*** Chapter 2 

During the next few days, it would have seemed to the casual 
observer that the Quest household had re-absorbed Race 
Bannon without a ripple.  He interviewed all the staff, becoming 
reacquainted with those who had worked under him before and 
gauging those who had been hired since his departure.

The minor adjustments and tightenings in security that he made 
were complied with cheerfully and without comment.  All 
domestic arrangements were soon back in his capable hands 
and flowed all the more smoothly.

But Quest noticed that he had not resumed his daily routines, 
which had included rising early to swim and run the beach, to 
work out and meditate in the afternoons and to work like a 
demon unleashed the rest of his waking hours. 

He still rose early, but now he walked the beach and he no 
longer lifted weights in the afternoons.  He spent much of his 
time alone, working, and he seemed to almost be avoiding the 
other members of the household. 

Bannon worked long hours into the night, reviewing security 
logs, calculating changes and researching new techniques. 
After a year away, he had needed updating on the new 
computer systems Quest had designed for his own personal 
use.  Hadji and Jonny were more than happy to tutor him and he 
found himself proud of their capabilities.  He luxuriated in the 
simple unrestrained fondness that the boys gave him freely. 
Sometimes they joined him on the beach, other times one or the 
other would seek him out for conversation wherever his work 
took him. Their questions were far less artless than they had 
been.  They were fast becoming young men, with an attractive 
young woman around to focus burgeoning desires upon. 

He marveled at the elasticity of adolescence - one moment they 
were mature and insightful, the next horsing around like little 
kids. Aggravating, admirable, bursting with confidence, uneasily 
navigating the straits to adulthood.

Bannon was less clearsighted and detached when it came to his 
own daughter. She never confided in her father, treating him as 
if he were a nuisance to be tolerated.  Jessie was at best 
distant, at worst openly hostile and defiant. She challenged 
everything he said, from a comment on the weather to setting a
bedtime.

Benton had more luck with her. She was enough in awe of him, 
his scientific reputation and his beautiful house, to treat him with 
awkward courtesy.  He became the one she sought out with 
questions about her school-work, about what she was allowed to 
do, about books and politics.  She sometimes  called him “Uncle 
Ben” and had shyly begun to kiss him good night.  If her father 
reached out to her, she accepted his caresses in a wooden, 
detached manner that he found more chilling than no contact at 
all.  He had soon stopped reaching out to her at all.

In the evenings, he still joined Benton in the library for a drink or 
out on the deck on fine evenings.  But there was now little 
conversation between them and no laughter.   A wall had grown 
between them that first evening; Race spoke little and Benton 
found he couldn’t ask.  Having closed the door on the old 
friendship, they seemed unable to build anew. Occasionally 
Quest would begin talking about the various projects he was 
working on at his labs on the mainland.  Those were the best 
times - then they were able to forget the space between them 
and share the eagerness of research, experiment and discovery. 
Otherwise, there was a silence between them, a living, growing 
thing that stalked them whenever they were together.


Benton Quest stood on the balcony outside his room, enjoying 
the hot touch of the sun on his face.  The garden and house 
were silent - everyone was probably taking siesta on this hot 
Sunday afternoon.  The boys and Jessie were off for a hike to 
the other side of the island and a picnic.  He had declined their 
half-hearted invitation, filled with a restlessness that no amount 
of hiking would allay.  He did not know where Bannon was.

A figure moved in the garden below him. One of the young 
gardeners, bronze torso bared to the summer sun, carried a 
bucket and shovel toward the sea wall.  A soft whistle caused 
the young man to start, then change his direction and head for 
the grape arbor off to Quest’s left.  Someone was standing in the 
deep cool shadows of the arbor, someone who beckoned the 
young gardener with a tanned hand. As he came to the edge of 
the vines, he stopped, put down his tools, then took a few steps 
forward, uncertain and skittish.  Two strong male hands reached 
out and pulled him gently into the arbor, into the cool and secret 
darkness.  As much as he strained, Benton was unable to see 
who the young gardener had met.  But a secret suspicion 
twisted inside of him; he couldn’t turn away until he knew for 
sure.

The two figures had shifted back into sight again, although the 
mystery man’s features remained shadowed and unknown.  The 
two were kissing passionately, the unknown man’s hands 
ranging everywhere on the gardener’s body; first gripping his 
head, then tracing the strong lines of his back, then roughly 
grabbing the hard cheeks of his ass, before slipping back up to 
caress the young man’s muscular shoulders and biceps.

They twisted slightly as the mystery man’s hands dug down into 
the front of the gardener’s shorts.  His head came out from the 
shadow and the sun turned his fair hair white in the sun.  He 
was taller than the gardener, so as he bent his head to kiss the 
younger man, his face was still hidden. But Benton knew who it 
had to be down there; whose strong hands and blond hair he 
had seen.

Poison raged in him but he couldn’t look away. His hands 
gripped the iron railing until the knuckles were bloodless and 
white. Suddenly, the young gardener broke the kiss and slowly 
pulled the other man’s t-shirt over his head.  As he undressed 
the larger man, he turned so that he now stood in shadow and 
the blond man’s back was to the house and to the unwilling 
voyeur.

A large dragon tattoo crawled across the man’s left shoulder, 
picked out in the sun and glinting with sweat. The gardener knelt 
and, looking steadily up into the big man’s face, slowly 
unbuckled the man’s shorts and slid them to the ground.

From his vantage point, Benton couldn’t see the big man’s tool 
as it sprang free, but he knew he could describe every inch of it. 
He heard a gasp from one of them, carried on the still air. 
Something white-hot tore through him as the kneeling gardener 
wrapped his arms around the big man’s thighs and began 
kneading and caressing his muscular buttocks.  The blond 
man’s head was thrown back, exulting in the sun at the edge of 
the cool vines, his hands tangled in the gardener’s hair. 

A choked sound tore from Quest’s throat.  A cool voice broke 
the silence from his left.

“Whatever else you might think of me, you might have 
remembered that I don’t have a tattoo, Benton.”

Bannon was standing on his own balcony, watching them all.  It 
was plain that he knew exactly what Quest had been thinking. 
And feeling.  After a wordless stare at his factotum, the scientist 
left the balcony.  Bannon heard the door of his room slam as he 
left it.

The tableau in the garden had broken with the sound of his 
voice.  He turned his attention back to the lovers in the garden.

“Perhaps you gentlemen would remember that we have children 
living here? Confine your trysts to off-hours and more private 
places than your employer’s garden, please.”

The two men vanished, hastily grabbing scattered clothes and 
work implements as they went.  Race smiled humorlessly as he 
turned away.  Poor idiots - all they had wanted was a nice quiet 
spot in the middle of a long, hot afternoon. He could imagine 
their burning frustration, so close to release, only to be drawn up 
short.


***


It was a hoarse shout that woke him in the dead of night. 
Benton rolled out of bed, grabbed his robe and tied it around 
him, trying to figure out where it had come from. There was a 
deep groan from next door; of course, Race’s room. There was 
a white-hot flash of some emotion he couldn’t name, then he 
was in motion. He strode over to the connecting door, shoving 
the easy chair he had placed in front of it out of his path.  The 
door was still unlocked and Benton was through it without a 
thought.

Race’s room was dark, except for the moonlight that poured 
through the open windows.  The curtains blowing in the breeze 
caused flickering shadows to play across the room, making 
everything indistinct and dream-like.  Quest stumbled into the 
mirror, then pushed past it.  A figure on the bed twisted and 
strained, gripping sweat-soaked sheets in his large hands as he 
moaned. 

It was several moments before Quest realized that Race was 
alone in bed, caught in the grip of nightmare.  He sat on the 
edge of the bed and shook Bannon by the shoulder.  Race was 
too deeply locked into his nightmare to be awakened; one 
flailing arm caught Quest a glancing blow on his face.  Blood 
began dripping from his nose as Quest fought to get the 
sleeping Bannon under control.  His eyes filled with tears from 
the blow and he had trouble focusing.

“Race!  Wake up - wake up!”  He shook the big man hard, nearly 
lifting him from the bed.  Bannon’s arms had reached up to lock 
onto his ‘attacker’s’ shoulders - his fingers dug painfully into 
Quest’s flesh. Suddenly the sleeper’s eyes snapped open and 
consciousness flooded into his expression.

“Benton… what the hell?” He dropped his hands as if they had 
been burned. 

“You were dreaming - having a nightmare.  You cried out.” 

Race sat up, looking around at the knotted sheets, the blankets 
thrown to the floor, then he focused back on Quest.  He saw the 
blood still flowing down Quest’s face, black in the moonlight, into 
his beard.

“Did I do that to you?”

At his friend’s wry shrug, Bannon hit the bed with a balled fist, 
then rolled clumsily out of bed and stood in his shorts and a 
t-shirt.  “Come on - we’ve got to get the bleeding stopped.”  He 
slid a hand under the scientist’s elbow and steered him toward 
the bathroom, ignoring any protests Quest made. He flipped on 
the light, making both of them wince and blink.  He maneuvered 
Quest over to the toilet and pushed him down.  “Sit.  Let me look 
at that.”  His strong fingers under the scientist’s jaw, he turned 
his face this way and that, gently probing the bones.  Last, he 
stared into Benton’s eyes, checking for a concussion.  The 
moment Quest stared back, he broke off and straightened up, 
saying, “It’s not as bad as I thought. Just a bloody nose. It’ll 
probably be sore in the morning, but that’s all.”  He hurriedly 
turned away and wet a towel with cool water, which he folded 
and placed under Quest’s nose and made him hold there.  Then 
he tipped the man’s head back with a hand on his forehead and 
slipped the other beneath his head.  There was a sharp 
sensation on the back of Quest’s neck and a sound like a slap, 
then the full liquid feeling in his nostrils had stopped.

“The bleeding’s stopped, doctor.”  He turned away to the sink 
and soaked another washcloth.

“Another trick you learned in the mysterious Orient?” Quest 
asked, gingerly checking his nose.

Bannon didn’t answer, just took the soiled towel away from him, 
threw it into the sink, then tipped Quest’s head back again.  He 
began gently toweling away the sticky blood congealing in 
Quest’s beard and down his throat, scrubbing a little where it 
had dried.

“Race - what were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing important, doctor.”  Distant, coolly courteous, revealing 
nothing.

“Stop calling me that!”

“It’s your title.”  He turned away and rinsed the blood from the 
towel, then turned back and tried to finish his task.  Quest’s 
hand gripped his wrist, stopping the mechanical rubbing.

“We used to be friends, Race.”

“’It can’t be like it was’ you said.  OK, I’ve accepted that.  What 
more do you want from me?” he demanded, pulling his arm free. 

“What were you dreaming about?  I have a right to ask.  That’s 
my blood all over your hands.”

Race threw the towel into the sink and leaned back on the 
counter, not looking at Quest.  “I was dreaming about something 
that happened to me … a while ago.”

“What was it, Race?  I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Please don’t ask, Benton.  I really don’t want to talk about it,” 
Race said, sounding strangely pleading.

Quest marveled at the sense of power he had over the big man 
before him; he could compel him to speak, he knew it. “Tell me.” 

Staring at the opposite wall, Bannon said tonelessly, “I was 
dreaming about being tortured.”  

Catching his breath, Quest asked, “When?”  He couldn’t 
remember anything like that in the years they had been 
together.

“A week ago.”  Just before he had shown up at the labs.  Good 
god.

“Who?  What happened?”

“The same ones who want Jessie.  I don’t know who they are or 
what they wanted with Jade.  All I know is I got careless one day 
and they got me.”

“What happened?”

“Ben,” Race pleaded, pale and sweating again, despite the cool 
sea air coming from the open windows in the bedroom.

“Tell me. What did they do to you?”  

“The usual.  Beat me up a little, slapped me around.”  He 
gestured toward one of his legs. “Burned me with cigarettes.” 
There were dark circles in the tender golden flesh of the inner 
thigh. “Some needles and other kid stuff. They were trying to get 
me to tell them where I had stashed Jessie.”  He tried to sound 
off-hand, but a shiver passed through him. 

He stood and walked into the bedroom, coming to a stop before 
the open window, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. 
Quest came to stand behind him but didn’t touch him. It was 
obvious that Bannon was in the grip of his nightmare again.  He 
took a stab.

“There’s more, isn’t there, Race?  What it is you’re trying to 
hide?”

Bannon turned on him in fury. “They raped me, Ben.  Are you 
happy now? 

“Over and over.  It went on for hours.  Do you want to know 
exactly what they did?  Or would you rather hear how it felt? 
Perhaps you’d like to see the scars?”

Quest was appalled at what he had unleashed through jealousy 
and hurt. But he was far more sickened by what he had just 
heard. What were Race and his daughter tangled up in?  He 
struggled for something coherent to say, but nothing came out.

When the scientist didn’t respond, Bannon pushed past him and 
held the door to Quest’s room open, plainly inviting him to leave.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just leave me alone, Benton.”

“I’m sorry.”  There was no reply but the sound of the closing 
door.


The next morning was Sunday, a late-rising day by common 
consent.  Breakfast was a family affair and apt to drag on into 
lunch if no work pressed.  It was a cold gray New England 
morning, threatening storms later in the day, so they ate in the 
dining room, surrounded by newspapers.

This morning, Quest watched Bannon more closely than usual 
and was disturbed at what he saw.  The big man ate nothing, 
drinking cup after cup of black coffee, reading steadily through 
the papers and speaking little.  Apparently he was unable to 
sustain even his usual level of good-natured banter with the 
boys, who had begun to watch him with troubled looks in their 
eyes.

Typically, it was Jessie who sparked the storm.

“Well, Father, what’s wrong with you today?  You look like hell.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Oh yes, there is,” she smiled with malicious glee. “Did you go 
on another bender last night?”  She turned to include the rest of 
the table.  “He’s been doing that a lot lately.  Sometimes he 
doesn’t even make it home at night.  Is this the new career you 
said you wanted, Father?  Drunkard?” she spat.

“Shut up, Jessie,” he said evenly, not looking at her over his 
newspaper.

“Why should I?” 

“Because I told you to.  Because I’ve saved your life three times 
in the past year. Because I loved your mother.”  He stood up. 
“Because I could kill you with one hand and no one would ever 
look for your body.  Because I don’t truly care what happens to 
you any more. Because I’m your father. Pick any reason - just 
shut up.”  He strode from the room, leaving an appalled silence 
in his wake.

Jonny whistled.  “I’ve never seen him like that.  Dad?”

“Neither have I,” Quest replied, then turned to the girl. “I don’t 
know what you thought you were doing, young lady, but I won’t 
have it at my table nor under my roof.”

Jessie flushed and looked around the table, anywhere but at the 
doctor’s stern eyes.  Both Hadji and Jonny were looking at her in 
no friendly way. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be enough,” Hadji’s 
gentle voice remarked as he looked after Race.


Benton queried the house computer for Race’s whereabouts 
and smiled a little when it told him. He should have known - the 
ready room where many of their weapons and equipment were 
stored and repaired.  He was there, cleaning a rifle.  The smell 
of gun oil and salt water was strong.  For a moment, Benton just 
stood and watched the precise and competent movements of 
the man before him.   “Don’t lurk, Ben.  Either come in and 
lecture me or leave.”

“The latter is preferable, I assume.” 

“Very.”

Stung, Quest blurted out what he had intended to carefully build 
up to in reasonable conversation.  “I think you need a physical 
exam, Race.”

“Not a psychological one?  That’s kind of you.”  

“No - your reaction was entirely appropriate - in fact, far more 
calm then she deserved.  She’s been surly, rude and downright 
obnoxious to you.  Why do you let her get away with it?”

Bannon sighted down the barrel, then took up a cleaning rod, 
attached an oil-covered cleaning patch to the end and ran it 
down the barrel, twisting as he went.  “Look at it from her point 
of view.  She never had a father; for all she knew, I couldn’t 
have cared less about her. Who knows what Jade told her about 
me? All of a sudden, I show up and the next moment, her 
mother is dead.  The next thing she knows, this near-stranger is 
dragging her around the globe, snapping orders at her, people 
are shooting at her and all she wants to do is go home. Which 
she’ll never be able to do, because ‘home’ was Jade, and Jade 
is dead.

“She’s entitled to some bitterness.  But sometimes, it’s more 
than I can take.”

A sudden light broke in Quest’s head. “She doesn’t know what 
happened to you, does she?”

“No.  She’s got enough nightmares as it is.”

“You told her you got drunk and roughed up in a bar fight, didn’t 
you?” 

Bannon nodded shortly and began to re-assemble the rifle.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“No.  The damage wasn’t that bad.”

“Race …”

“I’m a professional, doctor.  I know what requires medical 
attention and what I can handle in the field. I don’t want, nor do I 
need, a physical.”  His eyes blazed at Quest.

“I’m a professional, too, Bannon.  A doctor, as you keep 
reminding me. You know as well as I do what kinds of viruses, 
bacteria and parasites you could have gotten; you know that 
injuries left untreated don’t heal properly.”

“No.  You are not going to examine me.”

“Someone is, Bannon.  If you prefer that it not be me, I can call 
Dr. Chow from the labs.  She’s an internist.”

“No.”

“Of course, she’ll probably want to know where those burns 
came from. And the abrasions and the … other physical 
evidence which *I* know to expect.”

“Why can’t you simply leave it alone?”

“You walk, never run, in the mornings.  You’ve lost weight; you 
won’t swim at all and no one has seen you without a shirt since 
you returned.  Last night I saw bloody bandages in your 
bathroom trash.  Shall I go on, or do I have enough reason to be 
concerned?”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“Collecting data, like any good researcher.  Want to hear my 
working theory?”

“Shut up, Quest.”  But Race rose and put the rifle back into its 
locker.  When he turned, he said only, “Not a word to the kids, 
do you understand?”

“Come on.  Let’s get it over with.”  Benton was a little ashamed 
of the tingle of victory that had come with Race’s capitulation. 
He had rarely won a contest of wills with his friend before.

***