Or the Leopardess Her Spots
By BAW
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fanfiction, set in the secondary universe of The Sentinel; this secondary universe belongs to UPN, PetFly Productions, SciFi Channel, and other entities. This story is written for amusement and as a compositional exercise; as such, counsel's opinion informs me that this falls within the fair use doctrine.
Feedback: lawrence81@iwon.com Like it or hate it, please say something. It is only through criticism that I can become a better writer.
Notes: This story comes in the Jacob's Ladder series right after "Murder for Practice". Fr. Alain Reynolds of "Provenance Unknown" makes a brief appearance.
DeMontfort University's website is www.dmu.ac.uk. DeMontfort's Independent Study Master's in Psychology is at http://www.hcs.dmu.ac.uk/HASS/psltresearch.html; for the University of South Africa, the largest and one of the oldest distance learning institutions in the world, see www.unisa.ac.za. For the Union Institute, the Saybrook Graduate School, and the Fielding Institute see http://www.tui.edu, http://www.saybrook.edu, and http://www.fielding.edu.
The title is an allusion to an old proverb: "Can the Ethiopian bleach his skin, or the leopard change his spots?" The pictures are from http://www.animalpix.net or http://animalpicturesarchive.com.
Some S2 follow-up fanfics have assumed Sierra Verde to be a state of Mexico. However, in reviewing the tape, I did not see the Mexican flag, pictures of Mexican national heroes, or similar indicators anywhere in the Sierra Verde scenes; I have therefore concluded that we are to consider it a separate country, tucked in between Mexico and Guatemala.
Or the Leopardess Her Spots
By BAW
The streets of the Old City of Cairo are narrow; all the better for the buildings to shade one another from the burning sun of Egypt. Even in December it was far from cool during the day.
A tall European man, dressed in the dark cassock of a Christian priest, walked through the crowded alleys. The mostly Muslim passersby occasionally glanced his way with some hostility; however, the priest was a young man, tall and strong, and the stout, becarven walking stick in his right hand was not there because he was lame. Despite his calling, none of the toughs wanted to try conclusions with him.
The man entered a small café and took a seat in the back. He surprised the waiter by ordering in more than passable Arabic. He then pulled an envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and started to read.
December 14, 2001
Cascade, Washington, USA
Alain~
I'm giving this to the Mountie at the Canadian Consulate in Cascade. He says he can send it by courier to the Royal Canadian Legation in Cairo, which will get it to you faster than the mails.
This fall has been quite hectic in Cascade. I'm sure you heard about those beheadings -- I'm told they made the BBC World Service even. "Just practicing!" -- brrr! I was lead investigator on that case. My Captain figured out early that it was probably the work of an unbalanced mind, and he decided it was time I used that Psych. minor.
Speaking of which, I've finally decided to take the plunge and start on finishing my doctorate. I'm going to switch to Psychology, though. I'm committed -- for the reasons we discussed -- to law enforcement, and as a Forensic Anthropologist I'd be confined to the lab and the morgue, most of my time up to my elbows in the -- er -- patients. No thank you! As a Forensic Psychologist I can work with live folks, not dead ones. I did 30 graduate hours in Psychology at Rainier; DeMontfort University in England is willing to let me do an M.A. by research. I'll confer with my mentor by e-mail, do my work here, and then submit my thesis. I'll have to defend it in person, but that's all. Then I'll find someplace that'll let me do a doctorate on similar terms; I'm looking at the Saybrook Graduate School, the Fielding Institute, the Union Institute, and the University of South Africa.
Well, back to the scene in Cascade. Things settled down a bit after the practice murders. I discovered some cousins here in Cascade I didn't know about, descendants of my great-grandfather's sister. Jim also shook family tree a bit.
When Thanksgiving came around--you know, in the United States we celebrate Thanksgiving later than you Canadians do--Jim and I were surprised to get an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at Jim's dad's place. Well. . . .
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"Ow! Ow! Ow!" moaned the curly-haired detective, collapsing onto the couch and clutching his belly, "Ow!"
"Well," said his tall friend mildly, handing him a glass of sodi-bi in water, "you would have fourths of everything."
"Sally's a great cook."
"That she is."
"I can't believe she made two Thanksgiving dinners. One for the day, the other for you and Steven to take home."
"It was nice of her to make that Tofu Loaf, too, for Naomi."
"Yeah, Thanksgiving's hard for a vegetarian."
"Hey, Chief, remember how you said you once had a bad feeling that I might turn out to be your stepfather?"
"Yeah. I think Mom had a little crush on you."
"Well, how would you feel about me and Steven as as stepbrothers?"
"What? You mean--my Mom . . .your Dad? No way."
"Way! Did you see how they looked at one another? How he held her chair, how attentive he was in filling her glass?"
"He was just being polite."
"And when we retired into the den with Steven to watch the game, he took her into the music room and turned on the stereo? And the way she didn't say nasty things about capitalism and big business."
"Naomi can be polite, too."
"Face it. They liked each other," said Jim, and started to chant, "'Bill and Naomi, / sitting in a tree / K-I-S-S-I-N-G. . .' "
"No. . .no. . .no. . . ." came a voice from the depths of the couch.
"'First comes love, / Then comes marriage. . . .'"
"No. . .no. . .no. . ."
"'Then comes. . . '"
"ARAUGH!"
The Shaman of the Great City pulled the afghan over his head. His Sentinel snickered and reached for the remote.
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So, Alain--you don't think they could? You know my Mom, and Jim's Dad . . .. well, William isn't a bad sort, really. He made mistakes in bringing Jim and Steven up, and there are some things I'm having trouble forgiving him for--even if Jim has--but at least he was there for the boys. Unlike Jim's Mom, who eloped with some man when he was about eight. But I still can't see William and Naomi together. No, Jim was just having me on. Wasn't he?
The big thing for us, though, was an aftershock from one of our more unpleasant old cases. I don't know if I told you about it. It happened back when I was still an observer-consultant and working on my Sentinel dissertation. I found a female Sentinel. Unfortunately, she was a criminal. She had served time in California and Oregon, was wanted in several states and a few foreign countries--in short, not a nice lady. Of course, I didn't know about all this when I tried to help her, and Jim didn't know that the criminal he was after and the other Sentinel I was working with were the same person. We only put it together later--almost too late for me. The woman hit me over the head and shoved me under the water of that fountain outside of Hargrove Hall.
Alain, I was pronounced dead at the scene, but Jim wouldn't give up. He kept working on me, applying artificial respiration, until, somehow, I revived. I still have diminished lung capacity, but the doctors say I have made a remarkable recovery; most people who were deprived of oxygen as long as I was end up paralyzed or even brain damaged.
Well, we chased her down to Central America, where we caught her, but not before she dosed herself with some native herbal concoction that fried her brain. She was catatonic when we brought her back to Cascade, and has been in Conover Psychiatric Hospital ever since.
Which brings us to now. Some distant relative came forward and petitioned for her to be released, or at least to have her wardship transferred from the State of Washington to himself. The Allied Advocates for the Institutionalized Mentally Ill dug him up somewhere and fed him a line about 'your poor Cousin Alex, such a misunderstood girl'; I've always thought them a worthy cause, but not a penny more of my money will they see!
We just got back from the hearing, and let me tell you. . . .
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"All rise! In the presence of this flag, emblem of our country, this Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Felicia Rhodes presiding. All persons anything to do before the General Court of Justice of the State of Washington, Common Pleas Division in of and for Cascade County, draw near and be heard!"
Judge Rhodes was a thin, silver-haired woman with sharp green eyes, known both for her razor-like wit and her strong sense of fairness. She had a reputation for conservatism in criminal cases, liberalism in civil ones. She glanced at the papers in her hand, and then at the people in the gallery.
"Today we will be hearing the Matter of Alexandra Katherine Barnes, a.k.a. Alicia Banister. Ms. Barnes has been confined for the past four years in Conover Psychiatric Hospital, and her family is now petitioning for her release. This is not, strictly speaking, an adversarial proceeding; we all want what is best for Ms. Barnes--our task is to determine what that might be. Which of you is Edwin Michael Barnes-Wentworth?"
"I am, your honor," said a tall blond man in the front row. If one was looking for it, one could see a slight resemblance to Alex. In his jeans, pointed boots, Western-style jacket, striped shirt and bolo tie, with a Stetson hat in his hand, he appeared to be a stereotypical Texan.
"Please approach and be sworn. You have counsel?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Barnes-Wentworth took the Oath and was seated. His lawyer, a young woman, began questioning him.
"Mr. Barnes-Wentworth, we've presented the Court with genealogical information on how you are related to Ms. Barnes. Why have you waited so long to involve yourself in her life?"
"Well, as it happens so often in Texas, there was a dispute about mineral rights. One branch of the family got left with the family homestead, the other with the mineral rights to it. Unfortunately, although there's lots of oil under the homestead, the soil on top of it isn't good for much of anything--even grazing cattle. I think even goats would have trouble living there. Camels, maybe. Well, be that as it may, the land-Barneses--if I may call them so, as opposed to the oil-Barneses, which are my branch--had a choice. Stay and starve, or go elsewhere. Naturally, they took the latter. They always claimed that we cheated them out of the mineral rights; it was so long ago that I don't know the ins and outs of it, but they wanted little to do with us, and we completely lost track of them, except for an occasional Christmas card or marriage announcement."
"How did you find out about your Cousin Alex?"
"I was contacted by a young man from an organization called the Allied Advocates for the Institutionalized Mentally Ill. He was all het up about her being kept in the snake pit up here, but they needed a blood-relative to get her out."
"Your Honor!" called a man from the gallery.
"Approach the bench. Who are you?"
"Thomas Sullivan; I'm an attorney and represent Conover. I object to the term 'Snake Pit'; Conover is one of the finest psychiatric facilities in the Pacific Northwest."
"So noted, counselor. But there is no jury here. I am aware of Conover's reputation, and will not be swayed by emotional rhetoric. Pray, continue, Mr. Barnes-Wentworth."
"Thank you, your honor. Well, even though I'd never laid eyes on little Alex--hadn't even seen a picture since her baby portrait--family is family, so I came out here to look into the matter. The man's right--Conover's a nice enough place, as those places go. But I can't cotton to having blood kin in such a place, and that's a fact. I want to take her back to Texas. We've got some fine shrinks there at the University of Texas Medical School, and I'll be sure she gets the best of care."
"Mr. Barnes-Wentworth, your attitude does you credit. Would you place your cousin in a facility in Texas?"
"I had thought to keep her at my ranch. There's a little cottage out behind the main house where she would live; I'd get a nurse-companion to stay with her and be sure she took her medicine; I'd take her into the city to see the doctor as often as need be. She'd have the best of care."
"Thank you, Mr. Barnes-Wentworth, " said the judge, "You may step down. We'll hear next from Conover's representative. Dr. Konrad Horvath, I believe?"
Dr. Horvath and Mr. Sullivan entered the bar of the court; Dr. Horvath took Oath and assumed the stand.
"Dr. Horvath, describe for us Ms. Barnes' condition when she came to Conover, and how she progressed."
"Ms. Barnes was totally catatonic. She arrived from somewhere in Central America, where she had apparently taken some native herbal concoction. We had a sample, which was difficult to analyze, but we identified three stimulants and four hallucinogens, not to mention some other substances of unknown properties."
"And what treatment did you apply?"
"First we took steps to flush the remainder of the drug from her system. When we were sure it was gone, we waited for a while for her condition to improve. When it did not, we began giving her some of the medications we use on patients whose catatonia is from other sources. We had to try various combinations before we could bring her out of her trance, and then---Katie bar the door!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Before she was totally non-responsive. Now she was manic. She was violent and almost totally feral. She had to be restrained. We tried giving her medications to calm her down, but they either did not work at all on her, or had such an exaggerated effect that they nearly sent her into a coma. We finally got a combination that seemed to work on her, then some other, totally unexpected symptoms emerged."
"Could you describe them?"
"The patient became intensely photophobic. We had to keep her room in almost total darkness; otherwise she'd scream and cry that the light hurt her eyes. Her other senses became similarly hyperactive. We had to keep her in a soundproof room, and the staff who had to go in were cautioned never to speak above a whisper. We had to have all her clothing and bedding specially washed, as the detergents we normally used irritated her skin. I'd never seen anything like it. I've encountered patients with one or two hyperactive senses, but never all five. And never an adult; this sort of sensitivity is normally found only in autistic children."
"And were you able to help her?"
"Yes, ultimately. We now have her on a cocktail of drugs--some to keep her from slipping back into catatonia, others to keep her from being manic, and still others to control her senses. The combination is complex and highly unstable. We frequently have to change the proportions."
"Frequently?"
"Monthly. Geared to her--er--cycles. That's the major adjustment. We need to make some minor changes almost every week."
"And how is she now?"
"Most lay people would think there was nothing much wrong with her. She appears a quiet, reticent, polite young woman."
"Could she live a normal life?"
"As long as she continued to take her medicine, there is no reason she could not live in some sort of supervised setting, such as a group home, and see her doctor on an outpatient basis."
"Could she hold a job, get her own apartment, something like that?"
"I don't think she's ready for that, yet, if ever. Her short-term memory is not very good, and her long-term memory is--well, I think that layman's term for it would be 'Swiss Cheese.'"
"Could you explain?"
"There are gaps, holes. There are many things she remembers quite well. There are many periods in her life for which she has no memory. She has no idea of why she was in Central America, or why she took the herbal mixture, for example. She becomes frightened and ill if she tries."
"Would you recommend her discharge from Conover?"
"Only to a group home or similar supervised situation."
"Is the one Mr. Barnes-Wentworth described suitable?"
"I'd not really be happy with it. She needs more supervision than a nurse-companion could provide."
"Thank you, doctor."
"Well," said the judge, "We have some people to hear from concerning her life before Conover, and how she came to be there. I also should hear from the young woman herself. How long would it take to bring her from Conover?"
"About half an hour, your honor," said Sullivan, "I understand that she's having a good day today."
"We will take a brief recess, after which I will hear from the other witnesses. If you could get her here by, say, 4:00?"
"Yes, your honor. One thing, your honor, Ms. Barnes is not used to large groups of people, especially strangers. Would it be possible for her to give her testimony in chambers?"
"I'll allow it. This court is in recess for one hour. At that time we will reconvene to hear more testimony, after which I will hear from Ms. Barnes in chambers."
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Well, Alain, you can imagine my relief! I was not happy about confronting Alex in court. Jim said that I was quivering like a Jello salad. That morning I overheard him talking to Simon about me--I swear, just because I don't see or hear as well as he does, sometimes he acts as though I were blind and deaf!--and he said "Jacob's cool as a cucumber; he's also damp, green, and covered with bumps." Funny, yes; also, unfortunately, true.
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"Now," said the judge, "we will hear from the Cascade Police Department's delegation. We will start with Detective Ellison."
"Your honor, I am Matt Greenwood, counsel for the Police Benevolent Association; I will be representing Detectives Ellison and Sandburg."
"Very well. Let Detective Ellison approach and be sworn."
That having been completed, the Sentinel took the stand.
"Detective Ellison, please tell the court in your own words how you first met Ms. Barnes."
"Ms. Barnes was brought into the station for questioning after a traffic accident. She was suspected of driving under the influence, but her tests came back negative. We ran her through the database, however, and discovered that she was wanted in several jurisdictions under both her own name and as Alicia Banister. At the time, Cascade was experiencing a series of break-ins at various high-tech facilities. The things being stolen were valuable to the companies involved, but not really in themselves things that one would want to steal. We discovered later that these crimes were in preparation for a larger one--the theft of some experimental nerve gas from Rainier University. We suspected that Ms. Barnes--or Banister, whatever she was calling herself--was involved, but before we could arrest her she escaped. In the process, she attacked and nearly killed several members of the Major Crime unit. Specifically Inspector Megan Connor (seconded to us from the Royal New South Wales Constabulary), Consultant Blair J. Sandburg, and myself. Consultant Sandburg was the most severely injured; indeed, he was pronounced dead on the scene, although he later was revived."
"What happened then?"
"We received information that the nerve-gas was destined for the Republic of Sierra Verde in Central America. While the international aspect of the crime made it more properly the jurisdiction of the FBI and Interpol, the suspect's attack on our own made it personal. Captain Banks and I went down to co-ordinate matters with the local police; Inspector Connor and Consultant Sandburg followed on their own."
"What happened in Sierra Verde?"
"We were able to track Ms. Barnes down; however, by the time we found her, she had already dosed herself with that hell-brew and was in no condition to either understand the charges or assist in her own defense. I had her flown back to the United States and committed to Conover."
"Why?"
"Whatever she was or may have been, she was still an American citizen. I couldn't stand the thought of her rotting in that asylum in Sierra Verde. I wouldn't condemn my worst enemy to that place. It really deserves the appellation 'snake pit.' I have a portfolio here containing full documentation of the case."
"Thank you, Detective Ellison."
"Call Detective Sandburg."
After the swearing, Matt Greenwood began his questions.
"Please state your name."
"Blair Jacob Sandburg. I go by Jacob."
"Very well, Detective Sandburg. At the time Ms. Barnes went on her alleged crime-spree in Cascade, were you with the police department?"
"Sort of."
"Please explain what you mean by 'Sort of'."
"Well, I was not a sworn officer then. I was a graduate student in the behavioral sciences at Rainier, and was doing some consulting work for the police."
"What was your specific area of study?"
"I was working on people with heightened senses. You know, like those people you read about in perfume companies who can take one whiff and tell you exactly what essences are in a given cologne, or the coffee-tasters who can take a sip and tell you where the beans were grown. I was specifically looking for someone with all five senses heightened."
"Why?"
"I had read accounts--historical, legendary, and mythical--of such people who had used their extraordinary powers to protect their communities. Sir Richard Burton wrote about them; he called them 'Sentinels.'"
"Sir Richard Burton? The actor?"
"No, the explorer and linguist. He's most known today for his translation of the Kama Sutra."
"I don't think we need dwell on that," said the blushing lawyer, "But tell us, according to your research how did the ancient Sentinels use their senses to protect their communities?"
"Well, they could lead hunting parties, act as scouts in time of war, patrol the borders of the tribe's territory, sense changes of weather--like approaching storms--or incipient natural disasters--like earthquakes. I could not find any reason why these abilities should have died out; it logically followed that such people still existed, and I wanted to find them."
"Why?"
"To study them, to come to understand them. And to help them use their abilities as the ancient Sentinels did."
"You say 'behavioral sciences.' Was that Psychology? Anthropology? Sociology?"
"Mostly Anthropology—Social & Cultural, not Physical; some Psychology and History. Officially, my B.A., M.A., and M.Phil. are all in Anthropology, but I took about thirty graduate semester hours in both History and Psychology; also, the difference between Social/Cultural Anthropology and Sociology is really minimal. I'm currently working on a second M.A. in Psychology, by correspondence from a British university."
"Detective Sandburg, you heard Dr. Horvath's description of Ms. Barnes sensitivities to stimuli. Did you notice such sensitivity when you met her?"
"Yes. I overheard her in the police station, talking about how the lights bothered her, and how her clothing irritated her skin. This piqued my curiosity, and I asked her to come to my office so that I could test her."
"Did you do so?"
"Yes, and I found that she had all five senses enhanced. Or, at least, that was my opinion. I couldn't prove it, however."
"Why not?"
"Because she was mentally unstable. I performed a variety of psychological tests on her."
"And what were the results?"
"Please bear in mind that I am not a licensed clinical psychologist. This is not to be taken as a diagnosis."
"Understood."
"She suffered from hallucinations and had schizophrenic tendencies. Although I could usually verify the things she was claimed to perceive with her heightened senses, there were a significant number of times in which her senses played her false. Then there were the times I couldn't tell one way or the other. There was no way to tell where her heightened senses ended and her delusions began. She was useless as a research subject. There were other reasons."
"What were they?"
"All the accounts of ancient Sentinels I had been able to gather spoke of a powerful need in a Sentinel to protect the tribe, however defined. Ms. Barnes was totally lacking in that instinct; quite the reverse."
"How so?"
"My tests indicated that she was—and probably still is—a sociopath. The moral and ethical rules of society did not register with her. Moral reasoning for her was like discussing opera with a deaf person, or showing an Impressionist painting to a color-blind person. Nobody who annoyed or offended her seemed, to her way of thinking, have the right to exist. She was the sort of person to pull out a shotgun and blow you away if you cut in front of her in the grocery line. Well, I may be exaggerating, but not by much."
"How did you feel about that?"
"It frightened me; Sentinel powers are subject to abuse. Think of the eavesdropping possibilities of enhanced hearing alone! When I learned that she was prime suspect in the robberies, including the nerve gas, my feelings changed from fear to terror. Then, she tried to kill me."
"What happened?"
"She came to my office. She said that she bore me no ill will, and was even somewhat grateful--whatever that means from someone like her--for helping her to understand and control her enhanced senses. But she said that she couldn't leave any witnesses behind. She forced me at gunpoint out of my office, struck me over the head--I presume with the butt of her pistol--and, while I was semiconscious, held me under the water of the Hargrove Fountain until the bubbles stopped coming. It is a minor miracle I'm still alive."
"How do you feel about her possibly being released from Conover?"
"I think it is a very bad idea. I haven't interviewed her recently, but in my opinion she will always pose a danger to herself and others. Even if she's currently controlled by drugs, she could stop taking them, or her particular cocktail might become ineffective. She would become dangerous again. And how long can the pharmaceutical balancing act last? My studies informed me that people with heightened senses, especially when two or more are heightened, often react oddly to pharmaceuticals--especially ones which work on the central nervous system. One of my subjects, for example, was knocked flat on his. . .er. . .behind by a common O.T.C. cold medicine. No, even if she did not figure so prominently in my nightmares, I would not want her out on the streets."
"Thank you, Detective."
"Now," said the judge, "I see several other members of the bar here. Whom do you represent?"
A woman arose.
"We've decided that, to save the Court's time, we would have me speak for all of us and present our individual statements in writing. We represent the Attorneys-General of Washington, Oregon, California, and several other States, as well as the U.S. Attorney's Office and the Consulates of Canada, Sierra Verde, and Australia. All the governments involved have pending charges or convictions against Ms. Barnes. If she is well enough to leave the hospital, she is well enough to either face the charges or serve her sentences. We've not agreed, however, as to who gets first crack at her."
"Although that last question is for another forum, I'll certainly take your points under consideration; please see that my clerk gets your written statements. I will speak to Ms. Barnes in chambers now. Court will re-convene two days hence, at which time I will make my decision."
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Well, Alain, you can imagine that I had a very bad two days. But, all is well as ends well. The judge did make Alex' cousin her guardian, but only on the condition that she remain in Conover or a facility of equivalent security. Her cousin had her moved to a hospital in Texas. We got a message from the Texas Rangers that she is, indeed, in that hospital, and there she will stay. If she ever gets out, she'll be an old, old woman and no threat to anyone.
I have a picture in my mind of a wrinkled, grey-haired Alex using a walker to chase an equally elderly me in a wheelchair around Hargrove Fountain, with a totally-bald Jim coming along behind us with his cane. I can hear him now, "Dammit, Chief, eighty-eight years old and still a trouble-magnet!"
So, Alain, what are you doing these days--either in archaeology or with your other interests? Are you planning to come to Cascade any time soon? When you do come, Jim and I may have a proposition for you.
Have a good Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Your friend,
B. Jacob Sandburg
Alain folded up the letter. Yes, indeed, he wanted to see his young friend again soon. His project in Egypt would soon be at a point where he could return to Canada, and a little trip over the border to Cascade would not be unreasonable. He glanced around the café.
Hello! Who was that? He'd know that handsome, evil face anywhere. Lee Brackett! What was he doing in Cairo? Up to no good, no doubt.
Alain slipped his hand through the slit in his cassock; the nunchaku were there, firmly strapped to his thigh. A few more pats revealed that other surprises were concealed where they were supposed to be. He rose, drawing his black cloak around himself, and pulled the hood up over his head. He needed to alert British and Canadian Intelligence about this, and perhaps the Egyptian authorities, but before he could do that he needed more information. Alain Reynolds--priest, scholar, martial artist, freelance international covert operator--stepped out into the rapidly-falling darkness of an Egyptian night, intent on his quarry. So intent he did not see the dark figures behind him.
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In Cascade, Washington the Jewish Shaman said the prayer and lit the Chanukah lights for that night. He and his partner stepped back, and he picked up his guitar. He struck a chord and their voices raised, tenor and baritone:
=1=
Rock of Ages, let our song
Praise Thy saving power!
Thou, amidst the raging foes,
wast our sheltering tower1
Furious, they assailed us,
But Thy arm prevailed for us,
And Thy Word
Broke their sword
When our own strength failed us!
=2=
Kindling new the holy lamps,
Priests, approved in suffering,
Purified the nation’s shrine,
Brought to thee their offering.
And, thy courts surrounding,
then, in joy abounding,
Happy throngs,
Singing songs
With a mighty sounding.
=3=
Children of the Maccabees,
Whether free or fettered!
Wake the echoes of those songs,
Whereso 'er ye be scattered!
Yours the message cheering
That the time is nearing
Which will see
the whole world free,
Tyrants disappearing!
As they were finishing the last verse, the doors to the balcony flew open, as a strong wind filled the apartment, blowing out the Menorah. A sound like the howling of a wolf mixed with the scream of a great cat echoed in the loft. The two men leapt forward and wrestled the balcony doors shut.
When they turned to survey the room, they saw remarkably little damage. Three books were off the shelves, and lay together on the floor in a rough triangle. They were:
The Holy Bible
The Stones Themselves Cry Out: Archaeology of the Bible Lands
Practical Martial Arts for Fitness & Self-Defense
The two men looked at one another and spoke four words in unison:
"Alain is in trouble."
=end=