now
he was sitting in Scotland Yard, trying to convince a
doubtful inspector that they had anything but an open
and shut case.
"What
time did she crash again?"
"Midnight."
the man sighed, his voice flat like he was repeating a
school lesson back to a particularly nasty teacher. "They've
estimated time of death to be midnight."
"And
she was an hour outside the city?"
The
man nodded.
"I
tell you, that wasn't Kit Kat. I saw her at 11:00 and
that wasn't her."
"Mr.
Tappen…" the man at the desk started.
"You
don't understand, mate." Dirk interrupted "I've been trying
to get into her pants for over a year now. She's a hot
one, love, but wouldn't give me the time of day. Then
last night…she was acting like we’d slept together before.
It was strange, mate. Whoever was in that car was not
Kit Kat. No way…no how."
The
man wrote something else down and Dirk shrunk down in
his chair. He and his designer suit were in for a long
day.
"What
should we do sir."
Philip
stared through the glass wall at the man sitting at the
desk in the main room.
"He
insists that the body we found in the car was not Ms.
Bradley. Normally, I would write it off a another loony,
but since this is Legacy business, I thought I'd at least
give you a call."
"Tell
me about him." Philip said quietly.
"Mr.
Tappen? Nothing terrible. Not married. Likes the ladies,
from what my men have been able to pick up. No real source
of income, but he seems to have quite the nice wardrobe.
I suspect there are some of his ladies who help him out
with that. Lived in London for the last five years, before
that, Sydney. Hasn't been out of the country since he
came here."
Nothing
suspicious, thought Philip. He turned to the man standing
next to him.
"Destroy
the report. What Mr. Tappen is saying is nonsense and
shouldn't leave the room. Do you understand?"
The
man's eyes lit up at what he probably perceived as top-secret
Legacy business and he nodded.
"Yes
sir. No one will ever know that report existed."
THE
END