by Ballan, Greg
“Agreed.” Denton paused then continued. “But we have a chance to mend some fences and put a large Band-Aid on some of the egos we’ve bruised over the past two years.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “How?”
Denton reached into his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder that he tossed to Erik who immediately began reading the contents.
Erik raised his head. “This is the president of France’s daughter, Monique LaSalle?” He went back to leafing through several photographs of the teenager.
“Correct,” Denton complimented his associate. “She’s been targeted for assassination by three radical fundamentalist Muslim groups. France has a large Muslim population, especially in Paris. President LaSalle can’t start profiling Muslims and can’t raid religious mosques without disrupting the entire city – possibly inciting the more fanatical Muslims to riot.”
“Religion is not the problem! The people who practice it are.” Erik shook his head. “Fanaticism gives religion a bad name. More people have killed and died in the name of God than in any other cause in the history of man—”
Denton leaned forward. “I’m not attacking or defending anybody’s beliefs. I’m an agnostic myself, but the threat against LaSalle’s daughter is real. She needs protection, the kind of protection that only somebody of a certain enhanced caliber can offer,” the attorney hinted. “The French president personally phoned the White House and asked for our help with establishing security. It took some serious swallowing of pride for him to make that call. Our president wants to make this happen, Erik. Unfortunately our agency’s hands are tied.”
“I don’t like it!” Erik tossed the folder back on his desk. “You expect me to babysit a foreign dignitary’s teenage daughter – for six months?”
Denton countered forcefully. “I expect you to protect the daughter of the French president from fanatical assassins who are determined to snuff out her life, and I also expect your help to mend the rift this war has put between our two countries. Whether we believe they bailed out on us, or not, this country needs allies. France is looking to be a big player in the European Union. If we can provide security and bring down the groups looking to kill Ms. LaSalle, the United States comes out a winner.”
“Something doesn’t add up.” The detective canted his head while piecing together the tidbits of information provided. “Monique is simply French social window dressing; she has no political ties to any government activity.”
“You’re right, but she’s the perfect pawn.” Denton went on, “France voted in favor of the new democratic government being established in the Mideast. If the United States and the UN pull this off, other Arab nations may want to reap the economical benefits tied in with this sort of governing. I repeat; France is going to be a major player in the EU. If the fanatics can threaten LaSalle and weaken his resolve, that will weaken the chances of achieving our overall objectives. We need a unified front, and France is pivotal in maintaining that.”
A light knock on the door interrupted their discussion. The suit glanced over and habitually reached inside his overcoat.
Erik recognized Alissa’s signature – three knocks, then one. “Relax, it’s only the food. It’s open, Alissa; come in.”
The waitress opened the door and wheeled in a cart with an oversized platter of assorted delicacies, several varieties of juice and a pot of fresh coffee.
“I’ll let you gentlemen take the plates at your leisure,” she said crisply, letting go of the cart “Will there be anything else, Mr. Knight?”
“No, thank you,” Erik answered.
Denton looked on the plates with glee. “Please tell our host he’s outdone himself.” He stood up to help himself.
“I’m sure Jeff will be pleased,” Alissa answered over her shoulder as she left.
The three men finished eating in silence before Denton got back to business.
“What do I tell Washington, Erik? Are you on board?”
Erik closed his eyes momentarily and digested the situation. LaSalle’s daughter was an innocent player in the game of political chess among world powers. Why some radical group would want her targeted was a mystery. There were other ways of forcing political leverage. Unfortunately, terrorists didn’t think along the lines of decency and fair play.
Taking them down and guarding her would give the terrorist fanatics one more reason to hate him. He could live with that. He drained the remains of his kiwi juice and set the glass on his desk.
“Yeah, I’m in. Only I want first class this time, no business class like you guys are always trying to pull.”
Denton laughed. “I’ll speak to the travel office and relay your request.”
“In all seriousness though, Martin, I’ve got four cases I’m knee deep in right now; two are for the law firm and the other two are minor ones I’ve picked up recently. Are Miller and Donahue free?” Erik asked, naming two of the more promising young talents that the law firm had recruited.
“They will be,” Denton assured him.
“Excellent, have your secretary set up a conference call for the four of us tomorrow morning. Then you and I can get down to the finer details. When will I be leaving?” he asked, already expecting the standard answer.
“As soon as possible,” he said in unison with the counselor’s reply.
“I figured as much.”
“The LaSalle family is hosting a coming out formal for their daughter next week, to kick off the beginning of her tour of the country. The young lady has volunteered her time for several charities and will begin fundraising stops all over the country. It would be an excellent goodwill gesture if we could have you in position and familiar with the tactical situation by then. If there is any attempt at abduction, or assassination, this event is a prime opportunity.” Denton wiped his mouth then stood to leave.
“After our four-way conference call, let me know what flight, what time and all the usual minutia. I need to let my daughter and Jeff know I’ll be out of the country for an extended period.”
“I understand.”
“Martin,” Erik said, in a firm tone that was clearly indicative of a warning, “this little foray violates our mutual understanding between parties.”
Denton gave him a curt nod.
“We’ve both acknowledged that. I’ll let things slide only once,” Erik warned.
“Only once,” Denton repeated. “I’ll inform Washington.”
Chapter 5: Gestation Day 32
Roommates
Staff Sergeant Phelps was shocked at the amount of medical equipment needed by the occupant of the prepared cell. He observed over a dozen separate drips and several monitors that chirped different octaves; in addition he judged the occupant to be female, late twenties to early thirties, though it was difficult to be sure.
When Phelps looked over at Gray, he detected an almost human look of sympathy in the creature’s almond-shaped eyes.
The alien sent out a delicate telepathic impulse. Is she hurt, Arthur?
Phelps shrugged his shoulders.
* * * *
“How long are we to keep the subject in stasis?” one of the medics present asked.
“Don’t do anything until you hear from me,” Colonel Ross barked.
“But Colonel Ross, you must realize that there are extreme side effects associated with this kind of induced coma. There is a danger that she may never get her full mental faculties back.”
“Just do as you’re told, doctor. If she wakes up before we’re ready, this entire mission will be in jeopardy. Will another forty-eight hours endanger the subjects?”
The doctor reviewed several digital displays. “I don’t think another forty-eight hours will severely impact the subject – or her fetus, colonel – provided we don’t exceed that threshold.”
“If you don’t hear from me, forty-eight hours from now, bring our subject around,” Ross instructed as he turned and headed for the large titanium doorway that isolated both cells. Ross paused and glare
d at the inhuman occupant inhabiting the other cell.
Both human and inhuman locked eyes momentarily, and it was difficult to tell whose eyes were colder.
* * * *
The alien captive watched its captor as the human departed through the heavily reinforced doorway then it turned to the commotion in the other cell.
Gray watched with great interest as the doctors monitored the human’s life signs with medical equipment that would be considered barbaric on his home world. One particular monitor displayed a separate heartbeat, much faster than the recorded measurement of the larger instrumental readings. The subject in the cell, a human female, was carrying the seed of new life. What possible interest could the human military have in the offspring of one of their own kind?
Gray tucked his thin legs up and wrapped his bony frail arms around his knees. Then he tilted his large egg-shaped head forward until it rested against his leg joints. Gray then deliberately slowed his breathing and allowed his subconscious mind to dominate. Arthur had been wrong in his initial assessment. The captive would be awake in days, not weeks. Forty-eight hours was not a long time to wait. Gray shut down unneeded senses; sight, smell and telepathy were all reduced to the minimum. All the mental focus and willpower he possessed was now dedicated to listening. His mind would process and record every word of dialogue for detailed analysis at a later time. His situation had worsened; he needed to act soon.
* * * *
Sergeant Phelps stood watch while the doctors spent three hours with their new patient. The cost of failure would be catastrophic if the subjects were terminated involuntarily – or prematurely. Phelps glanced at the opposite cell. Gray had been curled up in the corner the whole time and hadn’t flinched.
Gray? Are you okay? The sergeant aimed a subtle telepathic wave toward his inhuman friend. Gray did not respond. Phelps focused his ability deeper, yet found nothing but static. His concern grew, but he was helpless to do or say anything that could expose their communication. Phelps attempted one last time. Gray! He shrieked the word telepathically, focusing his thoughts at the seemingly lifeless prisoner.
The frail alien shuddered, its large head lifting slightly. Arthur, I am tired and require rest, it lied. Please communicate no further today.
Phelps mentally shrugged then focused his attention back on the activities in the other chamber. The doctors had finished fine-tuning all the medical equipment. Such concern only confirmed that this subject was of vital importance to the brass upstairs, and Specimen 4 had fallen lower on the priority chain. The sergeant glanced over at the tiny alien; Gray was still curled in a tight little ball, motionless save for inhaling and exhaling.
The medical staff stepped out of the chamber. Phelps keyed in a four-digit code on a master panel that activated an electromagnetic frequency blanket around the cell.
“Everything’s all set, sergeant,” one of the doctors announced. “All of the equipment is self-adjusting and hardwired to a master medical panel.” He breathed deeply. “However, in the remote chance something does go wrong, an alarm will sound in this chamber. Make sure you contact me immediately.” The doctor handed the sergeant a card with a handwritten five-digit phone number.
“Yes, sir,” Phelps assured the doctor.
The medical team departed and Phelps closed the massive door behind them. He now had two charges.
Gray was mystery enough, but the occupant of the second cell brought forth several significant questions.
“Who is she? What did she do to wind up here?” And more importantly, Phelps asked himself aloud, “Is anybody looking for her?”
* * * *
Erik pulled into Silver Hills gated community and parked in front of the Pendelton’s home. He wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news of his departure to his daughter. Erik had forced Richard Pendleton to ease the visitation restrictions by leveraging the corrupt industrialist’s involvement in the Hopedale incident.
Margaret Pendelton, his ex-wife, knew that something had occurred between the two men, but neither Erik nor Richard spoke of it. Their relationship since the Hopedale Mountain incident had been one of cool formality for Brianna’s sake.
Erik made his way up the manicured walkway and rang the doorbell. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach every time he came here. His ex-wife and daughter were comfortable in the upscale environment of Silver Hills; Erik was not. Margaret came to the door.
“Erik!” She greeted him with genuine warmth. “Please come in.”
“Hi, is Brianna here?” he asked.
“No, you just missed her. She’s down at Community Cuts getting her hair done. Janet squeezed her in this afternoon.”
“Ah yes,” Erik remembered. “The big social is tonight.” He hoped his news wouldn’t spoil her time.
Margaret looked deeply at Erik. “Out with it; what’s wrong?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes, and don’t smirk at me!” she added lightly. “Now let’s go sit down. You can tell me what’s going on.” Margaret tugged on his arm and led him into the spacious kitchen.
Margaret prepared a pot of coffee and heated up some banana-nut bread. She poured coffee and placed a platter of the sliced bread on the table. “It’s probably not up to Madame’s standards, but it’s the best I can do on short notice.”
Erik took a sip of coffee and placed the mug back on the table. He looked into the dark fluid in the mug and added, “I’m going to be out of the country for about six to eight months – on an extended assignment.”
Margaret exhaled sharply.
“It’s not as bad as you’re probably thinking, just performing bodyguard services for a foreign socialite. I’ll be able to call a few times each week, but not much more than that.” Erik continued to stare into the contents of his coffee cup.
“When will you be leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered.
“God damn it, Erik! Don’t these people have any consideration for family, or what you’ve just been through?”
“No. They don’t think about family or friends. It will always be ‘the job’ first. However,” he added looking into her eyes, “that’s not how I view things. Bri is the most important person in my life.” He swallowed. “But lives are at risk, and unless I do this there could be serious political ramifications that I can’t divulge.” He smiled. “Not the first time I’ve said that over the past two years, is it?”
Margaret returned the smile despite herself. “Please, promise me you’ll be careful.”
Erik nodded. “Maybe getting away for awhile will do some good.”
“When are you going to tell Bri?”
“I’ll pick her up from the hairdresser. We’ll grab a bite then I’ll spill it.” Erik paused and grinned. “Brianna’s always been after me to crop the hair and lose the ’70s style. I do need to clean up a bit for this trip. As long as I’m there.…”
* * * *
Erik spotted his daughter through the window and parked across from the salon. Community Cuts, like Madame’s, had the small town feel that made it as much a place for people to meet and socialize as to do business. Janet Donnelly and Candia Cuddy spent as much time talking with their clients about personal interests as they did giving haircuts.
The natural sunlight that filtered through the glass storefront gave the salon a warm and welcoming glow. Music, conversation and loud laughter poured out when he opened the door.
Erik took a seat in the far corner and smirked at three sixteen-year-old boys who were sneaking peeks at the two hairdressers. Janet and Candia were both well developed and attractive. The two women had accumulated a near-cult following of teenage boys who came in regularly to admire the scenery and get a twelve-dollar trim.
“Uh-oh!” a voice rang out. Janet leaned into Brianna. “Dad’s here kiddo. We’ll lose the hot pink tips for now, okay?”
“Erik,” Candia began as she walked over to him. Erik rose, and she wrapped her arms around him in a friendly embrace. �
�How are you?”
“I’m fine. You still look beautiful,” he answered. Candia hadn’t really changed all that much in the years that he’d known her. She still loved the figure-flattering clothing, which she filled out to perfection. They had found comfort in each other’s arms after his divorce. Candia had gone through a nasty breakup and they had leaned on each other through the difficult stretches.
Candia smiled, then looked deep into his eyes. “Really, how are you doing?” she repeated, her tone searching for the truth.
Erik shook his head as he whispered, “I’ve been better, a lot better.”
“I know,” she said sympathetically. “You just have to give yourself time. Don’t be afraid to lean on your friends. That’s why we’re here.”
“I do need something,” Erik said, diverting conversation away from the painful topic. “I need a decent haircut.”
Candia laughed. “This is truly a historic moment. Erik Knight is finally going to part with his locks.”
“Bri has been bugging me about being more progressive in my look.”
“Well, then, Mr. Knight….” Candia gestured toward her salon chair. “Step into my office.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” Erik finished as he seated himself.
* * * *
Over an hour had passed since Erik stepped into the Community Cuts Salon, and for twenty minutes of it Candia chastised Erik about his split ends and brittle hair. When Janet had put the finishing touches on his daughter’s style, she too joined in on what literally became a community cut. Every patron and stylist offered their opinion on what to do with the detective’s hair.
Candia thought she could easily eliminate twenty inches while Janet and Brianna scoured through several fashion magazines. Diane, a regular patron, discovered the final hairstyle in a back issue of Forbes magazine. The two hairdressers cut Erik’s twenty-inch ponytail and placed the severed locks in a plastic bag. Not much more, and it was finished.
