Via Sub Rosa, by Scifinerdgrl Part 9

CHAPTER 30

They continued their routine of psychic training, even during
John and Gibson's overnight delivery trips.  On these evenings,
Monica practiced with Lita, and John with Gibson, the bonds among
all of them growing stronger daily.  And when John returned from
his trips, he and Monica practiced the most intimate type of
psychic communication, deepening their trust and love for each
other.

But with every trip, John and Gibson sensed growing anxiety among
the nuns and the people they met on their deliveries. On one day,
Catherine asked John to check all the monastery's vehicles, as if
preparing for a long-distance trip.  Tomas, too, wanted John to
look over his vans and an SUV. He sensed that their wedding day
was a kind of deadline, and Monica sensed it too, neither wanted
to acknowledge their growing sense of dread, fearful that the
other might interpret it as pre-wedding jitters.

The day before their wedding, John unloaded the last of his
deliveries to the tienda owner.  The inventory had dwindled until
the shelves were only half-stocked, and the owner seemed on edge. 
He watched Gibson as the boy grabbed a bottle of water and downed
most of it in one long swig.

"Hot?" he asked.  "Take all you want.  I am grateful to you."

"Thanks Roberto.  But shouldn't we be grateful to you?" Gibson
asked, nodding toward the boxes waiting to be loaded onto the
truck.  "Most of those are marked for us."

"It's what the Via does," he reminded Gibson.  "We watch out for
each other."

"But it seems that you've done more for us than we've done for
you," Gibson added before finishing the last of his bottle.  He
then wiped his mouth on his shoulder in expert imitation of John.

Roberto smiled.  "I have something for you, Gibson."  He nodded
for Gibson to follow him as he went to the front of the store,
then he reached under the counter, withdrawing a wooden box. 
"Take good care of it," the older man said.  "Someday you will
learn about its history, but for now just trust that it was once
used by someone very special to all of us.  It's yours now."

Before the box was completely open Gibson recognized the glint of
a revolver, FBI issue, polished and lying on purple velvet
lining.  "Really?" he asked, the excitement in his voice a
mixture of enthusiasm and awe.  "I don't know..."  He turned to
look around the store, and as if on cue, John walked through the
back door.

Seeing the boy's expression, John yelled, "You okay, Gibson?" 
Without waiting for an answer, John walked quickly to the front,
then saw the box in Gibson's hands.  He looked at Roberto and
asked, "This is for him?"

Roberto smiled and nodded.  "We've heard about his talent, and
about his sense of duty.  We can't imagine a better person to
inherit this."

"Who is 'we?'"  Doggett demanded.  "He's just a boy... He
shouldn't have..."

Gibson looked up at the tall man, and the hurt and sense of
betrayal he felt would have been evident even to a pre-Via
training Doggett.  "I'm sorry, Gibson, but this is so..."

Looking down, Gibson set the box on the counter.  Without facing
either Roberto or Doggett, Gibson said, "Everybody's so happy to
use my mind as a weapon, an experiment, or even a toy...  But my
mind is only useful to people who have guns.  It's not useful to
me.  It just makes me a target."

John picked up the box and inspected the gun.  "Where did you get
this?" he demanded.

"Someday you'll know its story," Roberto assured him.  "But for
now, just know that it was once owned by a great man."

As John held the gun up, checking it from every angle, Gibson
looked up at him hopefully.  "I have a job to do," he said
quietly.  "I need to be able to do it."

John looked into the boy's determined face.  In the past two
weeks John had seen Gibson grow in maturity, strength and
insight, and despite his initial reaction he knew that Gibson was
ready for a gun.  He handed it to him, his face beaming as
proudly as any father watching his son make a transition into
manhood.  "Yes, Gibson," he said as Gibson held the gun, looking
it over with the same moves that John had used.  "You are ready
for whatever will come next."

When they returned to the cottage, Monica examined the gun with
the same intensity John had.  "No serial number."  She closed one
eye and tried looking into the barrel.  "I bet the bore's been
re-grooved too."  She handed it to Gibson.  "Completely
untraceable, no doubt," she said.  "I'd rather see you have an
unaltered, licensed and registered gun, but under the
circumstances..."

Gibson grinned somewhat defiantly as John looked at Monica with
some surprise.  "You don't mind?" he asked incredulously.  "I'd
think, especially after what happened..."

"My leg is fine and all that's in the past," she said lightly. 
"Tomorrow's  our wedding day.  Nothing can bring me down."  She
wrapped her arms around John's waist and gave him a long,
passionate kiss."

*******************

That night after dinner Tomas arrived in an SUV that looked as if
it might break down any minute.  Several parts of the body had
been puttied, badly, and primed but not painted.  Loud, white
brand names proudly proclaiming mismatched tires, and the hubcaps
were battered almost beyond recognition.  Inside, the seats had
been covered with faux sheepskin, and fuzzy dice hung from the
rearview window.  Shag carpeting replaced the headliner, and
Mexican blankets served as seat covers for the rear bench seat. 
John looked it over from front to rear, and when he saw the
Mexican tags, surrounded by faded bumper stickers for Mexican
radio stations, he raised an eyebrow at Tomas.

"I wanted you to have your wedding present from me now," he said
proudly.  "With your mechanical talents I know you'll take good
care of it."  He patted it and smiled at the couple.  "And
tomorrow, you will make your last delivery."

Monica, John and Gibson all sniffled at the thought that they
might never again see this odd man, who only weeks earlier had
generated such suspicion.  By now he had earned their trust, and
they felt as much affection for him as they did for the nuns.

"We're going to Mexico?" Monica said with some enthusiasm.  She
knew she wouldn't be able to contact her family directly, but she
hoped being in Mexico would help her chances.

As Tomas reached in and pulled something from the glove box, John
popped the hood and looked at the engine.  Tomas gave Monica a
zippered pouch, and she opened the zipper as if it were the
ribbon on a jewelry box.  Inside, she found three passports,
birth certificates, and visas for an extended stay in Mexico. 
She wasn't sure whether to be impressed or dismayed, and she
wasn't sure she wanted to use an alias.  But as she thought about
it, she knew they couldn't move around under their own names. 
"Thank you, Tomas," she said earnestly.  "I don't know what we
would have done without you."

"Don't thank me. Thank the Via.  I am only one small part," he
said modestly.  He nodded toward the pouch and said, "I only
delivered it."

John came charging at them from the front of the SUV.  "What the
hell is this?" he shouted.

"Shhhhh!" Tomas urged.  "This is a gift."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?  Well I just did," he
said.  "And all the vehicle identification numbers have been
filed off."

"Is that worse than having a gun with no serial number?" Tomas
said in his best superior tone.

"And this is *not* the original engine.  Did this thing come from
a chop shop?" Doggett demanded.

"I don't know," Tomas replied.  "*I* don't look gift horses in
the mouth."  He smiled graciously and turned to leave.  "See you
at the rehearsal."

John stood open-mouthed, watching the Father disappear through
the front gate.  "Well?" he asked Monica.  "Whaddaya think?"

She handed him the pouch and he looked through it quickly. 
"Monica, I don't like this," he said gravely.  "Helping out,
that's one thing.  We owe them that much.  But stolen cars,
aliases, stolen guns?  What next?"  Monica took a deep breath but
remained quiet as he stood slapping the pouch against the palm of
his hand.  "The bureau's looking for us?  Maybe we should let
them find us.  Just pay the piper and face whatever is coming. 
If we have to turn into criminals to do the right thing..."

Monica rubbed a hand up and down his arm.  "I know, John.  Maybe
this is selfish, but I don't think I could bear it if you went to
prison."

Bravely, her eyes held in the tears that threatened to gather,
and John realized that what he loved most about her was her
strength in the face of adversity.  She was wrong about bearing
the pain of separation, he realized.  She would bear it bravely,
and her courage would give him the strength to survive inside
prison if it came to that.  He brought his hand to her cheek and
stroked it gently.  "Which is worse?  Being in prison? or being a
prisoner," he nodded, indicating the monastery grounds around
them.  "In a safehouse?  Where will we go next?  Mexico?  We're
federal agents, Monica!  We have no business there."

"We're human beings first," Monica reminded him.  "Americans
second."

It never failed.  Despite her insistence that she admired his
integrity, her sense of duty and morality frequently outstripped
his in ways he didn't expect.  His shoulders slumped forward
slightly, signaling defeat.  Monica hugged him in silent thanks,
then took his hand, leading him toward the house.  "I'm feeling
particularly human right now," she said, smiling impishly.  "How
about you?"

An hour later they heard a loud rap on their bedroom door, and
Gibson's voice said, "Time to wake up, you two.  Your wedding is
in an hour!"

"That's tomorrow morning, Gibson." John shouted.  "You don't have
to practice everything the night before!"

Catherine's voice answered.  "There's been a change of plans. 
You're getting married in an hour.  No rehearsal."


An hour later John stood next to Gibson, each in navy pinstriped
suits with white dress shirts and conservative ties.  Mary
pressed a button on a boombox that was the worse for wear, and
"Here comes the Bride," performed by an organ that no doubt
sounded impressive in its church, strained to reach the assembled
guests.  Monica took tentative steps down the aisle, her face
beaming yet somewhat incredulous, the bouquet of blood-red roses
shaking slightly in her hands.  She never liked being the center
of attention, and although she'd adored this man for years, she
never thought this moment would come.  To have it come upon her
this suddenly made it seem all the more unreal.

But when she reached the front and looked into John's nervous but
joyous face, it suddenly seemed real, and a tiny trail of tears
started flowing from each eye.  Fortunately, John seemed not to
mind.  Of course, Monica realized.  He's done this before.  She
suddenly felt inadequate, but when John smiled at her all doubts
about herself, him, and either of their pasts evaporated.  She
smiled back and he nodded, his mind reaching out to hers to let
her know that he understood, and he loved her for it.

They'd chosen to use the traditional Catholic marriage ritual,
and they were grateful for that when circumstances prevented them
from having a rehearsal.  John fumbled a little with the ring,
and Monica stumbled over her name, but otherwise the wedding went
off without a hitch.  Mary hit the boombox again and the standard
wedding march ushered them down the aisle as a married couple.

And when they reached the end of the aisle they saw two familiar
faces:  Brad Follmer and Walter S. Skinner.


The two assistant directors blended with the crowd as the nuns
and their few friends filed into the refectory for a makeshift
reception.  "What are they doing here?" Monica whispered to John
as they made their way to the head table.

"I don't know, but this explains why we had a change of plans,"
John whispered, leaning into her ear.  One of the nuns started
tapping on her glass, and as people took their places the din of
tinkling glass grew louder.  "I think we're supposed to kiss
now," John said, red-faced with embarrassment over a tradition
he'd forgotten about.

"NOW you're shy?" Gibson said from behind him, and several nuns
laughed loudly.  "Kiss her for god's sake," Gibson continued.

John and Monica obeyed their guests' wishes and seemed determined
to make them wish they hadn't tapped their glasses.  When they
finally came up for air, the room was full, and the applause was
almost deafening. 

For the next ten minutes there was toast after toast, beginning
with Tomas' congratulations and thanks for their hard work on the
nuns' behalf.  When he was finished, Catherine stood to toast the
couple, thanking them in detail for their work in the complex. 
Neither Tomas nor Catherine mentioned special abilities, the Via,
or the deliveries John and Gibson had made. Martha was next, her
face contorted with mixed emotions as she congratulated the
couple and thanked them for taking in Gibson.  She looked at
Gibson and smiled proudly, then gestured for him to make the next
toast.  He waved his hands, and he seemed to be in mortal terror
of public speaking.  But Martha would have none of it.  She went
to him, and with her hands on each of his shoulders, marched him
to the podium like a teacher with a misbehaving student.

"You're a man, now, Gibson," Martha whispered to him.  "This is
one of the things men do.  Now do it!  You'll be fine."  She
patted him on the shoulder then took a seat nearby, smiling
expectantly.

"Um, I don't know what to say," Gibson said.  "I know what you're
thinking," he said, then he blushed when the room erupted in
guffaws.  "But it's not that I haven't prepared, or that I'm
nervous about speaking."  The laughter died down and Gibson faced
a roomful of skeptical faces.  "Okay, I am nervous," he admitted. 
"Um, congratulations," he said, facing John and Monica, who were
amused yet proud of his courageous attempt at public speaking. 
"And thank you, for so much," Gibson's voice cracked like a
younger teen's.  John and Monica's faces softened at hearing this
heartfelt sentiment.  "For being good friends, and for being the
parents I always wished for."  He raised his glass of grape juice
and proclaimed, "May you always be as much in love as you are
now.  The rest of us can only wish for such happiness."  The room
erupted in applause for the unexpected eloquence of the formerly
surly teen.  He blushed and sat down quickly, then made a show of
sipping his grape juice.

John and Monica hoisted their champagne glasses in perfectly
choreographed symmetry and looked over the rims to their
pseudo-foster son. At his side Lita sat gazing at him admiringly,
then, emboldened by his example, she rose to make the next toast. 
"Monica, John," she started, nodding to each in turn.  "It has
been my pleasure to meet you and get to know you."  She paused
and swayed slightly, as if she might faint.

Monica placed a hand on Lita's elbow and smiled up at her. 
"You're doing fine," she whispered.

Lita took a deep breath and continued, "I have never known two
people so much in love."  She raised her glass of juice and said
quickly, "And I wish for you much happiness."  She sat down
before the room could applaud, and John, seeing her blush,
grabbed Monica and kissed her enthusiastically.

With all attention drawn away from her, Lita relaxed and smiled. 
Gibson smiled and whispered, "You did great."  As he moved his
mouth away from her ear he sneaked a kiss on her cheek, making
her blush even redder.

"I'm going to miss you," she said tearfully.

"I know," he sighed.  "I'll miss you too."  And forgetting that
they were sitting in front of dozens of people, he leaned over
and kissed her.

Tomas and Catherine sat to the other side of the happy couple,
looking out over the assembled guests.  "Well," Tomas said, "The
wedding was beautiful.  You seem to have thought of everything."

"Let's hope so," she smiled.  "And I hope you packed everything
they'll need on the road.  But they made excellent progress under
you.  You should be proud."

"After all these years, you still surprise me, Catherine," he
said, patting her hand.

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Catherine stood and
picked up the big Bible from the lectern.  The room hushed as she
opened it to read, and all was silent as she read:

Let every one speak the truth with his neighbor,
For we are members of one another.
Be angry but do not sin;
Do not let the sun go down on your anger,
And give no opportunity to the devil.
Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness,
But instead expose them.
For it is a shame even to speak 
of the things that they do in secret;
But when anything is exposed by the light
it becomes visible,
for anything that becomes visible is light.
For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother
and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one.
--Ephesians 4:25-27, 5:11-13, 6:31-32



After Mary and several novices had cleared the cake, coffee, and
wine, the bells rang and all the nuns filed out for Vespers. 
Tomas leaned informally on the tables and whispered, "I've got
one more thing to pack for you. Meet me at the front gate.  Your
delivery will be here any minute."

A.D. Skinner approached the happy couple as they were leaving. 
"Can we have a word with you?"  He eyed Gibson and Lita then
added, "Alone?"

Puzzled but unafraid, John and Monica followed the two assistant
directors into the courtyard.  And as if to convey his sense of
authority, Follmer grabbed Monica's elbow and ushered her to the
bench where the rose bushes had recently bloomed.  "I guess
congratulations are in order," Brad said bitterly.

Monica shook her elbow free from his grasp and said
sarcastically, "Thank you.  What a pleasant surprise to see you
here, Brad."

Skinner and John joined them, and the four stood awkwardly for a
moment.  Finally John said, "I'm guessing you're not here for the
wedding.  What do you want?" he demanded.

Follmer nodded to John and said, "Agent Doggett," then he nodded
to Monica and said, "Agent Reyes."

"That's Agent Reyes-Doggett now, Brad," Monica answered, taking
John's hand.  "Can we cut the crap?  What do you want?"

"You two are AWOL," he said seriously, bowing his head for
emphasis.  "The FBI has been looking for you.  A.D. Skinner and I
were just trying to beat them to it."

"Them?" John said, looking from one to the other.  "You're not in
the bureau any more?"

"We are, but probably not for long," Skinner answered.  "Kersh is
out and the new director and deputy director are putting their
own men in the A.D. positions.  It's only a matter of time before
they manage to replace us."

"That's why what we have to say is so urgent," Brad continued. 
"We've found transfers for you.  The bureau can't afford to let
good agents go.  They're hiring over 300 agents this month and
probably more next fiscal year.  The new director has his own
agenda, but with this terrorism reorganization he still has to
keep good agents on the payroll to do the bureau's true
business."

"Wait," Monica interrupted.  "What agenda?"

"Never mind that," Skinner muttered, his lips barely moving. 
"A.D. Follmer and I have found transfers for you."

"What?" Monica exclaimed.  "No, no transfers.  We work in the
X-Files office or we don't go back."

"Whipped already, eh Doggett?" Brad jibed.  "She speaks for you
now?"

"In this case, yes," John answered, meeting Brad's eyes with
steely determination.

"Well, I've got news for you both," Brad said in a tone that was
at once business-like and shifty.  "The X-Files office is closed
and it won't be re-opened in your lifetimes.  So you should
consider these transfers.  We called in a lot of favors to get
these assignments for you.  You might not have a second chance if
you don't accept them now."

Skinner lowered his head and his voice, and said, "They'll send
one of you to Alaska and the other to Alabama.  At least what
we're proposing keeps both of you in D.C."

"Okay, what is it?" Monica demanded, crossing her arms across her
chest.  John smiled at the vision of an angry Monica dressed in
such an elegant wedding gown, but she just glared at Brad and
hardly noticed John until he draped an arm over her shoulders.

"Agent Reyes-Doggett," Brad said, emphasizing the "Doggett." 
"You'll be transferred to the District's field office, in the
Crimes Against Children Division.  With your background, and
considering your apparent interest in young Mr. Praise, I think
that suits you well.  And what could be more important than
children in danger?"

Monica looked anxiously at John, obviously tempted by the offer. 
John's eyes met hers, but his face was toward Skinner.  "And
where will I be going in this plan of yours?" he asked.

"You'll be based at Quantico, but there's a lot of travel
involved.  You'll be part of the Critical Incidents Response
Group.  They're like the SWAT team of the FBI," Follmer
explained.

"I know what that is," Doggett snapped.  "I have friends who work
there."

"So you do," Follmer said unctuously.  "They need people in the
tactical support branch.  Former marines are especially welcome,
as are former cops.  It wasn't a hard sell getting them to
consider you."

"So you're telling me now that I can wait?"  Doggett shook his
head slightly.

Brad brushed off the comment and continued, "It's very exciting
work.  You'll be on the Hostage Rescue Team, and you could be
deployed anywhere in the world.  Their motto is Servare Vitas --
To Save Lives."  He checked Monica's reaction then added, "I
can't imagine a better placement for you."

"It does sound good," Monica said softly to John.  "Children? 
How could I say no to that?"  John looked into her face and she
saw nothing but deep sadness on his.  She added quickly, "This
isn't about Luke, John.  It's about all children.  How could I
live with myself knowing I could have helped but didn't?"  She
placed the image of Lita's face in his mind, and he placed an
image of the children at the orphanage in hers.

"I know, Monica," he said gently.  "But there are other ways to
help."  Then he turned to Brad and said, "No dice.  We ain't
going back unless it's to the X-Files office."

Skinner spoke up reluctantly, "You'll be happy there, and if
there's any chance in the future, you'll be right there."

"No I won't," Doggett shot back.  "And isn't that part of the
plan?  We'll be close enough to watch, but we won't be in the
Hoover Building.  How convenient."  Monica sighed and nodded her
head, finally understanding John's reaction.

"It was the best we could do," Skinner insisted.

"I bet," John answered.  "Maybe your stars are already on the
decline?" he said, eyebrows raised suggestively.

"Thank you for your offer," Monica said, facing Brad defiantly. 
"But we have to get started on our honeymoon."  

Monica and John walked to the front gate, Follmer and Skinner
following close behind.  Gibson and Lita sat at the bench where
they'd first held hands, and hugged each other tightly.  Gibson
looked up fearfully, and John smiled.  "Not yet, Gibson.  We're
waiting for Tomas."  Gibson tightened his arms around Lita and
buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"He's going with you?" Follmer said.  "On your honeymoon?"

"Where they go, I go," Gibson said, raising his head just long
enough to get the words out, then hugging Lita again.  John and
Monica nodded, and Follmer shook his head.

They stood awkwardly until headlights appeared in the distance. 
"That's our last wedding present," John said.  "And then we hit
the road.  If you have nothing more to add..."

"You're sure?" Skinner asked.

John and Monica nodded their heads.  "Yes, very," Monica said,
taking John's hand.  "We don't know where we'll go, but we'll
land on our feet."

The headlights stopped just short of the gate and they could hear
the sound of two doors opening.  "FBI," a man shouted.  "We're
looking for a two fugitives."

Follmer and Skinner looked surprised and suspicious of each
other, but said nothing.  The headlights silhouetted the shapes
of two men approaching the gates.  "Open up!" the same man
shouted.  The other man shouted, "Agents Reyes and Doggett,
you're under arrest for harboring, Gibson Praise, a runaway."

John raised his arms and approached the gate, but as he did he
noticed strange vibrations in his wedding band.  Of course, he
thought.  There's magnetite in our rings!  He took a few steps
backward and shouted, "They're supersoldiers!"

John turned and ran to Monica, who was running toward him.  He
shielded her with his body and guided her to safety as chunks of
supersoldier flesh battered his back.  When it was all over, John
and Monica ran to check on Lita and Gibson, who were still
huddled together on the bench.  Chunks of sizzling flesh clung to
Gibson's back, and when he turned to look at Monica, a few chunks
fell from his face, leaving red burn marks.

"What the hell was that?" Brad exclaimed, shaking pieces from his
jacket and hair.  He looked over at Skinner, who was in the same
condition.

"Super soldiers," Skinner explained.  "Unstoppable, genetically
altered, but with one weakness..."

"Magnetite," Monica explained.  "It's a rare metal, and somehow
this gate was made with some."

"Gibson's parents met the same fate," John explained, carefully
removing his jacket.

"Why don't we get you two cleaned up," Monica said to Lita and
Gibson.  She looked over her shoulder as they walked toward the
compound, and John nodded his reassurances to her.

They separated, Lita going to her room, Monica and Gibson going
to the storage room containing donated clothes.  They found the
room nearly empty, and they looked anxiously at each other,
silently communicating their worst suspicions.  Gibson quickly
changed into ill-fitting pants and a white t-shirt, then they
raced out the door and heard the faint sounds of engines coming
from the ravine.  They looked over a railing and saw a bus and
several vans speeding over the dry creek bed, leaving tracks from
a cave entrance Gibson recognized.  "It's their escape route," he
explained.  "From the garage to the ravine to...  I'm not sure
where they're going.  I think only the drivers know."

They ran from one part of the compound to the other, and found
nothing but empty rooms.  "Lita!" Monica shouted.  "Where is her
room?"

Gibson shrugged.  "We kept our hands above the waist."

Monica couldn't help smiling, "I'm glad, Gibson.  But try to find
her, could you?"

Gibson closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but quickly
opened his eyes and said, "I don't know.  All I sense is myself."

He seemed so distressed Monica wanted to hug him, but she
resisted.  "Try again, Gibson," she urged.

He tried but just shook his head.  "I don't think she's here. 
But I'm not sure."

Suddenly, they heard the sound of motors coming from above.  Or,
more precisely, rotors.  Rotors from helicopters in the distance.

"Monica!" they heard John yell from across the courtyard.  They
ran toward him and the three together ran to the gate.  John
shook it and when it didn't open he shouted, "God DAMMIT!!!"

"Relax," Catherine's voice behind him said calmly.  She pulled a
key from the folds of her habit and unlocked the door.

"You're still here?"  Monica asked.  "Shouldn't you be...?"  She
closed her mouth when Skinner and Follmer approached.

"Monica," Follmer said tenderly.  "You deserve better than this. 
You deserve a real life..."

"I'm happy Brad," she answered firmly.  "I hope someday you'll be
this happy."  She turned and walked to the gift SUV, parked to
one side of the gate, and didn't look back.

Catherine helped her in to her side, and held the door open for
Gibson.  "Just a minute longer," she predicted.  "We still have
time."

"What?!?!" John yelled.  "We gotta get outta here!"

"This is very important," Catherine's voice and face said in
unison.  "You'd regret leaving."

Skinner and Follmer got into their car and waited.  A cloud of
dust grew larger in the distance and eventually a pair of
headlights cut through it.  Tomas screeched to a halt next to
Catherine.  She flung open the door and reached inside.

Monica sat in the passenger side of "their" SUV, watching with
anxiety and curiosity as Catherine ran toward them with their
important cargo.  John leaned over and when he saw what it was he
said, "Awww, no!  Now wait a goddamned minute!"

Monica opened the car door and ran to grab the precious delivery
from Catherine.  "William!" she sighed, almost beatifically.  She
looked up at Catherine.  "But how?  Why?  Where?"

"You'll know when you get there," Catherine assured her. 
"Everything you need has already been packed.  Everything," she
repeated, arching an eyebrow for emphasis.

John ran to Monica's side and said, "This is too much!  Now we're
trafficking in stolen babies?!"  He looked accusingly at
Catherine.  "We can't take a--"

"John, look at him!" Monica begged.

John glanced at the baby and said, "Looks like Winston Churchill. 
They all do.  But that's not the point, Monica..."

"It's William!" Monica squealed, tears flowing over her cheeks. 
"He needs us, and who better to watch out for him?"

Who indeed, John thought.  He'd watched over this baby since
before his birth, and almost a year earlier had trusted Monica to
watch over his birth.  He sighed, his resolve softening.  "But
he's been adopted. His new parents..."  He looked at Catherine. 
"What about his new parents?  Didn't the agency screen them?"

"Take good care of him," Catherine said serenely, patting the
baby's head.  "You know your duty.  Your opus dei."  She and
Monica strapped William into the SUV, and Gibson, sitting next to
him, looked down on him affectionately.

Tomas joined Catherine, standing at her side as she slammed the
passenger door shut.  "God be with you," she shouted over the din
of approaching helicopters.

"Remember, you are people of the Via," Tomas shouted.

John shifted into gear and the SUV sped off down the road,
Skinner and Follmer speeding in the opposite direction.  In the
rearview mirror John could see the helicopters firing missiles
into the monastery compound, but Catherine and Tomas seemed to
have disappeared in the dust left behind by the two vehicles.

THE END