Via Sub Rosa, by Scifinerdgrl Part 7

CHAPTER 24

Gibson walked with assurance toward the back of the cave.  In
total darkness, he banged on one wall until they heard a creaking
sound.  They stepped back as the wall raised up diagonally,
pulled itself backward along the ceiling.

Doggett's eyes took a moment to adjust to the light inside the
chamber.  A bus and two vans sat in the center, each pointed
toward a different tunnel, and boxes piled to the ceiling lined
both walls.

"This way," Gibson motioned.  The boy effortlessly located
another false wall, this time concealing a more conventional
door.  They entered into a diagonal shaft, lit at intervals by
slits of natural sunlight beaming from above.  A mining car sat
at the bottom of a conveyor belt, and Gibson hopped in.  "There's
room for two," he said, patting the opposite side.  Doggett
stepped over the edge and found a pull-down bench where Gibson
motioned.  "Hang on!" Gibson warned.  He reached over the side
and pulled on a lever, starting the conveyor on its way to the
top.

As they approached what appeared to be a ceiling, a panel slid to
the side, and they arrived at a flat portion at the top.  Gibson
pulled up on levers that were on either side of the car, then
hopped out.  Doggett followed suit, and the two climbed to the
top on the metal rungs of a built-in ladder.  He recognized his
surroundings instantly.  It was *his* garage.  "Well I'll be
damned!" he said under his breath.  "What else do they have
here?"

Gibson pulled the false floor back into position.  "You think all
they deliver is bread?" Gibson asked cynically.  "When you get
the van running they have a lot of magnetite for you to deliver."

"How do you know about that?" Doggett challenged.

Gibson tapped his temple and replied, "Tomas is a better teacher
than he knows!"

"You're starting to scare me, Gibson," John said admiringly. 
"And I like it!"

Gibson smiled and strutted toward the delivery truck.  "Can I go
with you?"

"Sure," Doggett smiled.  "You can ride shotgun."  At the mention
of guns, Doggett noticed Gibson's face turning grim.  He patted
him on the shoulder then said, "And that's not just a figure of
speech.  We're not letting this morning's incident change our
plans."  He grabbed a rag from a counter and handed it to Gibson. 
"Here, clean yourself up," he ordered.  Gibson took it and wiped
the evidence from his nose and eyes.  John looked at him
carefully, then winked and said, "She'll never know."

*****************
Mary held a crutch out for Monica, and when she reached for it
Mary let out a girlish squeal.  Monica was almost painfully
startled, until she saw Mary reach for her right hand.  "You're
engaged?!?!" Mary squealed again.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Martha scolded, as she rushed to see
the ring.

"I didn't think I'd ever have to tell you two anything!"  Monica
laughed.

"We don't spy," Martha said, still bent over Monica's right hand. 
Monica pulled her hand away and shot Martha a skeptical glance,
to which Martha responded,  "At least not when we don't have to,"
and grabbed for the diamond ring again.

"Can we make your dress?" Mary asked excitedly.

"We haven't even.." Monica started, but Martha interrupted.

"And the wedding! You'll have it here, of course!" Martha said,
waving her hands.  "We've had weddings here before.  Beautiful
weddings!  You'll love it!"

As if drawn by an irresistible force, excited nuns began filling
the infirmary, each offering to help with the wedding
preparations in her own way.  By the time John and Gibson
arrived, the wedding was nearly completely planned.  All that
remained was to set the date.

**********

That afternoon, Monica went early to the library, where she found
Lita, a rosary wrapped around one hand as her other hand
manipulated the computer's mouse.  The girl's eyes darted over
page after page of encrypted data, and she didn't hear Monica
arrive.  She jumped when Monica laid a hand on her shoulder and
said, "What are you working on."

Lita turned off the monitor and fingered her rosary, her lips
silently mouthing the words that went with it.  Monica sat down
next to her and turned the monitor on.  She squinted to read the
screen, unable to make out any of it.  "Do you understand this?"
she asked Lita.

Lita nodded without breaking the rhythm of her litany.

"Does it have something to do with the Via?" Monica probed. 
Again, Lita nodded.  Monica glanced at the rosary, which she
hadn't seen in Lita's hand before.  "Is this about what happened
yesterday?" she asked compassionately.  Lita's eyes watered but
she was otherwise impassive.  "Are you worried that someone like
Gibson's parents will come for you?"

Lita shook her head and walked to the far side of the room.  She
curled up on a window seat and looked out the window.  Monica
followed, and looked over the girl's shoulders to the view below.

In the distance, she could see the ravine winding between tall
mountains on either side, and inside the wall surrounding the
monastery complex, just under the window, were rows of
gravestones.  "People you know?" Monica asked.  Lita nodded
almost imperceptibly, and Monica squatted to be eye-level with
her.  "You've seen some terrible things, haven't you?  Did you
see these people die?"

By now Lita's eyes could no longer contain her tears, and tidy
streams fell from each eye.  Monica studied the girl's face, but
Lita turned away.  "Okay, I'll leave you alone," Monica conceded. 
"If that's what you want."  She returned to the computer, and
said nonchalantly, "Gibson and I will continue without you."

As if in a trance, Lita rose from her window seat, took Monica's
hand, and pulled her toward the door.  They made their way to a
row of five identical gravestones, each topped with an engraved
image of a rose.  "Who were they?" Monica asked.  Lita sighed and
looked deeply into Monica's eyes, but Monica did her best to
block Lita's attempt to answer psychically.  With a shrug of
resignation, Lita answered.  "Usted sabe," and knelt at the
furthest grave, her rosary clutched in her hand.

All five had died on the same day, and all but one had the same
last name.  "Lita," Monica whispered.  "This was your family?"

Lita shook her head and looked tearfully into Monica's eyes.

"Were they others like you?  Like you and Gibson?"  Lita nodded
and went to Monica, wrapping her arms around the tall woman's
waist. Monica held the girl as the tears came, her shoulders
shaking with pent-up grief.

When Lita's tears had subsided, Monica whispered, "Gibson will be
expecting us.  You don't have to come to 'school' today if you
don't want to."  She stroked the girl's hair and added, "All this
is fresh for him, and I can see it was hard on you...  And he
still feels badly about my leg..."

Lita knelt before Monica and put her hand over the bandage. 
Monica watched as Lita focused on the back of her hand and
stroked the bandage.  Her leg felt warm for a moment then cooled
as Lita removed her hand.  "You'll be fine," the girl said, then
walked back to the first gravestone.

Monica followed, her sore leg feeling stronger with every step. 
"How did you do that?" she demanded.

Lita turned and sighed.  "Usted sabe," she said, then looked
again at the gravestone.

The name on the stone was Jesus Flores.  "Your father?" Monica
asked.  Lita nodded and started on her rosary.  "I'll leave you
alone, then.  See you tomorrow."  Lita made no response, and
Monica tip-toed away, unaware of Lita's eyes watching her while
she continued mouthing the rosary prayer.

Returning to the computer, Monica looked over the files that Lita
had opened.   The code seemed simpler than the one she had
started learning.  It reminded her of codes she'd used with her
girlfriends while passing notes in junior high school. 
Subconsciously, she started trying to form words and sentences,
turning things around in the ways that children commonly did, and
she found herself mouthing words in Spanish.  A few of the
repeating patterns began to leap off the screen, and eventually
she had worked out all of the vowels and many of the consonants. 
She extrapolated what letters she could, finding the words "Via
Sub Rosa" throughout, and soon realized the next most frequent
pattern spelled "Isla de las Mujeres."

She looked up from the computer and saw Lita looking back at her. 
"You wanted me to see this, didn't you?" Monica asked.  "What
does this mean?  Island of the Women?  What women?"

"Usted sabe," Lita said.

Before Monica could answer, Gibson bounded in, breathless and
flushed.  "Hi teacher!" he said, rushing to give Monica a quick
hug.  "Can I be excused?"

"A hug, huh?" Monica smiled skeptically.  "Where's the apple,
apple-polisher?  You can't get out of school with just a hug!"

Gibson smiled, and Monica thought it a very John-like smile. 
"Driver's ed. this afternoon!" he said breathlessly.

"We just had a lesson in gun safety," John's voice boomed from
the doorway.  Monica looked up to see her beloved's silhouette
leaning against the door jamb, the bright sun outlining every
detail of his form.  "And now he's ready to ride shotgun while I
make some deliveries."

Monica looked from one to the other and said, "How could I argue
with that?"  Gibson hugged her as John looked on appreciatively. 
"When will you be back?" she asked, the hint of nervousness in
her voice apparent to all despite her brave front.

Gibson moved aside as John went to her.  He hugged her and kissed
the top of her head.  "Don't worry," he whispered.  "I've got a
damn good body guard."  She wrapped her arms around his waist and
he responded by leaning forward for a tender, lingering kiss.

When he pulled away, John spotted the gibberish on the computer
screen and raised his eyebrows.  "Anything I should know about?"

"I'll let you know," she promised.

They kissed as if they might never see each other again, and
parted only when Gibson sighed loudly.  "See what I mean?" Gibson
said with disgust, but Lita didn't share his sentiment.  She was
watching with awe and envy, and sighed when she saw the flush on
Monica's cheek.

"Bye, future wife," John said, smiling.

"Bye, future husband," Monica responded with a sigh.

"Are we going or what?" Gibson said from the doorway.

****************************
CHAPTER 25

John backed the delivery truck to the bakery's rear entrance as
Mary gave him hand signals and Gibson watched in his mirror.  As
soon as the truck was in position, Mary threw open its rear
doors.  John and Gibson looked over their shoulders and saw rows
of boxes lined up waiting for them, with more being carted by
industrious nuns.

John picked up the first of the boxes and almost dropped it. 
Despite its small size it was very heavy.  Heavy as lead, John
thought.

"Hey!" John shouted to Mary as she turned her back on him. 
"What's in these boxes?"

"You know," Gibson grunted, struggling to lift a box into the bed
of the truck.

"Not like that, Gibson!" John flew to the boy's side and took the
box from him, his own strong arms easily managing its weight. 
After giving Gibson a lesson in proper lifting technique, he
helped him into the truck.  Gibson enthusiastically lifted and
carried box after box, arranging them in neat rows.  After an
hour, boxes began to pile on the edge of the truck as Gibson fell
behind John's pace.  John hopped into the truck and made quick
work of the backlog then slapped Gibson on the back.  "We could
use some water," he said to the red-faced teen.

They jumped down then went inside the sweet-smelling bakery. As
the monastery bells rang, nuns filed out, leaving John and Gibson
alone for a moment until  Mary appeared with cold bottles of
water.

"I should have known I wouldn't have to ask," John grinned.  The
two hard-working men eagerly drank their water as Mary watched
patiently.  John wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sighed loudly. 
"Thanks, Mary.  That hit the spot."

Gibson wiped his mouth on his sleeve, imitating John almost too
well, then said, "Yeah, thanks."

"Here's your route," Mary said, pulling a piece of paper from the
folds of her habit.  "Each place gets the number of boxes
indicated," she said, pointing to a few examples.  "And here's
where you'll stay tonight."

John and Gibson looked at her with expressions verging on horror,
but Mary continued as if there were nothing unusual in this
overnight trip.  "They're expecting you.  They'll tell you where
you'll stay tomorrow night."



Monica sat at the computer trying to read more of the encrypted
files, but soon was sighing in frustration.  "Lita, I can't read
this," she said in exasperation.  "You'll have to tell me what
you want me to know."

Lita sat next to her, pointing to a few words and translating
them as she went.  "Flores.... family... Isla de las Mujeres..."

Lita paused at the mention of the island, leading Monica to ask,
"Was that your home?  That island?"

Lita nodded.  "Flores family home since fifteen hundreds," she
said.  Monica was surprised to note the lack of an accent in
Lita's voice.  The girl continued pointing to isolated words then
translating them, finishing with the last word, "Mayan."

Monica studied the girl's features and suddenly realized she gave
the appearance of having a Mayan ancestry.  "Tell me more about
your family," she said gently.  "They were Mayan?"

Lita sighed then started typing, adding to her encrypted file
with amazing speed.  Monica grabbed one of her wrists and pulled
it up sharply.  "Tell me," she demanded.  "You want me to know,
don't you?  So tell me.  Tell me instead of typing this...
this...."

Monica regretted her harsh words as Lita's eyes teared and her
arm went limp in Monica's hand.  "Lita," Monica said more gently,
still holding her arm.  "Don't you trust me?"  Lita nodded, and
Monica let go of her arm.  "Then why not..."

"She's doing the best she can," Mother Catherine's voice boomed
from the doorway.  Lita jumped up and ran to the old woman,
wrapping her arms around her waist.  Catherine stroked the girl's
hair.  "She's come so far..." she said, then lowered her voice
and added, "Haven't you, honey?"

"She'd have come a lot further if you didn't coddle her!" Monica
said sternly.  "Whatever she's been through she's ready to talk
about it."

"What do you know!" Catherine snapped.  She turned away, turning
Lita with her.  "Come on, Lita," she cooed as they took a few
steps toward the door.

Monica grabbed Catherine by the arm and whirled her around. 
"Lita wants me to know.  Why are you stopping her?"

Catherine turned Lita to face her, and Monica could see a
telepathic exchange between them.  She closed her eyes and
focused her thoughts on them, hoping to eavesdrop.  But instead
of the faces and events she expected to see, only misty,
ill-defined shapes floated to her consciousness.  Gradually one
image became clear:  a Mayan pyramid.  She opened her eyes to see
Lita and Catherine looking intently at her.  "Pyramids?" Monica
asked.  "What does that have to do with...?"

"December 22, 2012," Catherine answered.  "The last date on the
Mayan calendar."



"What?!?!" Monica gasped.  

"The Mayans were expert astronomers," Catherine began explaining.

"Yes, I knew that," Monica said with barely contained annoyance. 
"And their pyramids represent their calendar.. But Lita..."

"Lita is the last of the Flores family," Catherine said, stroking
Lita's back soothingly.  "That's just their Spanish name, or
course.  Their Mayan name is Toltec.  Lita's ancestors were the
builders of the Pyramid of Kukulkan at Chichan Itza in the
eleventh century.  Lita's family has kept the traditions and
knowledge of her people for all these centuries...  And now...."

Catherine gulped and hugged Lita.  "Lita is afraid that if she
dies, her family's secrets will die with her."  Lita pulled
closer to Catherine and buried her face in the old woman's habit. 
Catherine continued stroking her back then leaned close to Lita's
ear and whispered, loud enough for Monica to hear, "It's okay,
Rosalita. You're safe here."

Monica watched for a moment then said, "But December 22 2012
isn't the end of the world, it's just the completion of the 12th
bak'tun.  There's a theory that the thirteenth bak'tun will bring
the beginning of a new civilization, but it's just a theory.  The
Mayan civilization ended long before that date..."

"And what new civilization do they think would come on that
date?" Catherine snapped.  Catherine's question made Monica pause
for thought.  Catherine continued, "And the hieroglyphics you
translated earlier this year?  How were you able to translate
them so easily?"

"Because they were similar to the Mayan glyphs I'd studied at
Brown..." Monica conceded.  "I only had two semesters of
hieroglyphics.  I'm no expert, but it was enough..."

"Yes, I know," Catherine said, leading Lita toward the window
seat.  Monica followed, listening intently as Catherine continued
explaining.  "Pity that you didn't also study human paleography. 
Have you heard of the skulls found with elongated crania?"

"Only in the paranormal literature I researched after joining the
X-Files.  There are theories that these crania come from
alien-human hybrids, or possibly..."  Monica stopped as she saw
Catherine gently stroking the back of Lita's head.  "You don't
mean..."

"Of course, modern human skulls no longer look like that,"
Catherine continued stroking Lita's head as the girl looked up at
her.  "Over the centuries this feature has disappeared, but their
descendants are still quite special in other ways."

"The alien theory has been disproved, though." Monica looked into
the girl's face.  "You look normal to me, Lita."  She smiled
sympathetically, but Lita merely looked to Catherine for help.

Catherine continued to tell Lita's story, her eyes demanding
Reyes' attention and taking it away from Lita.  "When the Spanish
came to the Yucatan, the Mayans sent their women and children to
an island for protection."

"Isla de las Mujeres," Reyes said.  "It's coming back to me now."

"Your fancy prep school didn't teach you about Mayan history,"
Lita said accusingly.

"No, it didn't," Monica sat down at the opposite end of the
window seat.  "But it's never too late to learn."

"The Mayans were special," Catherine looked affectionately at
Lita for a moment, then added, "Very special.  They were people
of the Via, but they didn't need the Via to help them, until the
Spaniards arrived."

Monica bowed her head slightly, feeling the collective guilt of
her adopted country's heritage.  "Colonization... It's a cruel
fact of history," Monica conceded.

"It'll be even more cruel in the future," Lita blurted out.


CHAPTER 26

John and Gibson spent the rest of the day driving from place to
place delivering their goods.  In exchange, each place offered
something in return.  By the time they stopped for the night they
had amassed cash, clothing, canned food, and several mysterious
boxes they were instructed not to open.  Their stops along the
route were as diverse as the packages they accepted.  A male
monastery, a casino on a reservation, a Goodwill drop-off
trailer, and their last stop, an orphanage several hundred miles
to the south.

By now both were dead tired, thirsty, hungry, and read to
collapse into any bed they could find, but Gibson's curiosity was
piqued when he saw where they'd be staying.  "I stayed here when
I was a baby," he explained.  "My parents told me about it."

"The name sounds familiar," John said.  He pursed his lips and
stared at the sign.  "Privacy First Adoption Agency," he muttered
to himself.  It sounded a lot like...

"Yes, I think you're right," Gibson said.  "Agent Scully sent
William here."

They were interrupted by a dour-looking man in a dated sport
jacket.  "I'm Father Pastorelli," he said, holding out his hand. 
"We've been expecting you."

"Sorry, we're a little behind schedule," John said, shaking the
man's hand a few times then quickly withdrawing it.  "I'm new to
the area, and..."

"I got us lost," Gibson chimed in.  "I told him to take a left
at..."

"Yes," the man said condescendingly.  "Map-reading is quite a
challenge for someone who usually relies on mind-reading, eh?"

Pastorelli directed them to unload their boxes in the basement,
then left to see that the children were all sleeping.  After a
half hour Doggett could see that Gibson was having trouble, and
he had to admit to himself that the day had taken a toll on him. 
He collapsed at the top of the stairs, and only half-mockingly
said, "If we try to finish this tonight I'll die in my sleep!" 
Gibson tried to laugh, but exhaustion had knocked the wind out of
him as well.  "Let's call it a night," John said. "Tomorrow
morning you take the stairs."

They tip-toed down the long main hallway, looking for their host. 
The ground floor seemed to be mainly common areas and offices,
but no lights were on.  John tried several door knobs until one
opened, revealing a neat office, brightly lit, and decorated with
soothing posters depicting rosy-cheeked children with smiling
parents.  Doggett glanced at the filing cabinets that lined one
wall, and immediately noticed a drawer that read "2002:  S - Z"

Instinctively, Gibson went to the door, and whispered, "Go ahead. 
I'll be your look-out."  Doggett looked at the boy, unsure
whether to be proud or worried that he was so eager to help him
with an illegal search.  But his curiosity got the better of him,
and he quickly found what he was looking for.  He ran to the
desk, grabbed a pen and post-it note, then scribbled William's
new name and address. 

He went to the door and whispered to Gibson, "You didn't see
that, okay?"

"Okay," Gibson whispered with a smirk.  "And you didn't see
this."

Gibson went to the drawer John expected him to, but then pulled
open another drawer and handed a file to John.  John opened it
then instinctively closed it again.  "I don't know if we should,"
he said.  "Monica would want to be consulted...."

"When will we have another chance?" Gibson asked, sounding a
little too much like Monica for John's comfort.

He looked through the file. It contained an original birth
certificate, the new birth certificate, and detailed notes on
both sets of parents.  John unbuttoned a few buttons then shoved
the file under his shirt.  "Let's get out of here," he said to
Gibson, who was bent over a file cabinet.

Gibson pulled out a file and handed it to John.  "Can we take
this one too?" he asked plaintively.  John glanced inside and,
seeing the name "Praise," said, "Sure" and slipped the file under
his shirt.  "This is all just too much of a coincidence," he
said.

They quickly retraced their steps back to the truck, then John
slipped the files under a floor mat. "Well, Gibson," he
whispered.  "What do you think?  Did they intend for us to find
these files?"

Gibson scanned the wall facing them, then answered, "I don't
know."

Suddenly their host came bounding out.  "Finished?" he asked,
then not pausing to wait for an answer, he said, "Good.  Your
rooms are ready."



Their rooms were stark, white cells, the only furnishings twin
beds with white wrought iron headboards and a small dresser.
"I'll be next door," John assured Gibson.  He gave him a light,
friendly punch in the arm and added, with a broad smile, "See you
in the morning."

They both knew that Gibson saw through the comforting chatter,
but Gibson played along.  "Seeya," he grinned weakly, then turned
toward his room.

As he stripped off his jeans and t-shirt, John's mind ran through
a dozen questions.  Was it a coincidence that all three had been
adopted here?  Was that office intentionally left open?  Was this
the source of the leak that had led Gibson's parents to the
monastery?  Three hours later he was still awake, the same
questions going through his mind as he stared at the ceiling. 
But one question was particularly nagging:  how many of these
children were there?

He got out of bed, dressed, and sneaked down the hall, where the
childrens' rooms were.  Each door was locked, but through tiny
windows John could make out the sleeping forms of seven children. 
At the end of the hall stood a wide room lined with identical
cribs on the far wall.  John tried the door and it opened
noiselessly.  A woman in a nurse's uniform jumped up and ran
silently to the door.  "What are you doing here!" she scolded. 
"Don't wake them up!"

"I just wanted to see them," he pleaded.  "I love babies."  He
could tell she wasn't convinced, but he went to one of the cribs
and leaned over, bringing to his mind as much love and awe as he
could muster, remembering Luke in his crib.  "These babies....
Why are they here?  What happened to their mothers?" he asked,
lightly stroking the back of one infant's hand.

The nurse stood at his side and whispered, "I don't know.  I only
work here.  Once they come through this door, their past is
erased."  She sighed as he continued stroking the soft skin of
the sleeping child.  "Precious, aren't they?"

A whimper from the far end of the room caught the nurse's
attention, and she started for that end.  "Let me," John said. 
"Please?"

Within minutes he had expertly diapered the little girl and had
earned the trust of both the baby and the nurse.  "You must have
children," the nurse said.

"I had one," he sighed.  "A boy.  He died several years ago."  He
seemed not to hear his own words as he cradled the baby and
rocked from side to side, stroking the fine hair on her head. 
"It's been a long time since I diapered a baby," he said, his
eyes glistening. "Thank you."

As he laid the baby down the nurse put a hand on his arm.  "I'm
so sorry," she said.

"I can't imagine how anyone could have given her up," he said,
his voice more gravelly than usual.  "It just don't make sense."

"Want to talk about it?" the nurse asked.  Without waiting for an
answer she led him to an alcove where two rockers faced each
other.  "I'm no mind reader, but I can tell you have something on
your mind."

He grinned at her mind reading comment, not sure whether to laugh
or run.  "A friend gave up her baby a few months ago," he began. 
"I tried to be there for her, but..."

The nurse rocked slowly and nodded.  "But you disagreed with her
decision?"  He nodded and lowered his head, seemingly engrossed
in the lined on the back of his hands.  She lowered her voice, as
if afraid that the babies might hear her, and said, "That's why
we have such security here.  Sometimes the fathers come looking
for their babies.  We've had several kidnaping attempts."

John's head snapped up at the mention of kidnaping.  Of course,
he thought.  This is what they need the magnetite for.  They're
not distributing it.  They're using it.

Misreading his expression the nurse went on, "And some successes. 
I know," she said, acknowledging his expression."  It's awful. 
Just awful."  She stood up and went to the window overlooking
John's delivery truck, then returned to her rocker.  "I know what
you were delivering.  Thank you," she said, patting his arm. 
"You're doing a good thing."

He grinned and looked around the room, imagining William
occupying one of these cribs not long ago.  "How long do children
stay here?  The babies especially?" he asked with feigned
casualness.

"It varies," she said, happy to switch subjects.  "But usually no
more than two or three weeks until the paper work is finalized."

The growl of an engine and the crunch of gravel beneath them
caused both to run to the window.  "Not again!" the nurse moaned. 
"Do you know how to use a gun?" she asked breathily as she
reached into a cabinet.

John nodded and accepted the .357, and when the door opened and
Gibson appeared, clad only in his underwear and t-shirt, he
nodded for him to approach.  "The kid's a pretty good shot, too."

CHAPTER 27

They ran down the stairs and were joined by their host, who threw
open the rear doors, revealing two men in dark suits picking the
locks.  "STOP OR I'LL SHOOT," Doggett shouted, his law
enforcement training taking over.  At the sight of the guns the
men smirked then took a few steps forward.  The nurse was the
first to fire, shooting one of the men squarely in his Adam's
Apple.  The man gasped but continued walking toward them, until
Pastorelli shot him in the center of his chest.  He crumpled to
the floor and immediately began dissolving from the wound in his
neck, followed by a deflation of the clothing over his chest.

The other man ran toward Doggett and tackled him, football-style,
knocking him to the floor.  With superhuman strength he rolled
over, facing Doggett toward the others, then leapt to his feet,
keeping Doggett in front of him as a shield.

"GIBSON!" Doggett yelled.  "Shoot him in the head!  Do it NOW!"

Without pausing to think, Gibson raised his gun and shot the
attacker squarely in the forehead, as Doggett lunged to one side. 
The force of the bullet knocked the man backward and into a wall,
leaving Doggett to twirl take a shot of his own.  The man slid
down the wall, his head lobbing to one side and dissolving as
quickly as his companion's.

Pastorelli nodded to the nurse, who grabbed latex gloves from a
cabinet and passed them around.  Within minutes the men's remains
had been poured into their car.  Pastorelli pulled a cellphone
from his pocket then hit a few numbers.  "Got another one," he
said curtly.  He slipped the phone into his pocket then signaled
to his nurse.  Together they began pushing the men's car toward
the rear of the complex.

"Wait!" Doggett cried out.  He ran to the car and reached into
one of the men's jackets.  He pulled out a flat object then
flipped it open and showed it to Gibson.  Even in the dim light
of the moon Gibson could make out the bold capital letters:  FBI.

Pastorelli reached for the other man's identification.  It read
"INS."

"Immigration?" Doggett asked, his brow furrowed into deep ridges. 
"What are they doing...?"

"What's the FBI doing here?" Pastorelli answered.  He nodded to
Gibson to help the nurse push the car then turned to John.  "It
doesn't matter what agency these IDs are from.  You won't find
either of these men in their records.  Even if they once existed,
their entire history, from birth onwards, will be erased by
morning."

"Who were they after?" Doggett asked, looking up to see half a
dozen young faces peering down at them from dormitory windows. 
"One of the kids?"

"All of them," he answered.  "Or maybe that one," he said,
nodding toward Gibson.  "We've learned it's best to shoot first
and ask questions later."

Doggett watched Gibson disappear into the shadows with the car,
then looked questioningly to Pastorelli.  "Someone came for him
yesterday."

"His parents," Pastorelli nodded.  "We don't know where the leak
was, but it wasn't here."  John saw Pastorelli's eyes on the
nurse and Gibson as they emerged from the shadows.  "But just in
case... Keep your mind on something else."  He handed John the
super soldier's I.D. and said, "You might need this some day."

The next morning John and Gibson unloaded most of the rest of the
boxes that had been in their truck, and loaded into it several
boxes that Pastorelli described only as "For the nuns."  When
they were ready for their day's deliveries, Pastorelli shook both
John and Gibson's hands, then glanced up at the second storey
windows.  John and Gibson waved to the nurse watching from the
nursery, as Pastorelli took a few steps toward the rear door. 
The nurse turned away, and the pair got into the truck.  As they
were backing up, Pastorelli rushed out.  John rolled down his
window and Pastorelli reached in to slip a computer disk into
John's shirt pocket.  "You will have more questions.  I hope all
the answers are here."  He glanced up at the nursery window, and
seeing nobody there, he added, "Don't come back here."

John's questioning look made Pastorelli glance nervously at the
windows then whisper, "We have a plan.  Don't worry about the
children."  Before John could answer, Pastorelli ran back to the
entrance and slipped inside.


The nuns took advantage of John and Gibson's absence to throw all
their energies into wedding preparations.  Monica and Lita
selected patterns from a sewing book, and the nuns immediately
set to work making their dresses. Monica's would be a
spaghetti-strap A-line with an old-fashioned bustle in the back
from which a silk trail would hang.  Rose-red ribbons would form
the trim and the spaghetti straps, and tiny silk roses would be
embroidered into the bodice.  Her veil would be held by a tiara
decorated with roses from the courtyard, the same ribbon that
decorated her dress, and rows of imitation pearls.  Lita's would
be silk as well, and decorated with the same rose-red ribbon, but
the main fabric would be a floral print: red and pink roses on a
white background.  Her hair would be tied up with the same
ribbon.  The bouquet would be the rest of the roses from the
courtyard, with the same ribbon, mixed with white and pink ribbon
matching Lita's dress, holding the flowers together.

But even amidst the excitement of the wedding plans, Monica
insisted that Lita continue her studies.  She suspected the rush
to get them married and the sudden need for John and Gibson to
make deliveries meant their stay was going to be over soon, and
she wanted Lita to be ready for her GED exam.  The girl showed
surprising ability but even more surprising was her lack of
education, even from the nuns.  Although Lita was becoming more
comfortable with Monica by the hour, Monica suspected that
neither she nor the nuns would admit the reason for Lita's lack
of education:  that they didn't expect her to live long enough to
need it.  Lita seemed to sense the hope behind Monica's
schoolmarm ways, and blossomed into a stellar student.

On the third day of John and Gibson's absence, the dresses were
nearly complete except for a few minor alterations, and Lita had
passed a sample GED exam.  They stood together atop library
tables as able fingers passed threaded needles dangerously close
to their flesh.  But by now they had learned to calm themselves,
and each other as each stitch taught them courage, patience, and
cooperation.

Suddenly the door opened and John's voice rang out, asking,
"We're back!"

"John!" Monica gasped.  "Get out!!! Don't you know it's bad
luck...?"

"Bad luck!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.  "How can you
believe in..."  Before he could finish, Lita had run to his side
and grabbed his hand.  She pulled him backwards and out the door,
and Monica hoped she would always remember the surprise on his
face as he nearly lost his balance from the force of the girl's
grasp.

"Is Gibson here?" she asked excitedly.  John smiled, proud of
both Monica and Lita for the girl's newfound openness and trust
with him, and pleased for Gibson that his first girlfriend was so
smitten with him.

His free hand covered the hand that was holding his other hand,
and he shook her hand lightly.  "Yes," he grinned.  "And he has
something for you."

"Where?" she cried, pulling on his hands.  "Is he at your
cottage?"

"Yes," he said.  He put his hands to the sides of her head and
bored his eyes into hers.  "And be sure to tell him thank you --
don't just think it!  Even a guy like Gibson needs to hear a
thank you from his lady."

Lita promised to do as John said, then bounded across the
courtyard.  John watched her for a moment, then turned to see a
jeans-and-T-shirt clad Monica, her hair pulled back under a faded
bandana, emerging from the doorway.

"Thank you," she said, going to him and wrapping her arms around
his waist.

"What for?" he asked hugging her closely.

"For everything.  For being you," she tilted her head upward for
a kiss and he obliged.  "Want me to be more specific?"

He pulled her closer and whispered close to her ear, "I'd rather
give you something to be grateful for first."

"Miss me?" she asked flirtatiously.  For an answer he nuzzled her
neck, making her sigh loudly.  "I missed you too," she said, all
traces of flirtation gone.

Minutes later they were in their bed, naked from the waist up and
tugging at each others' jeans.  "Wait..." Monica said.  "Where's
Gibson?"

John sighed in frustration and rolled onto his back.  "I don't
know.  He's with Lita."  She reached for her shirt and started
putting it on.  "You're going to check on them?" he asked.  "With
all these mother hens around?"

"I can't help it," she said, running her fingers through her
hair.  "I just want to see him..."

He pulled her backwards, and she let him.  "He's fine," he
assured her.  "They're fine," he assured her, undoing her top
button as she buttoned the bottom one.  "We've had a little talk,
and he knows when to stop."

"I had a little talk with Lita too," she admitted.  "But that's
not it..."  She gave in to his gentle hands tugging on her shirt. 
"I missed him ..."

John stopped tugging on her shirt and he sighed loudly.  "He's a
good kid.  You'd have been proud of him."

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

He reached for his shirt and started putting it on.  "We
encountered some super soldiers at one of our delivery stops." 
He told her the whole story, then reached into his pocket and
withdrew the computer disk.  "I haven't had a chance to look at
this.  Your file is still in the truck, though, if you want..."

Monica went to the door then looked over her shoulder.  "Coming?"

They walked hand-in-hand to the garage, Monica assuring John that
she was indeed ready to learn the truth about her birth parents,
even though she wasn't entirely sure.  When they reached the
garage, John paused at the door and asked, "Are you ready for
what you might see?"

Monica gritted her teeth and nodded.  "Ready as I'll ever be." 
John opened the door, flipped the light switch, and they saw
Gibson and Lita, standing against the rear of the truck, startled
out of what looked to be a deep and passionate kiss.

The four stood staring at each other, all equally red-faced. 
Finally John broke the silence, saying, "Just getting
something... it'll only take a minute."  When he passed by the
teens he whispered from the side of his mouth, "Hands above the
waist, Gibson."

Monica followed John and looked into Lita's pink face.  "You,
too, Lita," she said sternly.

John opened the door of the truck and reached under the floor
mat, then pulled out two manilla folders.  "Here it is," he said,
holding it in front of her.  "Want to see it now?"

Taking a deep breath first, Monica reached for the files.  She
opened one and skimmed the contents, then closed it and said,
"This is all fake."

"What?" John said, grabbing the file and opening it.  "How can
you tell?"

"The names," Monica explained, disappointment evident in her
voice.  "Elizabeth Ann Borden?  Thomas Dooley?"

"What's wrong with those names?" John asked, genuinely puzzled.

Monica started singing, first the Lizzie Borden song, then the
Kingston Trio song about Tom Dooley.  "Hang down your head Tom
Dooley, hang down your head and cry.  You killed poor Laurie
Foster,  and you know you're bound to die."

"They're common names," John pointed out.

"Yes, but they're also the names of murderers made famous in
song," Monica responded. "And in the adoption records it says
that both parents are in prison"  She sighed then opened Gibson's
file.  "Well," she said with some doubts. "Gibson's natural
parents are..." she looked down to read the names.  "Daniel
Thomas and Donna Reed?"  John grabbed the file from her in
disgust.  "What?" she cried.

"You *are* young," he said, throwing the files onto the driver's
seat.