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Temptation

Summary:

Rating: C, T, FRT-13 (not suitable for anyone under 14)
Fandom: The Invisible Man
Series: Pater Noster Arc
Pairing: Bobby/Claire
Sequel: Five months after Lead us not...
Summary: Alex goes missing and the Agency has to find her with few leads and less information.
Spoilers: Probably, does it really matter after three years?
Disclaimer: a) The characters and basic story ideas of The Invisible Man are the property of others including, but not limited to Matt Greenberg, Studios USA, Stu Segall Productions and NBC Universal. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine. I make no money from this intellectual exercise. b) This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any opinions or views found herein do not necessarily reflect those of the author and are used for story-telling purposes only.
A huge thanks to my Beta, Suz, without whom this story would have been nothing but drek.
Submitted through the Makebelieve_YG mailing list.

Work Text:

Temptation
by A. X. Zanier

Teaser

"When you make a mistake, don't look back at it long. Take the reason of the thing into your mind and then look forward. Mistakes are lessons of wisdom. The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power." -- Hugh White (1773 - 1840)

Anyone can make a mistake.

Claire did when working for the DOD, and Gloria lost a decade of her life. Bobby did when he gave his heart to a woman that, in the end, couldn't deal with who he was. Kevin did when he trusted the wrong person and paid with his life.

A harsh lesson, that one.

And me? No need to list the number of mistakes I've made in my life. Let's just say there's been more'n a few.

Alex, Miss damn-near-perfect-super-agent, has made exactly one mistake that I know of, and that was not trusting her own instincts when it came to protecting her son. She paid dearly for that one and still is every single waking moment.

Claire was able to fix Gloria and send her home to her family. Bobby healed as much as he could and moved on. Kevin... well, Kevin is still dead.

And Alex... well, she was gonna grasp the future and make it her own.

---

"Well?" Sharon asked, impatience coloring her words. She was not overly fond of waiting for results, no matter how dedicated she was to long-term plans.

"I cannot see what is not there," was the confounded response from the woman seated before the desk as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"A year ago you easily saw forward a decade..."

"Then something changed in that year. Something significant enough to alter the timeline." The woman crossed her arms over her chest, vivid blues eyes meeting Sharon's without flinching, stubbornness written on every delicate feature, but it was also obvious she was just as unhappy as Sharon with the lack of answers.

"Perhaps your gift is failing after all these years," she suggested, not truly believing it, given that there had been no problems before now. In fact, that very gift had resolved a long standing issue in South Africa six weeks previously.

"Delphi is fine. You are simply not asking the correct questions." That came from the male of the pair, Lethe, who's appearance, for all the attempts at homogeny, was markedly different from his counterpart. Both had blue eyes, blond hair, and were within inches of six feet (her under, him over), but that is where the similarity ended. At least in comparison to each other; they were very different from the other genetically enhanced members of Chrysalis, and not just because of the tattoo high on their cheekbones.

Sharon raised one eyebrow, watching him carefully; considering how young he was, he was remarkably loyal to Delphi, but, then again, they always were. "And what do you suggest?"

"The long-range views have been the same for many years."

"Until today," Sharon reminded him.

"Until today," he conceded with an inclination of his head. "Look closer, near-distant, to find where the cusp is."

Sharon considered his words, once again thankful for the unemotional reserve his line produced. Delphi had a far more volatile and inquisitive nature. "Bon. Delphi, what of Chrysalis three years from now?"

Delphi's gaze turned inward, her eyes glazing over as her oracular ability took control, but as before, she said nothing, blinking back to full awareness within 30 seconds. "Nothing of Chrysalis, Sharon."

"Merde, what could have possibly happened?" Sharon's words, rhetorical as they were, still affected Delphi, who groaned as her gift came to life.

"The serpent lies in the sand, guarding the barren nest," Delphi muttered softly.

Sharon huffed; the woman could be insufferable at times. "Without the melodrama or do you wish to winter at our Siberian compound?"

Delphi smiled slightly, clearly amused and unconcerned at the threat. "If I must."

"Del," Lethe admonished, contrite where she refused to be.

She rolled her shoulders and settled deeper into the seat. "I see you in a jail cell, pale, eyes sunken, hair shorn to the quick. You are in despair. The libraries being opened, the volumes removed. The databases and seed banks pillaged, all our work, our secrets revealed to the world."

Sharon sat frozen in place, shocked disbelief easily read upon her face as she listened to the impossible, fear rising within her for the first time in many decades. "When?" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

"When what?" Delphi sounded stressed, the question too vague for her abilities to grasp and make use of.

"When will Sharon be arrested?" Lethe offered up, giving her a specific direction to move into.

The response was swift. "No more than two years."

Sharon shivered at the thought of being imprisoned by those mere mortals, she would much rather die than suffer the ignominy. "How does it begin?"

Delphi shook her head, free of her geas for the moment. "The act that precipitated this has already occurred. I cannot see it."

"Then how do we change this future you see?" Sharon very nearly snarled the question, not willing to admit that all they had worked for, labored for all these many years was lost to them.

Delphi went still for several seconds, but the question produced no results.

Lethe softly said, "Can it be changed?"

That was far more effective. Delphi's eyes went wide, but she was no longer seeing anything in the room. "Yes," she hissed, voice faint and distant, "many paths still remain."

"Where?" Sharon immediately realized her question was not specific enough and modified it to, "Where do we start?"

"Where?" Delphi echoed, as if suddenly struck dumb. "Not here... away... a city by the sea."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Il y a beaucoup de villes par la mer." She turned her attention to Lethe. "Ce qui vous penser arriverez à vous si nous sommes exposés?"

Delphi visibly shuddered, but said nothing. The vision produced perhaps too horrific to speak of aloud.

"Del, focus. Follow the ripples back. Find where we need to be," Lethe directed, having had long practice at directing her to find the necessary cusp.

She cocked her head, as if listening to distant music. "Where desert meets the sea."

Well, that narrowed the field, though not nearly enough. Sharon couldn't order every inch of desert coastline searched. There must be a way to narrow the choices.

"Africa?" Lethe suggested, grasping the need as quickly as Sharon had.

"No," was the sharp response.

"Australia?"

"No."

"America," Sharon said, strangely certain it would be correct, especially given the... interesting problems in that particular sector in recent years.

"Ja," Delphi answered, slipping into her native tongue, the stress of seeing making her momentarily forget any others. "Ein Krieg kommt, einer, den wir nicht gewinnen können."

'A war?' This was not what Sharon needed, not when things had been going so well. The few trouble spots had been dealt with, and it looked to be smooth sailing for years to come. Until today. "Who, Delphi? Who brings this war down on us?"

The answer, spoken as if torn from her, was a single word, "Stark."

---

A single lamp was lit. Cool-white light poured down from beneath the artistically designed lampshade to illuminate the state-of-the-art LCD monitor that sat atop the equally artistically designed desk. The computer itself was an impressive tower that sat off to one side, the cooling fan humming softly in the enveloping darkness.

On the floor, just barely within the light that spilled over the edge of the desk, lay two travel bags, both in a non-standard shade of vibrant crimson. Next to the bags were a pair of spike-heeled shoes, also crimson, that had been discarded in an effort to achieve a moment of relaxation.

Relaxation that was, as often happened, short-lived.

The owner of the bags and the shoes was one Alex Monroe, who sat before her computer, typing in a password that would allow her to access the supposedly urgent report compiled by Nikki at the fourth monkey.

As the cipher program accepted the password and opened the encrypted file, she reminded herself, yet again, to thank Darien for suggesting the company when she had found herself at a dead end. Nikki had come through brilliantly, actually succeeding in accessing not just previously unknown Chrysalis databases, but Jared Stark's personal system (as personal as anything could be for a member of Chrysalis) and then proceeded to download massive amounts of information. Some was, understandably useless for her purposes, but some had been of great value to her and that was what had convinced her that they were indeed as good as advertised. So, a new deal was hammered out, and for a modest fee, the fourth monkey would monitor and decipher Stark's and PDA traffic, watching for very specific things. A weekly report was created and delivered on disk by messenger directly into Alex's waiting hands. In town or out on assignment didn't matter, they would find her and see to it that she got what she paid for. It was money extremely well spent.

Today, however, was different. She had already received this week's report and hadn't expected the next for several days yet. No, this was what the voice on the phone - it wasn't Nikki; that much she knew for sure - had called urgent. So, instead of a leisurely evening finalizing some preparations for her trip to Boston, she rushed and met the courier outside the Harding Building just after midnight.

The computer produced a musical trill to inform her that its task was complete. Alex quickly double-clicked on the report icon and skimmed through the first few paragraphs as soon as it appeared. Within moments, she had paused in confusion at one particular sentence, then returned to the beginning to read it in detail.

After several minutes, she sat back in her chair, eyes wide in disbelief. Hope, long forgotten hope, burned brighter than magnesium touching water within her. Initially, disbelief won out, the hope banked for the time being, but still warming her. She turned to the raw files; the actual emails and text messages - thought to be so very secure - to read them for herself. It did not take long to see why they'd come to the conclusions they had. Stark's emails were in coded even before the standard encryption had been applied, but she had learned to pick out the key phrases and words by now.

"Well... crap," Alex muttered into the darkened office.

Eleanor Stark was coming to town to see her husband.

With their son.

Alex's son.

'It's a trap,' the professional in her declared vehemently. And it was probably true. Alex had been hounding Stark personally and Chrysalis in general ever since she'd learned she'd foolishly, no matter how good her intentions, given James back to them. Stark had whisked them away and hidden them so well that even Alex's virtually endless resources had been unable to find them. Even Nikki had come up empty so far, which meant they'd been hidden very well indeed. But it looked as if their other efforts had paid off.

Big time, as Darien would say.

She glanced back at the report; the meeting was scheduled for tomorrow... this morning, a little over nine hours from now.

"What if it's not a trap?" she whispered aloud, the sound echoing hollowly off the invisible walls.

'Of course it's a trap,' that logical voice insisted.

She listened to that voice, gave its point of view the attention it deserved, taking it's warning very seriously, but ultimately it didn't matter if it was a trap. She had to take the risk, take the chance.

She looked down at the bags at her feet; the ATF would just have to find someone else.

Alex was going to get her son back.

 

Chapter 1

"Fawkes, where the hell have you been?" Bobby asked, glancing at his watch in obvious impatience.

Darien took a lazy sip from his mocha latte as he continued walking slowly down the hall. He hadn't gotten home until after three a.m. and had zero interest in answering the phone when it rang before nine. "You know me, Hobbes, when the boss calls I roll over and go back to sleep."

Bobby shook his head and led the way to the Official's office. "He's got a bee in his bonnet, Fawkes, and you pulling crap like this..."

"Don't start up again. I will once again do my invisible agent schtick for the fatman, saving the world from evil. What more do ya want?" Darien had a hard time keeping the irritation from his voice. This had become a well-worn issue between them. Darien was just not dedicated enough to the whole greater-good thing for his partner, but, then again, he never had been.

Bobby sighed, the anger, if that had been what it was, evaporating. "What I want ... ain't important," he muttered in a low voice.

Darien was caught off guard with those words, suddenly wanting to pull his friend aside and talk it out instead of ignoring it and waiting for the next round of bickering and sniping. Even Claire had noticed, likening them to couple riding that fine edge of love and hate, unable to decide whether they should fall into bed or throttle each other. The fact that they were both male didn't seem to be an issue for her, never mind the whole she was already sleeping with Bobby thing.

Their arrival at the Official's office prevented Darien from probing the situation between them in more detail, but it was clear it would need to be dealt with soon.

Bobby swung the door open and waved for Darien to precede him. Claire was already seated just to the left of the Official, who sat at the head of the conference table. Eberts, as always, stood behind his boss, hands clasped before him in some odd imitation of parade rest. Bobby and Darien took seats opposite Claire, who gave both of them a brilliant smile. Clearly, she wasn't concerned about his tardiness.

Idly, Darien wondered if the 'Fish had figured out that the enigmatic Keeper was knocking boots with his top agent. If he was a betting man, and he often was, he'd place good money on it. Thing was, it had never been openly acknowledged, which meant if he asked even Eberts he risked spilling the proverbial beans. And that was something he had no intention of doing. Oh no, his little tiger had been living in a world of bliss and had therefore been completely distracted for months now. That fact had allowed Darien a certain amount of freedom he otherwise would not have enjoyed, and he'd spent many an evening reacquainting himself with his larcenous past and keeping his end of the deal at his second job.

"Nice of you to finally join us," the Official remarked in a less than pleasant tone.

Darien shrugged and set his coffee on the scarred, wooden surface. "The world didn't end, did it?" The rhetorical question caused the 'Fish's eyes to narrow dangerously.

"Not this time, no," Eberts admonished, in the driest tone he could manage.

Darien stretched to cover the urge to wince. Ebes did have a point, after all. "What's up?"

"Have any of you heard from Agent Monroe?" Eberts asked, his look carefully neutral.

Darien and Bobby glanced at each other in confusion.

"Thought she was on assignment with the ATF in Boston? The Garibaldi case," Bobby said.

Darien nodded in agreement. Alex had even asked his opinion on some aspects of the case and he'd been happy to assist. "She left a couple days ago, didn't she?"

"So we thought. She never made contact with Agent Ivanova," Eberts explained. "In fact, we're not entirely certain she even got on the plane."

Darien produced a heartfelt, "Oh crap," for everyone in the room.

"So she's been missing almost three days and we're only now being told?" Bobby sounded indignant and had every right to be as far as Darien was concerned. Hell, he felt more than a touch indignant himself. Alex might not have been the perfect addition to their little group of underfunded spies, but things had a way of working out for the best. Even things like arrogant, smug and talented super agents.

"Bobby," the Official grunted, none too thrilled with the sudden lack of obsequiousness.

"There was some uncertainty at first, since her luggage made it to Logan airport intact," Eberts stated, a hint of worry creeping into those watery blue eyes of his. Everyone knew he had a soft spot for the exceedingly beautiful and dangerous she-spy, though whether it was for the woman or the money she brought to the eternally cash-poor Agency was debatable.

"Did she board the plane?" Claire asked, the concern for her friend was unmistakable.

"We don't know," The Official answered. "She checked in and was seen in the boarding area, but..."

"But no one saw her actually get on the plane," Bobby summed up, probably assuming, as Darien did, that everything that could be verified on video, had been. "So, either she bailed - for reasons unknown - or someone grabbed her. Question is who?"

Bobby proceeded to answer his own question with, "Chrysalis," at the same time Darien said, "Stark."

"If Alex had discovered something involving Chrysalis, I do believe that she would have informed the rest of us," Claire pointed out matter-of-factly.

The Official harrumphed, "True enough."

"That still leaves Stark, and I know Alex has been riding his ass ever since she found out about him taking James. She hasn't stopped looking for her son." Of course, he didn't mention the fact that he'd been helping her in that search, in his own small way.

"While Mr. Stark is not the only enemy Ms. Monroe has accrued over her career, I must agree that he would be on the top of the list of suspects," Eberts piped up.

"So where do you want us to start, Chief?" Bobby was at his attentive best.

"At the beginning, where else? See if you can reconstruct her last day here. Check her house, her office, dry cleaners... whatever you need to do, but find her." The Official was surprisingly insistent. Alex was a major bonus for the Agency, if only on paper, and the fatman would hate to lose so valuable a pawn.

Darien poked a finger into the air to gain his boss' attention. "Uh, does that 'whatever' include going to... an outside consultant?"

The Official removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment, obviously thinking.

It was Eberts who spoiled the mood with a sprightly, "Oh! You mean Miss O'Neill."

Darien rolled his eyes. "Still haven't mastered the art of subtlety, have ya, Ebes?"

Eberts looked properly chastised, his pale cheeks tingeing pink, which caused Bobby to chuckle softly.

The Official cleared his throat to pull their attention back to its proper place - him. "I do not want Miss O'Neill or her business involved in this matter."

The decision stunned Darien. "But why not? Fallon'd be able to get the info we want in hours and..."

"No, damn it," the Official barked, cutting off Darien's somewhat reasoned argument.

"But..." he tried again, only to be silenced with a glare.

"Darien, the Official is fully aware of Miss O'Neill's capabilities. There is no need for you to detail them," Eberts stated, once again cool, composed, and sure of himself.

Bobby surprised Darien by asking, "Then why not use her?"

He had to wonder for a second just how Bobby was interpreting the word 'use.'

The Official spread his hands and leaned back in his chair. "She is far to... resourceful to waste." When his words produced nothing but blank looks from the partners he sighed. "Come now, do you really think Chrysalis would hesitate to wipe the fourth monkey off the face of the planet if they were caught poking around where they shouldn't be?"

Darien swallowed the coffee with some difficulty, having to fight the urge to do an impressive spit-take across the table. He wished he'd thought of that before passing Fallon's name to Alex. The last thing he wanted was to get Fallon killed over some info that Alex might have very well found on her own. Yet, beside him, Bobby tapped his chin thoughtfully, a hint of a smile crossing his face, as if thinking, 'would that be such a bad thing?' Which, for all Darien knew, was exactly what was wandering through Bobby's mind. He still had a deep-seated dislike for Fallon that Darien simply could not comprehend. Now, however, was not the time to chastise his friend on his personal opinions.

"I want this matter handled swiftly. Agent Monroe is a valuable member of this Agency, and we take care of our own." The Official's gaze boded ill for anyone who suggested otherwise.

Not that Darien was going to argue, but he still couldn't resist a jibe that took copious liberties with the phrase 'take care of.' "Like you planned to take care of me when the counteragent failed? I'm bettin' she'd rather fend for herself."

Eberts sucked in a breath at the same time Bobby let fly with a low whistle. Claire paled and said, "Darien," in an appropriately shocked voice.

The Official waved it off. "No need, Doctor, Darien is quite right. If 'take care of' means removing a problem permanently, then I will not hesitate to do so." He aimed his beady eyes on Darien, who met the steely gaze without flinching. "And he would do well to remember that."

Darien stood and gave a mocking straight-armed salute and said, "Sieg heil," which made Claire shake her head in obvious dismay. He picked up his cup and turned to Bobby, "Duty calls."

"Howdy Doody, maybe," Bobby grumbled as he slid the chair back to stand.

"I want regular updates, Bobby," the Official ordered, acting as if Darien's tweaking hadn't bothered him in the least, which was entirely possible.

"You'll get 'em, Chief," Bobby assured their boss and turned to glare at Darien, who was completely unrepentant.

Bobby waited until they were down the hall, heading towards the stairwell, before saying anything. "Sieg heil? That was low even for you."

Darien shrugged. "Not much in the mood for having my strings pulled these days, I guess."

Bobby snorted and swung open the stairwell door. "You never did, my friend. Just keep in mind that the Chief don't make idle threats."

"Tell me something I don't know," Darien snarked, taking the stairs two at a time up to the third floor where Alex's office was located. Might as well start there since it was closest.

"True, true," Bobby agreed, then in a sudden change of topic, "So, who've you been sowing your wild oats with?"

Darien paused mid-step, which nearly caused Bobby to run into him. "Sowing my wild oats?" he echoed, as he began to move again. "What are you talking about?"

Bobby grinned. "Oh nothing, really. Keepy just mentioned that you'd had a few late nights, is all. And you've been strutting around with this cat that ate the canary smirk on your face for weeks now, so..."

Darien ducked his head as he topped the stairs, making the effort to appear totally innocent. If only Bobby knew exactly why he'd had more than a few late nights recently. Actually, it was far better that he didn't; there was no way in hell he'd approve. For, while there was most definitely a woman involved, there were no 'wild oats' being sown. Oh no, Darien was putting his former skills as a thief and those he'd acquired from the Agency to very good use. He'd learned a few new tricks as well, which was all to the good considering how often Bobby let Darien fend for himself these days. What surprised him the most though was how little it bothered him. Yeah, there had been times he needed advice or assistance in a situation, but not often. For the first time since he'd been stuck with the neurotic, paranoid, pill-popping nutcase he felt like an equal, an actual partner and not some raw greenhorn who had to be led about by the nose and coddled all the time.

It was, at times, an exhilarating feeling. It was also, at times, terrifying. The lure, the temptation to simply fall, to forget all he had learned, all the good he'd done the last couple of years and join Fallon and her little group of mercenaries was always present, but so far he had resisted.

"So, Claire was right. You have been getting some." Bobby rubbed his hands in glee, obviously looking forward to hearing all the intimate details of the supposed tryst.

"Sorry to disappoint, my friend, but there's only one person sleeping in my bed." Just so it was clear, Darien poked himself in the sternum.

Bobby chuckled. "A bed ain't the only place to have sex, my friend. Kitchen tables are perfectly adequate." The sly grin on his face pretty much guaranteed that he'd verified that for himself. "Or so I've been told."

Darien snorted softly. "Hobbes, I barely have a kitchen, let alone a table."

Bobby frowned slightly. "So you been going to her place instead," he finally said, plainly not yet ready to surrender.

Darien stopped, the door to Alex's office in sight at the end of the hall, and turned and set his hands on Bobby's shoulders to make certain he had his full attention. Darien wanted Bobby's mind away from this little sexual fishing expedition before being forced to reveal things better left unsaid. "Hobbes, I am not seeing anyone. Got it?"

Bobby just shook his head, not buying it for a second.

"'Sides when would I have time to meet someone, huh?"

Bobby pondered that for a long moment. "Fine, don't tell me." He stepped away, leaving Darien's hands to sit in mid-air, the coffee sloshing and forcing him to shift to prevent spillage. He still needed the caffeine for functionality. "This is not over, pal. I'm gonna find out who she is," Bobby warned, a finger stabbing the towards the ceiling to emphasize his point.

Darien sighed and rolled his eyes, trailing after as they wended their way down the remainder of the hall. "Can't find what's not there," he pointed out as Bobby tried the door to find it, much as expected, locked.

Darien handed his cup over and dropped to his knees, lockpicks magically appearing in his hands. Within seconds, the tumblers clicked into place and he swung the door open.

"You always carry those?" Bobby asked as he drank the latte.

Darien grinned, "Never leave home without 'em," and rescued the remainder of the coffee. Bobby had managed to inhale most of it, leaving Darien with nothing but the dregs and foam. He debated bitching for an instant, but decided to let it pass considering how many times he'd snurched the last of Bobby's fries or nachos.

The interior was the usual over-stated elegance that was a marked contrast from the rest of the building. Darien moved towards the desk, and began to rifle through the contents of the drawer while Bobby moved to the computer station and turned on the impressive machine. Darien found little of value, just the usual pens, paperclips, and such. He'd been hoping to find a calendar or date book, but Alex's fondness for her PDA pretty much killed that hope.

"Fawkes, get over here," called Bobby distractedly. It looked like he'd been successful in accessing Alex's hard drive.

"Whatcha got?" Darien loomed over Bobby's shoulder, reading the names of the assorted files scrolling by in the Finder window.

"All sorts of crap. Any ideas on what's useful?" Bobby kept his eyes focused on the files moving down the screen.

"Nope," Darien admitted, "but I know where to start."

"Oh really?" Bobby swiveled in the chair, the slight sneer in his voice unmistakable. "Let's see what you got, hotshot."

Darien didn't take the disbelief to heart, since until recently he had been at a complete loss when it came to computers. He still wasn't up to Bobby's level, never mind geek-boy Eberts, but he was learning; both out of necessity and self-interest. Darien reached about Bobby to take control of the mouse, moving the cursor to the bitten apple in the upper left corner of the screen. With a click, the drop down menu appeared and he slid down the list to highlight 'Recent Items.' A secondary menu appeared, at the top of which was 'skeleton key.' Darien, of course, recognized the name for the custom cipher program the fourth monkey supplied to its clients. He had a copy of his own, specially tailored to the specific encryption pattern used to make the data secure. His version would not decrypt Alex's files and vice versa. Just another feature the fourth monkey provided.

Darien clicked on the program and waited for it to start.

"Fawkes..."

"Hobbes..."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Startin' a program," Darien said, a grin attempting to curve his lips upwards.

"I can see that, ya mook. What I wanna know is why?" Bobby was losing his patience fast.

"'Cause it was the last thing Alex ran. Figured it might give us some clue as to what she was doing." In fact, Darien was certain of it, but he wasn't about to explain his inside track. He clicked on the 'open recent' option once the program was up and running and the decrypted file obligingly appeared on the desktop. It was a report, but it took less than a second to realize they were on the right track, what with Stark's name at the top of the page and all.

"Son of a bitch," Bobby muttered, as he reclaimed control of the mouse and scrolled through the report. He then opened the remaining recent documents and read them far too fast for Darien to keep up. But a single word caught his eye: Brandon.

"Alex's son?"

"Looks like," Bobby said, most of his attention still on the words before him. "Monroe, you idiot, it's gotta be a trap."

"What's a trap?" Darien asked even though he was pretty sure he knew.

Bobby sat back, bringing the initial report back to the front. "Well, according to this Mrs. Stark..."

"Eleanor."

"...is coming to town with the kid to meet with daddy-dearest..." he paused to double-check something, "...the day Alex was supposed to fly to Boston. Bets she ditched the flight to go after Stark?"

Darien shook his head. "Suckers bet. Of course she did, it's her son."

"Fawkes, it's a frickin' trap," Bobby complained.

"She knows that, Bobby." Darien turned away from the computer to look over the impersonal office, wondering why she hadn't asked for help.

"Why would she take such a stupid risk?" Bobby griped. "She knows better than to go into something like this alone. She's smarter than this."

"If it was your kid, what would you do?" Darien asked, glancing over his shoulder at his partner who suddenly sported a very serious look. "You'd take the chance it wasn't a trap, 'cause there's no choice."

Bobby rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, you're right. Damn it. The trail is two days cold now, ain't no way we're gonna find her."

"We gotta try." Darien stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the desk. "Where do we start?"

"La Playa, Townsend dock."

 

Chapter 2

Butterflies. They all wore butterflies in one manner or another, and it bothered Tabitha to a degree she hadn't thought possible. It was as if they were suggesting that they were complete, the ultimate goal, and that she... and that she was still undeveloped and in need of further evolution. The golden double-helix she wore proved otherwise.

"Tabitha, is there a problem?" Sharon's voice was crystal clear and carried perfectly across the intervening distance via the communications satellite that had been put into orbit nearly two years ago.

"No. Only..." Tabitha cut herself off, wishing she had stopped at the single word.

"She does not like the amount of autonomy you have granted us." Delphi spoke without a noticeable accent, her English flat, and lacking color.

Tabitha shot a look of pure venom at Delphi, not appreciating having her intentions read without her express permission. "What I do not like is... them," she hissed the word, unable to hide her dislike for their kind, "free to run about off their leash."

Neither the couple, nor their bodyguards, reacted to her commentary. After all, it wasn't as if they were truly of Chrysalis. Tabitha knew, as many of the higher ranked members did, how invaluable their DNA was to the ultimate goal, the fact that it came with unexpected and unwelcome side-effects was unfortunate indeed. They had their place, their uses within the hierarchy, but were far from the supermen that they had once been thought to be. Personally, she had hoped to never deal with their kind face to face, as they caused her to feel a sudden urge to violence in the name of genetic cleansing. They were anathema, a black mark on the otherwise pristine perfection that was Chrysalis.

"Tabitha, it is necessary." Sharon's voice barely hid her irritation. Clearly, she was not in the mood to be challenged, which told Tabitha that whatever was going on was of the utmost importance.

"You will assist them in any manner they deem necessary."

"Sharon..." Tabitha instantly regretted allowing the word to escape past her lips.

"Assez!" Sharon barked. "You will do this or I will replace you as head of the sector. Comprenez-vous?"

The last thing Tabitha wanted was to lose her position; she had her own set of goals and had no intention of forgoing them over a pair of genetic throwbacks. "Oui, Je comprends," she said contritely.

"Bon. Delphi, Lethe, move swiftly to resolve this." It was an order, but one that had obviously been repeated many times by the lack of reaction on the couple's features.

"As you wish, Sharon," Lethe said, his voice soft yet strong, like silk over steel.

There was a click followed by that deadening silence. Tabitha disconnected at her end, not pleased with the way the conversation had gone by any means. She took an additional moment to gather herself, still furious and blaming them for her loss of face. Threats from Sharon were never anything but serious. She calmed herself, her dislike should... no, would not prevent her from working with the pair. Sharon had made it eminently clear that they and their brethren were invaluable tools to the cause and that they would continue to be used so long as she were in power. Tabitha couldn't fault her superior's reasoning, given how Chrysalis had prospered in that time. There had been others who had kept them locked in their mountain compound, ignored and forgotten, but truth to tell, those who followed that path never reigned for very long. The wheel inevitably turned and brighter, more open minds would once again come into control.

It was, Tabitha decided, far wiser to learn the use of them.

"What is it you need?"

Delphi smiled and glanced at Lethe, who deferred to her even though he appeared to be the senior of the pair. "Access to your files and a place to work, for now." She stood in one smooth flowing motion. "Oh, and to arrange a meeting with Jared Stark."

"Jared? Why?" Tabitha asked in curiosity. The man was the former head of Sector G, whom she had replaced, and while he did as he was ordered, it was to the letter only. He and those who followed him clearly had their own agenda and made little effort to hide that fact. If Delphi were after him, Tabitha would be only happy to oblige.

Lethe set a hand on Delphi's shoulder, preventing whatever it was she was going to say.

"It is not necessary for you to know," he stated, voice utterly devoid of emotion.

"And who judges that necessity?" Tabitha questioned, not enjoying being kept out of the decisions.

"I do," Delphi asserted.

"I'm sure Sharon would find that interesting." The challenge had been made, but it didn't faze the woman in the least.

"Feel free to contact her." Delphi waved casually at the phone that had so recently been connected to that very person.

Tabitha managed to hide the wince at her bluff being called. Picking up that phone was the last thing she was about to do. Apparently, confidence was not something Delphi lacked, and what power she had been granted she was unafraid to wield.

"When do you wish to meet with Jared?" She quickly abandoned the previous conversation as the lost cause it was.

"Tomorrow morning will do," Delphi answered, a hand shifting to rest on her hip. She tilted her head, the pupils of her eyes dilating noticeably though the light level had not changed. "I think I shall begin with you."

Tabitha swallowed with a throat gone suddenly dry. This was what she had hoped to avoid at all costs. "Delphi, I..."

Delphi strode forward, her bodyguards a step behind, and placed her palms flat on the surface of the desk. "You have no choice."

With fear coursing through her, Tabitha nodded.

-----

The briskly blowing breeze carried the aromatic scent of decaying fish and the squawking calls of wheeling seagulls that were attempting to purloin tasty bits of the not so fresh seafood. The birds were thankfully far enough away that there was no risk of a surprise falling from above, but that didn't stop Fawkes from grumbling about it.

"Worse than freaking pigeons," he muttered, eyeing the birds warily, hands at the ready to protect his hair should one even contemplate flying towards him.

"Fawkes, think you could keep your mind on the job," Hobbes sniped, not really in the mood to deal with Fawkes and his vanities.

"Huh? Oh yeah." Fawkes cast one last wary glance at the circling vultures, then turned his attention to the area about them. Though a stone's throw away from whatever had died along the water's edge, this area was decidedly upscale. Here there were a dozen high-end boathouses, the boats able to sail right inside and out of the view of anyone not wealthy enough to lay eyes upon them. They were for all intents and purposes estates for the sailing set, the upper levels of the buildings complete with balconies, chimneys, decks; excess and overindulgence taken to the extreme. The color scheme varied but many had chosen to mimic the white with blue accents of the Sand Diego Yacht Club. Their facilities were just a mile north, the flag mounted atop the clubhouse snapping jauntily in the wind.

There were hundreds of boats docked at the Yacht club, but here none were visible, there wasn't so much as a stray scrap of paper or pelican dropping to mar the gleaming perfection of the pilings.

"Crap. The place looks like it's been wiped clean," Fawkes said, echoing Hobbes' own thoughts on the matter. "If Alex was here..." The words trailed off. No point in stating the obvious - there was almost no chance the trail could be picked up from here.

"Not here, Fawkes, but somewhere nearby." Hobbes studied the buildings flanking the Townsend dock as a sniper would. Monroe was no fool, and would have found herself a place to hole up and observe the situation before making her move. Her automatic reaction to rush in had cooled since that first near-miss at retrieving her son at Camp Teanaustaye. He was certain she wouldn't make a move until she saw her son and the opportunity. He was also certain Stark would give her both and only then would the jaws of the trap close about her.

Fawkes pointed at the upper level of the building to the right, a window was open, the wind causing the curtains to shift. "There. She'd be able to see the whole area including inside the target."

"All right, pal, how'd she get in?" Hobbes asked, not questioning the assertion, but wondering how far he'd gotten in figuring it out.

Fawkes shrugged. "Swim? Just gotta duck under the door." He peered in the nearest window, hands cupped about his face to reduce the glare. "Or she could have just driven in."

"What?" Hobbes joined Fawkes with the peering, noting the older model Bonneville, sporting multiple dings and a peeling paint job that did not fit with a multimillion dollar ark parked next to it. "One of these things just doesn't belong," he muttered as he moved towards the nearest door.

"You been watching Sesame Street in the mornings again?" Fawkes said around a chuckle as Hobbes jimmied the door open. Considering the money sunk into the place, you'd think the security would be more than an off-the-shelf deadbolt. With judicious use of his Leatherman he forced it open and swung the door into the dimly-lit interior.

"I told ya before, it's the only good thing on at that hour." Hobbes gazed about the dock/garage, as that was exactly what it was; a place for the owner to park and maintain his toys.

Fawkes slipped past, straight to the car and proceeded to ruin any prints that might have been left behind.

"Fawkes! Could you at least pretend this is a potential crime scene?" Hobbes found it amazing how fast someone with that many smarts could forget something so basic.

Fawkes held up his hand, his fingers ending at the first knuckle. "Gimme some credit. Thief, remember?"

The smartass had Quicksilvered the print side of his fingers, which meant he wasn't likely to mess up any evidence should this not turn out to be a false trail.

There was a snicker from the interior of the car where Fawkes had ensconced himself. "You go, girl."

"What?" Hobbes grumbled as he leaned on the window of the open door. "Eberts would have found it if she'd rented a car."

"Hitting Budget or Rent-a-Wreck ain't the only way to score a ride, Hobbes," Fawkes said all smug and cheery. He reached under the steering column and proudly showed the creative rewiring. "She hot-wired it."

Now that was a surprise. "Monroe stole a car." Not entirely certain he believed his own conclusion, he repeated, "Monroe stole a car," but the repetition didn't make it any more real. He shook his head. "She's been hanging around you too long."

Fawkes snorted in amusement. "I'll take that as a compliment." He leaned over to the passenger side and began fishing around, poking in the glove box, under the seat and the various nooks and crannies, looking for anything that might give them a hint as to whom last drove the car. Stuck between the driver's seat and the center console he found a piece of paper. "Efficient as always." He handed it over to Hobbes.

It was a printout of an online map, complete with directions to the dock house next door. It could have been printed out by anyone, however, there were notes written in the margins in handwriting both men recognized.

"Son of a bitch." Hobbes shook his head, wanting to accuse Monroe of being a total idiot for going into this alone. He, hell, they would have helped if she'd given them half a chance. That's what partners were for, after all. Monroe was still a little too self-sufficient for his taste, but she was also damned good at what she did. It just so happened that what she did was just about everything. "All right, let's check upstairs and see what she could see."

Fawkes shrugged and slithered out of the car. "It wasn't like they grabbed her here."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Need to cover all the bases, my friend." Hobbes surreptitiously patted his Colt, as he headed for the stairs that led to the upper floor. It turned out to be an oversized apartment that was richly furnished, including a well-stocked bar; a place to stay when the owners were too lazy to drive to their local mansion. Of course, this might just be a vacation spot for the owner, but he doubted it. Someone with the money for a set-up like this probably had a house in every port of call.

Randomly opened cabinets and drawers told an even more interesting story, especially once the stash of mismatched women's undergarments was found. It looked like this was a hot spot for dalliances and trysts, a place to bring vapid, vain women just to add another notch to the proverbial bedpost. The owner clearly had ego issues if he needed trophies to prove his prowess. Like these people had nothing better to do.

"Find anything, Fawkes?"

"Would the term 'jackpot' do?"

Hobbes followed the voice into a secondary bedroom were Fawkes was standing before an open window, the very one he'd pointed to outside, gazing out through a pair of high-end binoculars. "Clear view into the dock house next door - nice big conveniently placed window and everything. Boat's name is... Kafka." He lowered the glasses. "Jeeze, guys, could you be more obvious?"

"What do you mean?" Hobbes asked as he sidled up next to his partner. If he didn't know better he would have sworn the window angle had been set up just for this.

"Kafka wrote a book called Metamorphosis," Fawkes answered, returning the binoculars to his eyes.

"Oh." Hobbes had no clue what that meant. "So?"

"So," Fawkes said, sounding put-upon. "Chrysalis is the stage where a caterpillar changes into a butterfly." He turned to look at Hobbes, still using the binocs. "A metamorphosis, get it?"

"Huh."

Fawkes lowered the glasses and gave Hobbes the evil eye. "That's it? Just 'huh'?"

"Not like you expect 'em to have a sense of humor, is all." Hobbes pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Hey, Eberts, need you to run down the registration on a boat named Kafka, at the Townsend dock in La Playa." He paused, listening. "Uh, it's registered out of..."

"Brazil," Fawkes supplied.

"Brazil. Yeah, we think it's Chrysalis." Hobbes lowered his voice. "Yeah, she was. Four o'clock; we'll be there." He snapped the phone shut and put it away.

"Bossman wants us back for tea time?"

"Got it in one." Hobbes glanced down at the floor where assorted pieces of fancy electronics that had been hastily discarded by Monroe bore mute testimony to her presence. There was a parabolic mike, headset, and a digital recorder. "Bingo." He crouched down and picked up the compact device.

"Was his name-o," Fawkes sang, still fascinated with the binoculars. "Whatcha got?"

"Evidence, I hope." Hobbes skipped back to the beginning and pressed play.

There was a lot of noise, the mike having picked up the wind and every rustle and footstep, but the voices were still clear.

".... to see you again, my dear," That was unmistakably Jarod Stark's voice wafting tinnily our of the tiny speaker. "And how is my big boy?"

That was followed by a high-pitched chortle and a crowed, "Dah-dee!"

---

Delphi resisted the urge to wash her hands, to attempt to scrub clean that which had been in direct contact with Stark. The stain left behind was most assuredly not something that could be washed away with something so simple as soap and water, as it had been left on the inside of her flesh, scored into her soul. She had been in contact with far worse minds over the years, but something about his caused her stomach to roil in unhappiness. He was most certainly a prime example of Chrysalis breeding, with an ego that often overrode what little common sense he had. And when it came to his progeny, common sense became nonexistent.

Not only had he allowed the breeding project to be discovered and dozens of children stolen from the camps but the host mother to his own child was fully aware of both the boy and Chrysalis. To make matters even worse she was a Federal Agent, quite willing to use her power to thwart Chrysalis and Stark every chance she could.

In retrospect, it was obvious what had caused the future shift. The host mother had successfully retrieved her son from an indoctrination center and then, thanks in part to a diabolical and perfectly executed plan, had given up the child to Stark's wife on the mistaken belief that the woman was intent on leaving Chrysalis for good. That was the cusp and it could not be changed. Damage control was all Delphi could hope to accomplish here.

Lethe came out of the room, a frown upon his features and weariness in his deep blue eyes.

"All went well?" she asked of him.

"Yes, he believes it was nothing more than an introductory meeting that Sharon requested." Lethe stepped up to her and rested his forehead against hers. "We still do not have all we need."

"I am aware. His immediate future has too many potentials; there was no one clear path." She set her hands upon his hips, wishing he would take the last few hours from her and replace them with something far less disturbing, that he would, just this once allow her the peace of forgetfulness.

"Do we have enough?" he questioned, sliding his face alongside hers, their cheeks brushing gently against one another, his breath tickling the hairs by her ear.

"Perhaps. She is alive, but may not be for long. He sees her as little more than an annoyance, something to be swept aside and forgotten." Some of the potentials she'd seen had similar features and that fact was among them. But Delphi knew what a false perception it was. Those that were genetically normal still greatly outnumbered those of Chrysalis, and had an important role to play before true success could be achieved. Thinking of them as inconsequential, as mayflies, would be disastrous if things weren't changed in the here and now.

"She is needed to correct the timeline," Lethe stated, hands curving about her face, relaxing her, distracting her from the immediacy of what she'd seen.

"I... I'm not sure," Delphi admitted, eyes slipping shut as she melted into his embrace.

He was silent for several minutes, his mere presence cleansing her mind, washing away the lingering residue that had made her skin crawl in discomfort. Suddenly, he stepped away, a serious look upon his face as their eyes met. "Then you must read her."

Delphi nodded. "I have come to that conclusion myself, but first we must locate her."

"And in the meantime...," he prompted.

"In the meantime, there are others to read, including his wife." She turned to Cooper, a man who had been with her for over two decades now. "Did you find them?"

"Yes. It was not nearly as difficult as we were led to expect." Cooper was exceptionally good at his job, which was far more than the simple bodyguard that most thought him to be.

"It rarely is," Lethe pointed out. "Del, can you do this?"

She rubbed the side of her head. "There is no choice; the window of opportunity is closing rapidly."

"You have seen this?" It wasn't often Lethe showed surprise, but this seemed to warrant it.

She shook her head, blonde hair swinging about and hiding her face momentarily. "No, not specifically, but I... I feel it." She closed her eyes, letting random images flicker through her mind. "I don't yet have enough..." She was unable to keep the frustration from her voice. She had seen what would happen to her and Lethe should this path continue unchanged. She turned to Cooper. "Take us to the wife."

 

Chapter 3

The camera made its polite hum as the zoom was adjusted yet again, the small sign to the right of the main entrance suddenly sharp, clear and easily read. Fertility Focus Corporation was what was carved into the shiny gold plaque, announcing to the world that they made babies. What it failed to mention was that the babies they made were genetically modified embryos that bore no relationship to the 'parents.' That they did this worldwide was minor thing compared to the horror of what they then did to the children after they'd been born and returned to the loving bosom of Chrysalis. Mindless drones for an organization that believed they were to rule the world after some great cataclysm befell it.

There were times Darien wished this were one of the things he didn't need to know. Bobby was right; ignorance was bliss.

Bobby harrumphed; he'd gotten irritated at the various sounds the camera made an hour ago. Darien turned to look at Bobby, eye still glued to the viewfinder, but lowered the camera quickly when presented with an extreme close-up of Bobby's right temple, complete with tiny hairs coming out of his skin.

"We just gonna sit here all day?"

"No, we're gonna sit here till we see Stark," Hobbes grouched, making minute and needless adjustments to the equipment.

Darien huffed. "There's gotta be a better way." He sat up straighter, his look brightening. "What say I take a little stroll inside, on the QT, so to speak."

"No."

"Just a quickie? I'll be in and out before you know it. Promise," Darien whined. He'd take a beating by Chrysalis goons over the boredom he was currently mired in.

"No."

"But..."

"No. Crap, Fawkes, this might not be the most exciting part, but it's the job." Hobbes swiveled about, with that wrinkle between his eyebrows that meant he was truly pissed. "We got confirmation that he's in there, so we wait till he comes out. It's that simple."

"I know that," Darien snarked, "but two and a half hours of the silent treatment makes me cranky." Not quite accurate, but every time he tried to start a conversation, Bobby would kill it by either not responding or giving curt one word answers that discouraged Darien from pressing on.

Bobby's brows shot up. "Silent treatment? What're you talking about?"

"You. Me. No talkie," Darien explained, keeping it short and to the point.

Bobby seemed to find that most amusing. "No talkie? What happened to the wannabe philosopher?"

"He got tired of being shut down by his partner." Darien made sure to shove humor into his tone. He finally had Bobby talking and didn't want him to stop.

At the word 'partner' the strangest expression crawled across Bobby's face and there was no way Darien wasn't going to call him on it. "What? I'm not good enough to be your partner no more?"

Bobby's face fell. "Try the other way 'round, pal," he muttered, then turned away.

That was a hell of a shock for Darien; the supremely over-confident super-spook Bobby Hobbes suddenly thinking himself not good enough for the likes of an ex-thief turned part-time mercenary? Was he a total idiot?

"Hobbes?"

"What?"

Darien wanted to throttle the man. "Now would be a good time to make with the 'talkie'."

Hobbes focused his attention on the clinic entrance across the street. "About what?"

"This attitude of yours." Though Darien had to admit it wasn't like it was anything new. No, this had been festering for quite a while now.

Bobby burst out in rueful laughter. "Attitude? Me? Take a look in the mirror there, pal. You ain't exactly been helping the sitch."

"Me?" Darien squawked, projecting an air of hurt innocence. "I've always pushed the Fatman's buttons..."

Bobby shook his head. "Not that, genius."

Darien sighed in frustration. "Then what? You guys told me to go get a life outside of work, so I did."

Bobby shook his head more violently. "Not that. Unless..." He paused, thinking, his brow furrowing deeply upon reaching a conclusion. "You been hanging out with her ain't ya?"

"Who?" Darien regretted the lone word as Bobby always assumed they were efforts at distraction at best, and outright lies at worst.

"Her. O'Neill and that hoodlum hang-out," Bobby shouted, loud in the close confines of the van.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Darien shouted right back in exasperation.

"Everything, Fawkes. She's pulling you towards the dark side, my friend. Mark my words, you'll regret it. Not today, not tomorrow..."

"But someday. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it. Thing is, my friend, it's my life and outside work I can do what I want, remember?" A low burning anger seeped into his voice.

"You're right, it is." Bobby went cold, not backing off so much as freezing in place to create a barrier that could not be gone around on the subject.

Darien was more than willing to take the draw on that one. "Back to topic; what's this about me not wanting to be your partner?"

Bobby crumpled, shoulders slumping dramatically. "Nuthin'."

It was Darien's turn to snort in derision. "Cough it up, Hobbes, or I'll just ask Claire."

Bobby's head snapped about with a beady-eyed glare fixed in place. "You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat. Now spill." Darien wasn't kidding, he would go to Claire to find out what was going on in his little tiger's head.

Bobby squirmed, clearly not wanting to have this conversation. "You're a good agent Fawkes. Had a knack for it from day one, but..."

"But?" Darien prompted when the silence went on for more than 10 seconds.

"You been working with Monroe a lot more. Higgens and O'Connell too," Bobby finally said, sounding defeated. "You don't need me no more."

'Don't need...' Darien blinked in confusion. "Hobbes, did you take your meds, 'cause you ain't making sense."

Bobby frowned. "Always with the meds. Could you, just for once, take me seriously?" The frustration was blatant, but Darien was not in the mood to be led about by a sudden attack of Hobbesian paranoia.

"Kinda hard to when you start seeing things that ain't there. 'Sides me, that is." Darien tossed off a wan smile. "We're partners, Hobbes, ain't nothing gonna change that."

The last was emphatic, but did nothing to pull Bobby from the rut he'd apparently fallen into. "That's my point, Fawkes, we ain't part... Crap, look who's come to play." He got the parabolic mike up and aimed at the group now standing outside the clinic.

Darien brought up the camera, adjusted the focus, and started snapping pictures.

Jared Stark, his number one goon Connor, and several others had exited the building and were having a less than civil conversation on the patch of perfectly manicured grass that separated the walkway from the parking lot. After snapping a couple of Stark and Connor, Darien focused on the newcomers. Two, a man and a woman, were in non-standard Chrysalis clone-wear and had a pair of bookends that were clearly their bodyguards. He got close ups and full body shots of the quartet. The matching tattoos the pair sported caught his eye; it was a new twist in the riddle of Chrysalis.

"Who're the newbies?"

Bobby shook his head and flipped a switch that allowed the conversation to be heard via a cheap speaker mounted in back.

"... kind should have been exterminated," Stark growled, apparently not overly fond of their 'kind.'

"I could argue the same," the blonde female stated, her voice cool and calm.

Her voice caused goosebumps to break out on Darien's arms.

"Without our kind you would not exist," the male spoke, his tone barren of any emotion whatsoever.

It made Darien's skin crawl even more violently. "Who the hell are they?" he questioned, not really expecting an answer.

"Those war-time experiments only confirmed what we already knew. You are a mistake," Stark sneered.

"Dunno, Fawkes, but they have the cajones to stand up to Stark, and that there makes them okay in my book... for now." Bobby glanced over at Darien. "Did you get pics of 'em?"

"Yep. I don't think they're Chrysalis though," Darien said as he scrolled through the images on the camera's LCD screen.

"Why not?" Bobby asked as the trading of insults continued unabated.

"No pretty gold pins. The mooks with 'em are wearing them, but they're weird; have wings or something," Darien explained, turning to look out the window. "Looks like the party is breaking up."

"... go back to your compound and stay there," Connor tossed off as he followed Stark to his vehicle.

"Time to go." Bobby quickly stowed the gear, slid into the driver's seat, and started the van.

Darien buckled himself into the passenger's seat, suspecting the ride was going to get rough sooner rather than later. He made sure to secure the camera with the all important photographs just as Bobby pulled out into traffic, several cars behind Stark.

They wove in and out of traffic, being careful to remain far enough behind Stark to hopefully, go unnoticed. After almost 10 minutes of driving, they pulled onto I-5 and began to accelerate, forcing Bobby to follow suit. They continued to keep their distance, staying at least a quarter mile behind and never in the same lane, if at all possible.

So, Darien was quite surprised when Stark's car suddenly pulled to the right lane and slammed on the brakes.

"Crap, he made us," Bobby snarled, not slowing the van. As they neared the car, the rear window rolled down and the barrel of a gun appeared. Bobby had zero time to do anything besides swear vociferously.

There was a soft pop and the van slewed violently to the right, slamming Darien into Bobby as if there was no seatbelt to hold him in place. With screeching metal and burning rubber, the van fishtailed into the breakdown lane and then onto the grass verge. It bumped along for several eternal seconds before coming to a sudden halt, shoving Darien forward into the dashboard.

It was only then he remembered to breathe.

"Well, if this is the afterlife, I'm disappointed."

Bobby chuckled. "You and me both, my friend."

The sound of a car horn caused both men to look back towards the road. There the black sedan they had been following was rolling past and Stark's smiling countenance waving at them, clearly enjoying the situation. They picked up speed and disappeared into the traffic.

"Y'know, I really don't like him," Darien stated.

Bobby rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell phone.

---

"What do you think they were after?" Connor asked as the crappy tan van disappeared behind them.

"More likely a who, and that would be Agent Monroe." Jared showed no concern at the Agency misfits sniffing around. He knew he'd be at the top of the suspect list and had planned accordingly. "Let them try to find her; we'll lead them a merry chase and then," he mimed a trap snapping shut with his hands, "we'll take them out of the game as well. I could do without the thorn in my side."

"They are rather annoying, aren't they? Like gnats," Connor said, amused.

"And like gnats they have short attention spans. Something new will come along to distract them." While he would have loved to spend more time contemplating various methods to eliminate Fawkes, Jared had far more interesting things to do. Dealing with Agent Monroe, for example.

The driver pulled into the parking lot of a three story chrome and glass miracle of modern engineering. Above the main entrance in a flowing script was the word Archangel. This was the new headquarters of Chrysalis' security arm, created six months after the destruction of the San Diego Cerberus offices. Thanks to the Agency it was deemed too risky to continue to use the existing business, so they were shut down, restructured, and recreated. With great success. So far, the Agency had no knowledge of its existence.

The car stopped near the entrance and both Connor and Stark exited, heading to the gracefully arched entryway. The lobby was even more impressive than the exterior. A wide reception desk was manned by two men and a woman, all identically dressed and all fully capable of dealing with unexpected guests.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," the woman greeted. The smile curving her lips patently false, which did not bother Jared in the least. She handed him a slim file, while one of the men logged his arrival into the computer. "Mr. Ishito has agreed to the terms and would like to schedule a meeting."

Jared couldn't help but be pleased by that bit of news. They had been trying to get an in with Ishito for two years. "Excellent, make the necessary arrangements."

"Here or Tokyo?" she asked.

"Tokyo. He'll be more comfortable on his home ground." To some it would appear a weakness, giving up the tactical advantage, but Ishito would see it as a sign of respect and it would foster the beginnings of trust.

"As you wish, sir." She returned to her seat and set about to do so.

Jared turned left, followed by Connor, and was buzzed through a set of doors. They walked past several rooms that were ostensibly for conferences, if you ignored the heavily reinforced walls, the two-way glass and the not so subtle decorating scheme of 'interrogation room.' The security systems were well hidden but extensive both in the rooms and the in hallway, right down to thermal sensors; a precaution taken since the Agency and Darien Fawkes had a hand in the destruction of its predecessor. It was only a matter of time before they learned of this new facility and it was always best to be prepared. At the end of the hall was an elevator with an electronic pad that Jared pressed his thumb against to be scanned. The light turned green and the doors slid open to allow both men to step inside the car. Connor pressed the six. This elevator only went in one direction from this level and it was not up.

Here the security was more obvious, as well as the means to deal with intruders, or escapees, should they make it this far. At the press of a button the car could be flooded in seconds with a variety of gasses that would immobilize those inside; a creative vacuum system would then pump the gas out, leaving bodies - unconscious or dead, depending on the specific gas used - behind. Gas masks or similar gear would be of no use as some of the gasses were designed to be absorbed through the skin. Only someone in a completely self-contained HAZMAT suit stood a chance. The suits, however, were easily penetrated by projectiles, which is why there were also weapons mounted in the ceiling. Messy, but effective when necessary.

The car slid to a smooth stop and the doors opened. They stepped out into a huge, dimly lit room. In all directions the walls curved, the ceiling arching to a peak some 25 feet above the floor. A giant hemisphere carved into the earth with reinforced concrete and steel. In the center of the room, some 15 feet away from the walls, was another hemisphere, the walls rising 10 feet before the curved roof began; a smaller hemisphere within the existing one. While every surface of the main room w