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The Sentinel Project Part 4
by Lianne Burwell
September 2002
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Harrison sighed and relaxed back into the mattress. They'd 
been in their new cell for a couple of weeks now. At least 
this time, it didn't seem so much like a cell. The room was 
more like a comfortable hotel room with a closet full of 
clean clothing, all in their sizes, and an attached 
bathroom. Every day, they were allowed out for exercise in 
the large, well-equipped gym down the hall while the room 
was cleaned and the linens were changed.

However, the lack of windows, the doors locked from the 
outside and the armed men watching them while they 
exercised all combined to make sure that they never forgot 
their current status as prisoner. They were never allowed 
to see anything that might let them figure out where they 
were, although there were clues. He had the feeling that 
they were well underground, but there was still a faint 
scent of salt in the air, so they had to be somewhere near 
an ocean. Instinct was telling him Atlantic, although  he 
couldn't explain why. Still, all in all, it was like a club 
fed prison.

Paul came out of the bathroom, dripping with the cool water 
of his shower. He dropped his towel and climbed into the 
bed next to Harrison, goose bumps already rising from the 
air-conditioning. They'd quickly gotten over their natural 
modesty, knowing that they were being monitored. The need 
to touch and to make love was just too strong.

Harrison lifted his head, listening for a moment. "More 
arrivals," he said softly. "Two of them sound unhappy."

Paul winced. This was the fifth time this had happened 
since their arrival at their new home. Each time, two more 
prisoners had been delivered. Whispered conversations had 
told them that all the new arrivals had been Sentinel-Guide 
pairs, although they hadn't met any in person; they were 
carefully kept separate.

Then Harrison's eyes went wide with shock. "Ellison and 
Sandburg," he said.

"What?"

"The new arrivals. It's Ellison and Sandburg."

The made Ironhorse sit up. "Crap. Who are these people? 
They're kidnapping people right and left, even cops now, 
and no one even notices? This is crazy!" He thumped his 
fist against the mattress.

"Not just that," Harrison pointed out, keeping part of his 
attention on the two men they'd met in Cascade as they were 
walked to another room down the hall by armed guards who 
refused to answer the angry questions being shot at them. 
"Some of the people brought in are Canadian, so they're 
kidnapping people from other countries. And one of them was 
saying his partner was a Mountie," he reminded Paul.

"These people are really confident," his partner said with 
a frown.

"The only question is, why start now? And why Sentinels and 
Guides?"

And why let them know? Harrison could think of several easy 
ways to make sure that none of the kidnap victims knew 
about the others. White noise generators, putting them on 
different levels of this underground facility, putting them 
into different facilities altogether. Instead, even though 
they knew that they were being monitored closely, they were 
allowed to use their enhanced hearing to communicate 
between cells, even though none of them had met face to 
face yet. A marine, a park ranger, a Mountie, a cop, a 
firefighter, and more. A strange group, and one where you 
would think that *someone* would notice their 
disappearance. Of course, for all they knew, the 
disappearances *had* been noticed, but no one knew enough 
to put two and two together. After all, there was no 
apparent connection between any them.

The door was locked behind their new neighbors, and they 
could both hear the guards as they headed back down the 
hallway to where the elevators were. They didn't chatter or 
gossip the way most men in their place would. Obviously 
they'd been warned to keep their mouths shut, since they 
never answered questions or even responded to any comments 
from their charges.

It was still more than an hour until lunch, and the 
exercise shifts that started an hour after that. Harrison 
settled down on the bed, and Paul curled up at his side. 
Both of them had learned patience over the years. Sooner or 
later, *someone* was going to tell them just what they were 
doing there. The only question was, would they like that 
explanation?

Harrison had the sinking feeling that they wouldn't.

>>>~~~<<

Jerome Michaels settled into the chair behind the desk at 
the heart of the country that was the center of the world. 
The man who sat in that chair was arguably the most 
powerful man in the world, and he liked the feeling.

There were people out there who would say that he hadn't 
earned it, not having been elected to the oval office, but 
they knew better than to say it publicly. Right now, 
criticizing the White House would get you fired, if not 
lynched. With the Vice-President dead and the President in 
critical condition, the country needed to stand behind its 
government in its fight against the foreign threat, the 
papers said.

Of course, that threat wasn't really foreign at all. And 
the parts that were, well, they were *very* foreign, Jerome 
thought to himself with a grin. So foreign that there 
wasn't a chance that the FBI, the CIA or Military 
Intelligence would ever figure it out.

There was a knock at the door, and the Chief of Staff came 
in. He had a sour look on his face, and that lifted 
Jerome's spirits even higher. The man hated his guts -- a 
feeling that was very much mutual -- and having to report 
to Michaels was killing the man, especially since Jerome 
was using him as basically a secretary at the moment.

"What is it, Jackson?" he snapped, just to see the man's 
jaw clench as he tried to avoid saying something that could 
get him arrested. Actually, Jerome had enough manufactured 
evidence to have the man behind bars in a heartbeat, but he 
preferred to keep him where he was. If he ever got tired of 
playing with the man, he could always use those papers.

"The Director of the FBI is here, sir," Jackson said, 
nearly spitting the last word. Still, he was pretty good at 
covering up his feelings, Jerome had to give him that. He 
was also very good at his job, which is why he was still 
around, other than for entertainment. "He has a report into 
the investigation."

"Good. Send him in."

Jackson disappeared, and Jerome stood, carefully schooled 
his features into an expression more appropriate for a man 
holding a position he hadn't expected to, and in trying 
times.

"Director Kersh, I hope you have good news for me," he 
said, moving forward to shake the hand of the man entering 
the office.

"Well, I don't know if it counts as good news," the other 
man said. He still looked a little shaken by the title, as 
well he should. It had only been his for less than a week. 
"I'm afraid that we've had to arrest more than fifty agents 
based on the evidence in my predecessor's personal files. 
Nearly twenty more have vanished, including Assistant 
Director Skinner and his agents, Mulder and Scully. I'm 
still finding it hard to believe that the FBI had been 
compromised to such an extent," he added, shaking his head.

"I must admit, I found it hard to believe myself," Jerome 
said with a carefully measured sigh. "Especially that 
someone with terrorist ties could work his way into the 
FBI, all the way up to Director, without being caught... 
Well, the mind boggles. Obviously security has become lax 
in previous years, but that will have to change. Has there 
been any more luck in tracking down the people behind the 
assassination attempts?"

Kersh shook his head. "Some, but mostly at the lower 
levels. The people at the top of this conspiracy have been 
very clever about covering their tracks. The groups we've 
captured know very little. All we can say at this point is 
that there is an organization that appears to have been 
directing terrorist groups of various creeds around the 
world, possibly for decades. Unfortunately, they've covered 
their tracks extremely well."

"Well, I'm sure I can count on you and the Director of the 
CIA to work together to uncover the snakes in the grass. 
Between the two of you, I'm sure that security in this 
country can tighten up, and terror organizations around the 
world can be brought down. It is something that should have 
been done years ago. Thank you, Director Kersh."

The man was practically preening under the praise as Jerome 
escorted him to the door. As soon as he was gone, though, 
the serious expression vanished, and a sly grin took its 
place. At times it amazed him at just how easy to 
manipulate people.

As for the conspiracy Kersh and his counterpart at the CIA 
were tracking, sooner or later it would lead them to 
Spender and his old men. As for Jerome, and the people in 
the Consortium who supported him... Well, their connections 
to the Consortium had been erased. Even at that moment, the 
last of any paper trails were being systematically 
destroyed. When the time came, Spender would go down, and 
anything he might have left would be dismissed as a 
traitor's attempts to besmirch the White House.

And when everything was done, Jerome would have a clear 
road to being elected to the office he currently held 
temporarily. And then his real work would begin.

Because Jerome Michaels had no intention of merely holding 
office for only the two terms that the law allowed for. In 
fact, when the time came, he didn't plan on giving up power 
at all. And he had allies that would help him in his plans.

"They have not yet found the ones who destroyed our base?"

Jerome turned to face the head of his Secret Service 
detail. It looked like a human, but he knew better. The 
body of a fit man in his thirties was actually an 
artificial construct, housing one of the aliens that had 
backed the Consortium until three humans, presumably with 
help, managed to destroy the one link between Earth and the 
alien home world. "Spender has them, that's all I know. 
Whatever base he's holding them at, it's one that he's 
managed to keep a secret. But sooner or later, we'll flush 
him out. Then you will have what you want."

"Good. And we will find the traitor who helped them. She 
will learn that the will of the Collective cannot be so 
easily stopped."

Jerome nodded respectfully, although inside he was anything 
but. Maybe the plans of the so-called 'Collective' would be 
restarted, but there would be some changes this time. 
Jerome Michaels had not intention on going back to being a 
flunky.

And if he got his hands on those aces up Spender's sleeve, 
then maybe, just maybe, the 'Collective' would be dancing 
to *his* tune.

>>>~~~<<<

When morning came, Suzanne was still sitting on the floor, 
her eyes burning with fatigue, still fixed on the door. No 
one had come to tell her what was happening with her 
daughter, and she was getting pissed. She wanted to know 
what had happened to her daughter and she wanted to know 
*now*.

Calmly, deliberately, she got to her feet and walked over 
to the coffee table. It was made of a woven rattan, so it 
was reasonably light. Still, it made a satisfying crash 
when it hit the wall. She picked it up again, this time by 
one leg, and swung it at the window overlooking the calm 
and peaceful garden, softly lit by the rising sun. The 
window wasn't glass, since it didn't show an intention of 
shattering. The table, on the other hand, cracked nicely. 
Grinning wildly, she swung again.

Once the table was reduced to small pieces, she moved on to 
the chairs. Still not getting the response she wanted, she 
used it as a weapon against the camera up in the corner of 
the room, surveying the entire place for the bastards 
behind this. The first chair wasn't enough to destroy it, 
but the second finished the job.

By this time she was hitting a full head of steam, and 
anything that got in her way was fair game. Furniture, 
decorations. The sound of the bathroom mirror shattering 
made her bare her teeth in a parody of a grin, while the 
camera revealed behind it made her even angrier. She ripped 
it out by the cables, then smashed it. She hoped it was 
expensive.

The main door was opening as she left the bathroom. She had 
held onto the camera, and started to swing it by its 
cables, ready to use it as a weapon. They'd probably 
tranquilize her before she could hurt anyone, but she was 
going to do her best.

But the bastards had outmaneuvered her. Instead of a group 
of indistinguishable orderlies -- or whatever the 
equivalent was around here -- they'd sent the cat-man that 
her daughter called Ceto. He was carrying a breakfast tray, 
and looking around at the destruction with an upset 
expression. The only pieces of furniture in the main room 
still in one piece were the large table and the sofa. The 
table had been too heavy a wood for her to do more than tip 
over, and the sofa was the same, but the cushions were 
scattered around the room. The fabric had been too tough 
for her to rip, and there wasn't anything she could use to 
cut them.

Ceto turned large, confused eyes towards her. "Where do I 
put the tray?" he asked in a bewildered little boy voice.

That was all that was necessary to destroy her anger, like 
a pinprick to a balloon. Ceto was obviously too simple to 
understand what was going on, so it wouldn't be fair to 
take things out on him. Besides, Debi liked him. Suzanne 
sighed, and dropped the camera.

It took a little work to get the table upright again, since 
Ceto wasn't willing to set the tray on the floor long 
enough to help her. Once it was, though, Ceto set the tray 
down -- breakfast for one, she noted -- and went to 
reassemble the sofa, muttering softly to himself the entire 
time. Looking down at the plate of scrambled eggs and 
bacon, with whole wheat toast on the side -- her favorite 
kind of breakfast, damnit -- Suzanne's stomach embarrassed 
her by growling.

She felt guilty for it, but she picked up a triangle of 
toast and bit into it. It was a little cold, but she 
finished it quickly, then took up the fork and started in 
on the eggs. She wasn't going to do Debi or herself any 
good if she starved herself, she reasoned.

Ceto was still fretting though. While she ate, he was 
collecting all the debris and piling it in a corner near 
the door, where presumably it could be removed quickly. 
"They're sending new furniture," he told her as he passed 
her, his arms full of strips of rattan. A few small pieces 
were stuck to his fur, giving him a mussed look. Suzanne 
couldn't help smiling. Ceto was too gentle for this place. 
In that, he was very much like Vincent. He just didn't have 
the keen intelligence of the other cat-man

"Why?" she asked, curious. This wasn't going the way she 
was expecting. She'd expected violence, and people she 
could lash out at. Instead, she got this over-eager child 
in a man's body.

"Because Debi needs someplace to sit," he said earnestly.

That one sentence had her sagging in relief. "Is she all 
right? What happened to her? When are they bringing her 
back?"

Ceto's ears flattened back at the barrage of questions. 
"Dr. Jeff says she will be okay, and I need to clean up 
quickly because she'll be back this afternoon."

"But what *happened* to her?" Suzanne nearly wailed, even 
though she knew Ceto probably wouldn't know.

But instead of just looking confused again, Ceto puffed up, 
his shoulders pushed back. He looked very happy, and even 
proud. "Debi is having a baby!" he said. And Suzanne's legs 
gave out under her.

>>>~~~<<<

For the first time since their arrival, dinner wasn't 
delivered to their room. Instead, the door opened for four 
armed men, all wearing helmet that hid their faces. They 
waved, and after exchanging a quick glance, Harrison and 
Ironhorse obeyed.

The hallways were empty other than them as they were herded 
towards a wing of the building that they'd never been in, 
until they finally arrived in a large room that was 
obviously usually used as a cafeteria. More armed guards 
stood at every exit from the room, making it clear that 
they were to stay put. All of them.

Paul scanned the room, checking out the people inside. From 
the eclectic mix of clothing -- everything from plaid 
flannel to olive drab to a rumpled suit that looked like 
Armani, or something equally expensive -- he guessed that 
these were the rest of the abductees. Blair Sandburg was 
holding court in one corner while Jim Ellison held a 
whispered conversation with several others just confirmed 
that.

Most of the others seemed to know each other, so there were 
suspicious glances there way as they entered the room. 
Sandburg, obviously sensing this, stood quickly. "Harrison, 
Ironhorse. Shit, they got you too?"

"Got us, lost us, then got us again. Since then, we don't 
know what they've done with either Debi or Suzanne," Paul 
said, more than a touch bitter. The fact that they were 
even there was because of Katara. The android may have 
helped them stop her home dimension from moving in and 
taking over, but she certainly hadn't been what he would 
consider an ally. She'd used them, then dumped them right 
back in Spender's lap like a present just needing a big 
bow. If he ever saw her again, he was going to shoot first, 
ask questions later. Correction: he would just shoot. There 
wouldn't *be* enough left of her to question.

"Ladies and gentlemen, since you are all here, shall we 
begin?"

Silence spread over the room like an oversized blanket, 
deadening all noise. Spender was standing at the door at 
the opposite end of the room.

Perhaps this was when they would get some answers.

TO BE CONTINUED