Run For Their Lives

Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

?What should we do, Mary? We have to do something.?
Sam could tell that Lyle was used to consulting Mary, at least where the children were concerned. Sam couldn?t quite fathom the man out. He obviously loved his daughters and feared for them, but there was something strange in his demeanor, as if he were distancing himself from the situation.
There was something deeper going on here, and Sam would have to work out what it was ? just as soon as his head cleared. Right now, it hurt like hell, the effort of thinking making it throb anew, and he groaned softly in spite of himself.
?Ooooh, Oi?ve the very divil of a headache.?
Once more Strickland reacted as if he?d forgotten Mary was there. He moved back to the chair and bent over her.
?Sorry, Mary, how thoughtless of me. Are you all right? Let me take a look at you.? He examined the back of Sam?s head clumsily and tutted even as Sam hissed with pain. ?Gosh, this looks really nasty. I?d better call an ambulance. You just hang tight.? He started for the phone again.
?No!? Sam protested, and again tried in vain to get to his feet.
Al was hovering, his concern increasing as he too took a closer look. Fingers playing on keys with long practiced agility, he summoned up Ziggy?s diagnosis.
?He?s right, Sam. You?ve got a hairline skull fracture where the cerebellum meets the oxy?? he nudged the side of the com-link with the heel of his thumb as one might, in times past, have nudged a juke box whose needle had got stuck in its vinyl groove. It hiccupped. ?Occipital lobe. You should get it seen to. There could be all sorts of complications.?
Had it been the real Mary McGillicuddy, or any other patient, Dr Beckett would have heartily concurred. Would have insisted most emphatically on immediate medical attention, X-rays, stitches, bed-rest, wrapping in cotton wool, the works. But he was not Mary.
He was Sam Beckett, Leaper, time traveler, and man with a mission. He didn?t have time for such precautions.
?No hospital.? He told both men, in a tone that brooked no argument, adding form the corner of his mouth to Al, ?If?n they get me in dere, it?ll be Observation for at least 48hours. Those girls may not have that long.?
?What are you saying?? demanded Strickland. Though he was pretty sure he had heard he didn?t want to draw the obvious conclusion.
?It?s my fault. Dose girls were in my charge. Oi was here to protect dem, and Oi failed. Now Oi?m goin? to get them back safely if it?s the last t?ing Oi do.?
The hand link squealed.
?Careful, Sam. Ziggy says there?s an 81.3 percent chance it could be just that.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

Sam was the last person to embrace a death wish, but, rough as he felt, he didn?t seriously believe that self-sacrifice would be a prerequisite of his current task. He had arrogantly assumed too much on arrival, had allowed his guard to drop, and for that he willingly accepted what he considered a lenient punishment. His pain would pass. The guilt was harder to endure. If he failed now, Shelley-Anne and Tori would pay the ultimate price for his negligence, and that was an option he was not prepared to consider. He found himself trembling.
Strickland seemed to soften a little. He squeezed Mary?s shoulder almost affectionately and then moved over to the bar, where he poured himself a stiff drink, which he sank in a single draught. He replenished his glass, and then held the bottle toward Sam. ?Can I pour you a brandy? You look as if you could use it.?
?No, t?anks,? declined Sam, who - addled as he was ? still knew that concussion and Cognac made for a catastrophic combination. ?But Oi?ll take some ice, if?n you have it.?
Displaying an unexpected degree of practicality, Strickland took a glass-cloth from behind the bar and spread it on the counter. Then he upended the ice bucket into the center of it, drawing up the corners to form a crude ice pack. Once he was satisfied that it was securely tied, he passed it over to Sam, who placed it gingerly up against the site of the injury. The initial shock of contact made him wince, but he persevered, and was rewarded by a blessed numbness, which crept slowly across his skull.
?Better?? Strickland returned to the bar and refilled his glass a third time.
?Mm-hmm,? Sam decided against nodding, ?Oi?m getting dere. Oi?ll be fine, just as soon as someone shoots dis herd o? wild elephants what?s rampaging trew me brain.?
Despite his concern for his friend?s welfare, Al sniggered. It was very strange to hear Sam speaking in the Celtic vernacular, and in other circumstances it would have led to some strong ribbing on his part. Al made himself a promise to get in a few caustic digs once Sam was back up to par.
Strickland settled himself wearily onto a barstool and sighed. ?What am I to do, Mary? Those girls are all I have left.?
?Find them.? What to the father sounded like a simple statement, the Observer knew to be somewhere between an instruction and a desperate plea from the heart. He keyed in the inquiry.
?We?re working on it, Sam. Ziggy?s pulling out all the stops but it could take some time.? Some things never changed.
?How?? Strickland retorted.
?You are going to pay?? It was not so much a question as a request for confirmation.
?Of course I?ll pay ? anything. Whatever it takes.?
?Then you just organize the cash. Oi don?t tink dey?ll accept travelers checks. Leave the rest to me.?
?YOU? What can you do?? The tone held implied criticism ? ?you couldn?t even stop them being taken? ? that wounded Sam more deeply than the head blow could ever have done.
?Whatever it takes.? Sam echoed his own words back to him, ?OI promise. Oi?ll get them home.? As if to prove it, Sam rose determinedly to his feet. But having regained the perpendicular, he found his sense of balance sadly lacking. He swayed alarmingly, head bowed, feeling nauseous, clutching at the writing desk to keep himself from falling.
Strickland leapt to his own feet, and raced to lend a supporting arm.
?Whoa, you?re not the bionic woman you know, Mrs. M.? He chided. ?I guess there?s nothing either of us can do till they get in touch again. You?d best get a good night?s rest. Dig a couple of aspirins out of that pantechnicon of yours, eh?? He put an arm round behind Mary?s waist and slid the other beneath her lower arm from wrist to elbow.
?Can you walk??
Sam forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on his employer as the room swam before his eyes. He was relieved that he managed to make slow progress thus, rather than have to suffer the indignity of being carried.
His symptoms were fully consistent with the injury Al had ascribed to him, affecting as it did the areas controlling balance, co-ordination and vision. He would have to pace himself until he regained full mastery of these functions, but he had the advantage of an extra set of eyes to help him.
He?d cope. He had to.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

?Oi?ll just get me heed down for a wee while. Oi?ll be okay.? He spoke his thoughts aloud as Lyle led him back into the bedroom where he?d first arrived, as much to convince himself as to reassure the two concerned onlookers. Lyle helped his housekeeper over to her bed. He turned back the covers and eased her into a sitting position, then bade her a civil goodnight, before beating a tactful retreat, taking the now melting ice pack with him.
Sam sat immobile on the edge of the bed. He was still holding the back of his head with his left hand. His right elbow rested on the corresponding knee, hand propping up his forehead.
?Honestly, Sam. I can?t turn my back on you for two minutes without you getting into trouble, can I?? Al adopted his jovial approach once more; knowing Sam would not tolerate being lectured on his refusal to seek medical attention. It was true, he propounded, that Doctors certainly made the worst patients. To which Sam retorted ?Physician heal thyself?? adding with a wry grin, ?give me a minute and Oi?ll fetch a needle and thread from Mary?s holdall and stitch meself up, so Oi will.?
?You?ll be telling me next you?re seeing stars, buddy.? Taunted the hologram, receiving exactly the reply he?d anticipated.
?And whose fault might dat be??
Al made a big show of buttoning his jacket to cover up the flamboyant waistcoat, which consisted of celestial bodies in gold emblazoned on a rich blue background in the style of astrological emblems ? stylized crescent moons vying for a patch of quilted sky with cross shaped stars, long-tailed comets and smiling suns sporting alternate sharp triangular and soft waving rays.
?Sure ?n? when Oi first came to and laid eyes on dat, Oi t?ought Oi?d died and gone t? heav?n, so Oi did.? Every once in a while, as now, a bemused expression mingled with the look of suffering on Sam?s face, as he tried to come to terms with this strange dialect he found himself spouting.
Al should have been relieved by the jocular banter, but Sam was sitting altogether too still. His friend would never volunteer how badly he was incapacitated, so Al probed, ?Good trick, that, Sam: exaggerating your infirmity so he?d leave us alone.?
He waved a hand in the direction Lyle had taken. Even as he spoke he was tapping at his com-link, getting Ziggy to update the information on Sam?s true state of health, whilst pretending to research the mission.
?So, uhhhn, who?s exaggerating?? confessed Sam wearily, kicking off the shoes and keeling over onto the bed. He scrunched up the pillow beneath his head and curled up in an almost fetal position, snatching the covers over his still fully clothed body.
?What have you got for me, Al?? His voice was thick, strained.
?Not much, I?m afraid. We are working long distance, you know.?
Al paused. He wasn?t sure how much Sam did know. ?That is, uh, you?ve Leaped in?.?
?Into London, November 30th 1988, Oi know, Oi know, Al. Cut to da chase will ya. Oi can hardly keep me eyes open.?
Sam wriggled about, trying to get comfortable, breathing noisily, brow furrowed. Whilst he didn?t normally believe in pumping his body full of chemicals at the slightest provocation, he would have been prepared to make an exception in this case, and found Lyle?s suggestion of aspirin very tempting. Only problem was, that would have meant getting out of bed and hunting them out, fetching water, and generally moving about a good deal more than his giddy head could even bear to contemplate.
?Ziggy?s finished checking the original history, Sam. There isn?t a lot to tell. The kidnappers and their hideout were never found, so we have no way of knowing where the girls are being held right now. This Ouse is a long river, and their bodies didn?t turn up for a couple of days. They could have been thrown in anywhere. Ziggy isn?t prepared to extrapolate on whereabouts or exactly when they died. She says??
?Whoa, back up.? Sam rolled over with a soft growl, rubbing his eyes. ?Am Oi being dense, or just missing something? Oi should be Leaping any minute, right? You said, uh, you said they died cos their Da called the po-leece. Oi changed that didn?t Oi? So now he pays the ransom, gets the girls back and lives happily ever after, yes? No??
For his friend?s sake, Al wished wholeheartedly that it could have been that simple. It almost never was, though, and this Leap was no exception.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

?You have changed history, Sam. The absolute certainty of their deaths has now dropped to odds of around 77% on the kidnappers killing them. Ziggy won?t be more precise, says there are too many variables. With no known location to lock onto, you can?t just rescue them. Your best chance is to deliver the ransom and then follow them back to the girls when they collect it. I can help you keep tabs on them. But you?d already thought of that when you were talking to old money bags, right??
?Wha-?? Oh, Oi guess so.? Sam was operating more or less on automatic pilot and was in no mood or condition to intellectualize on what he may or may not have said or done, much less why. Questions and theories tended to occur to him instinctively even at the best of times ? which this certainly wasn?t ? but the questions still came.
?How?d he come by his money? Inherited? Could there be a motive there??
?Remember Franklin?s Department Stores?? Al ploughed on without waiting for Sam?s reply. ?Frank was Lyle?s father. He set up the first two in New York and Boston. Successful and profitable, but relatively small-time. Lyle is the one with the real business acumen. He inherited the stores at 21 when his father died, and over the next decade or so he turned them into a worldwide chain, almost as widespread as McDonald?s. He?s one of the youngest, richest, brightest tycoons of his day. He?s in the British Isles now to negotiate details of franchises on six new stores in major cities, to add to the three already established in London, Birmingham and Glasgow. Only according to Ziggy, it all goes sour. When he identified the girl?s bodies, he went to pieces. Got blind drunk and hurled himself off Westminster Bridge. Still will if you don?t bring his daughters back safely. ?
Al knew that Sam felt responsible for the situation, he felt that way himself. If only he?d gone straight to his friend when the Leap started, there was a good chance none of this would have happened. But the Admiral, while big in heart, was diminutive in stature. There was only so much of him to go around. It was pointless wishing things otherwise; they would just have to make the best of it. And Al was every bit as determined as his Mr. Fixit buddy that things would turn out for the best in the end. Weighed down by the added guilt of knowing he?d allowed his friend to get hurt, he sought to reassure the Leaper.
?Don?t worry, pal. I?ll have Ziggy pull out all the stops on this one. We?ll stuff the databanks so full of local maps and likely scenarios that they?ll be coming out of her gauge circuits. We?ll find them, Sam, I promise.?
But Sam was no longer listening. He had drifted into an uneasy kind of sleep.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Shelley had tried to scream again, but the sound stuck in her throat. She buried her sister?s face into her chest, so that Tori should not see Nanny?s bloodied head, closing her own eyes against the horrific image and trying to will away the wicked witch who was coming to get them. She felt something soft on her face, only it didn?t feel like Nanny?s comforting bosom, and it didn?t smell of her familiar perfume. Before she had time to worry about it, the chloroform had rendered her insensible.
??Ave you killed her, Henry?? asked the woman, as she blindfolded and bound the girls, and then bundled them into the laundry cart, covering them with sheets.
Her voice held a thrill in it, as if the idea excited her.
?Course not.? Replied the man called Henry in a hurt tone, bending over Sam and checking the faint pulse in the neck just to be sure.
?Then get her trussed up and let?s get out of ?ere before someone sees us.?
For a couple of minutes both beavered away with the ropes in silence. Then the chambermaid made a quick tour of the room, making sure they had left no clues. She switched off the television as she passed it, and picked up the cloth Henry had used to attack the Nanny. She held it up to him accusingly.
?You weren?t going to leave this, were you??
?Course not. ? he replied again, as if it were his standard response to any question, one of five phrases programmed in and produced at random when you pressed his button or pulled his cord.
?I?ve spent too long planning this to have you go and blow it now.? She chided, tucking the cloth into her apron pocket alongside the napkin she had used herself.
?Calm down, honey, I?m not gonna blow anything.? He soothed with a cocky grin. ?We?re gonna clean up and live happily ever after.? He waved the ransom note toward his partner, and then pressed it to his lips before stuffing it into the old woman?s cleavage with a flourish, tweaking at it like he was arranging a napkin in a wine glass.
?Not if you keep calling me honey, we won?t,? she replied icily. ?You know how I hate it. My name is Honor.? She stated this last with the exasperated tone of one who had been saying it all her life, a prissy little madam pointing out her identity to a forgetful teacher.
?Sor-ry.? The apology sounded less than sincere. Henry was also put out. This was an old argument between them.
?Come on,? she hissed, ?before Angie comes back on duty and someone notices two identical chambermaids. The whole idea is that any witnesses think I?m her, remember??
?Course.?
Henry moved round to the other side of the trolley and helped her to push it back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him, then hanging the ?Do not disturb? sign on the knob. ?That should keep the nosey-parkers out until his nibs gets home.?
After a quick glance up and down the corridor to determine whether or not they were being observed they hastened to the service elevator, which they rode to the basement car park of the hotel. There, a convenient ramp led from the lifts, enabling the carts to be unloaded into the daily laundry trucks.
This time, however, Henry scuttled out and fetched his Vauxhall Astra van from its parking bay in a shadowy corner of the staff section. He backed it up to the ramp and opened the rear doors.
?Give us a hand,? ordered Honor, lifting the first bundle onto her shoulder, ?these @#%$ are dead weight.?
Henry helped her to manhandle the unconscious children onto the floor of his van, pushing aside a couple of FOR SALE boards he?d forgotten to dump at the end of his working day.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 4 cont

Honor sighed. She had spent months touring her local estate agents for a contact who could get her the information she needed. At first she had dated some of the negotiators themselves, but although most of them had been less than honest by nature, not one had been what she considered kidnapper material. So she had started on the board men; who were ideally placed to find out which properties were empty and if and when they ceased to be so.
Finally, she had come across Henry, named for Henry Cooper the pugilist. Very fitting, she thought, since he was all brawn and no brains. Not her type at all, he was chosen for lack of a more suitable alternative, and because he was gullible enough to believe that she really cared for him and would share her ill-gotten gains and her future with him. What on earth he imagined she could possibly see in him was beyond her, but she played her part well, and he was easy enough to string along. And what he lacked in insight, he made up in a willingness to please that meant he generally did as she required of him like a well-trained puppy-dog.
He?d proved himself a gem at weeding out good holding sites; she?d give him that. He?d found the ideal spot, and three sound back-ups in case any should be sold and re-occupied before she could do her part and pick out the best target from among the hotel guests. Even so, she would be relieved when this was all over and ? cash in hand ? she could dispose of Henry along with all the other loose ends.
For her own peace of mind, she made sure the girls were safely nestled in their couchette, wedged in tight enough that they would not be tossed around the van too much. At this stage, she needed them in one piece. She shut and locked the doors, then clambered into the passenger seat, pulling off her blonde wig and shaking free her own rich mahogany tresses, raking her hands through the tangled locks and massaging the top of her head.
The journey was a long one ? and their getaway vehicle was not exactly Grand Prix material ? but the last thing they needed or wanted was to attract attention by getting stopped for speeding. For the most part there was silence between them, and after a while Honor switched on the radio, not for the music, but to be sure their activities were not the subject of a news flash.
When the nine o?clock news came and went without comment, she nodded to herself in satisfaction. Apart from Henry?s clumsy tackling of the old girl ? who had shown far greater resistance than she?d anticipated ? things were going more or less exactly to plan.
Honor sniggered softly to herself, as she drew mental pictures of herself as a millionaire, enjoying all the things she had always dreamed of. She?d have her pick of the men too, instead of having to put up with the likes of Henry.
Yes, the eligible bachelors would be queuing up at the door of her country mansion. Life would be sweet, and a million miles from the council estate where she and her four irksome brothers and sisters had grown up crammed in a tiny three-bedroom mid-terrace slum.

As he drove, Henry too was fantasizing about the good life this caper would provide, and thanking his lucky stars that he of all people should meet up with a girl like Honor, who was not just beautiful, but smart and ambitious and who was going to make them richer than he could possibly imagine. She could be a bit hard on him sometimes, but that was mostly his own fault. He found it hard to remember everything he was supposed to do and he couldn?t blame her for getting impatient with him. His own mother had reacted to him in much the same way. He was only grateful that Honor bothered with him at all, and he was determined that she wouldn?t regret it. He was going to make her proud and happy and be a good husband. His face creased into a grin as broad as a Cheshire cat?s. If his Mum could only see him now! She?d always told him he was a loser and wouldn?t amount to anything, but he?d struck gold. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he hummed softly to himself the tune of Abba?s ?Money, Money, Money?.
Honor smiled a secret smile of her own. She looked out of the window at the night, which though dismal from the torrential rain that hammered on the roof of the van, nevertheless seemed to her the most beautiful night of her life, as her schemes at last began to come to fruition. The streetlights struck the rain soaked windscreen and splattered like searchlights, seeking to put her in the spotlight where she belonged, where she had always belonged.

~~~***~~~​
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 4 cont

Yawning and stretching, Admiral Calavicci shuffled slowly out of the Imaging Chamber.
He was tired. He was worried.
It had been a very long day. He had every expectation that it was not over yet, not by a long way. He was getting too old for all this. He rubbed his temples as he made his way down the slope, eyes downcast lest his weary feet should miss their footing.
?Dr Beckett is not seriously injured, I hope?? came the tentative query from behind the control desk.
?So do I, Gushie, so do I,? Al replied, automatically. Without looking up he put his hand link down on its recharging pad and trudged towards the exit, but stopped before he was halfway to the door. He turned on his heels and looked back at the Chief Programmer, whom he?d left ? heaven knew how long ago ? in the motor pool, nursing a bomb. He tilted his head and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, as if he doubted the evidence of his own eyes.
?Gushie??
The little man grinned broadly, enjoying the Observer?s double take. ?In the flesh, Admiral, and very much alive, I?m happy to report.?
?And I?m happy to hear it, Gush.? Al?s relief reflected in the relaxation of his shoulders. He was Atlas, and Zeus had just permitted him to pass on the weight of the World for another to carry the burden awhile. ?But why didn?t? uh I told Ziggy to?? the words tumbled from his mouth, tripping on his tongue before he could order them into coherent sentences. There was some slight indignation at being kept in the dark, but more perplexity at Ziggy?s less than efficient omission.
Up in the ceiling, a sphere danced with bluey-yellow lightening flashes, like those old crystal ball style globes, which followed the static in your hands as you caressed it. ?I was requested to withhold the information, Admiral. Gushie insisted the revelation would have greater impact if he delivered it in person- vis-?-vis.?
?You can say that again!? Al gave Gushie a hearty slap on the back.
When first created, Ziggy would have taken such a statement literally and repeated the explanation verbatim somewhat impatiently, but by now she had a whole catalogue of ?just an expression? phrases. It was her considered opinion that human brains were cluttered up with far too much of such trivia, which served only to obscure the facts. Why couldn?t people be like computers and simply say exactly what they meant? Things were much more clear-cut to a parallel hybrid computer. For example, she had not mentioned to the Admiral the dramatic moment when Corporal Kincaid ? exultant at having defused the bomb ? let slip his wire cutters and smashed some casing within the incendiary device. She had not mentioned it for the simple reason that she had not been asked, and deemed it insignificant since the desired outcome had been achieved nonetheless.
Instead, she relegated it to the data storage area of her million-plus terabyte capacity.
Al was not interested in a blow-by-blow account, he was just satisfied that the result had been a positive one. Now he could concentrate his energies on helping Sam.
Well, perhaps not right now.
His friend was sleeping off a headache, in a lull before what could very easily turn out to be a doozy of a storm. The Observer decided he could do worse than follow suit and have an early night. Since he?d had a belly full of duty, and Tina was still not coming out to play these days, there was little else to do. And the incredibly irregular hours Sam?s Leaps forced him to keep meant he?d learnt to snatch sleep whenever the opportunity arose. So, after exchanging a few more sagacity?s with Gushie, and having instructed Ziggy to make a note that he was recommending Kincaid for a commendation, Al bade them both a good night and headed for his quarters, knowing Ziggy would wake him if and when Sam had need of him again.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 4 cont

Los Angeles.
Sat Jan 4th 2003​

Studying her reflection in the mirror, the woman smiled. She was looking good; the years were still being kind, even on the wrong side of 30. She finished applying her make up and brushed out her long, sleek, jet-black hair. She would wear it down tonight, she decided, and it was a statement of intent as much as one of fashion. At least she still knew how to have fun. Stepping over the threshold of her walk-in wardrobe, she picked out a figure hugging evening gown in an eye-catching jade ? to match perfectly her own sparkling green eyes. The bodice was sequined, crossing over her firm ample bust and accentuating her slender shoulders as it rose to a halter neck. The satin skirt clung to her hips and followed her long legs down to the ankles, with a slit up the right hand side, which showed a flash of shapely thigh as she sashayed across the floor. Smoothing it down across her model-flat stomach, she picked out her accessories. High heels in the exact same shade; emerald and diamond jewelry that dripped from her ears and neck and adorned her wrist over the long silky gloves, which rose past her elbows and added to the overall impression of commanding height and superiority. Sally believed in power dressing.
One last admiring glance in the mirror and she was ready, picking up her clutch bag which was sequined like her bodice. Her wedding and engagement rings she left on the alabaster hand that reached up out of her dresser. If he changed his mind and accompanied her, she would come back for them. It would only take a moment.
She found him, predictably, in his den, pouring over some complex computer program that she didn?t even pretend to try and understand.
?Well?? she interrogated as she draped herself in the doorway. He did not look up right away, which she was sure was done just to annoy her. When he finally tore himself away, swiveling round in his chair to face her, he smiled, and his eyes widened in genuine appreciation.
?Wow, you look knock out!?
Hope soared within for precious seconds, and she asked in an eager tone, ?Are you coming then?? Only to evaporate as he half turned back to his precious machine.
?Aw, not tonight darling.? He looked at her over his shoulder, eyes bright and excited as a kid on the way to Disneyland. ?I?m getting some real good results here.? He began tapping at the keys again. ?You go ahead. Have yourself a great time. I can?t leave this now. If only I can iron these bugs out?? he was talking to himself more than to his wife, and didn?t even notice when, with an ?oh well, his loss? shrug of her shoulders, she turned on her heels and slunk away.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 4 cont

QLHQ.
Sunday Jan 5th 2003​

Admiral Albert Calavicci had no need to wait for his alarm to sound reveille.
By 04:00 hours he was wide-awake, bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for the day. A good sound sleep, coupled with the relief of knowing that QLHQ had not been blown to kingdom come meant that he was in a very positive frame of mind. He showered and shaved and found himself a jaunty outfit to match his mood. The emerald green suit had broad lapels, and upon the left a four-leaf clover badge edged in gilt bore witness to his sailor?s superstitious nature. Suede shoes matched the shade to perfection. The shirt was diagonally threaded through with gold filigree in both directions, to form diamonds. The tie was an undulating green-and-gold banded snake, which coiled its way around his neck and flicked out its forked tongue at his belt.
He ate a hearty breakfast at an uncommonly leisurely pace, and by the time most of the rest of the complex was stirring from their slumbers, he had seriously depleted the contents of his ?IN? tray. Then, having established with Ziggy that Sam ? being on Greenwich Mean, 1988, Time, ? was not yet in urgent need of a wake up call, he decided it was high time he made his obligatory visit to the Waiting Room. It was possible that Mary may have retained some scrap of knowledge that could be useful to her impersonator. Al had an uneasy feeling that Sam was going to need all the help he could get on this one.
So it was that at 09:00 hours, cigar in hand and brushed velvet fedora set at a rakish angle on his head, Al stepped purposefully in to meet the Milesian Mrs. Mary McGillicuddy.
As usual, she had received the briefest of explanations as to her current circumstances, strictly need-to-know, but at least she hadn?t collapsed with the screaming hab-dabs and required sedating as some did, unable to cope with even the little they were allowed to grasp. In fact, Dr Beeks had told him she was a very levelheaded woman, who had accepted her situation calmly.
Al was therefore somewhat taken aback by her reaction when he entered the room. She took one look, stood up, took another look ? wide eyed and incredulous ? sat back down, crossed herself, and pronounced, ?Oh boy, it?s a leprechaun!?
Given that such creatures are traditionally portrayed as wizened old men, Al?s first instinct was to be offended. Then he looked at the twinkle in her eyes, and afterward down at his emerald green attire, and he had to admit that subconsciously he had dressed the part. He burst out laughing, and doffed his hat to her.
?At your service, my dear. ?Though I can?t give you a crock of gold if you catch me!?
?Come to think of it,? she retorted, ?that?s the wrong sort of hat. And where?s your dudheen? Since when have the little people been smoking cigars?? She laughed merrily. Al decided he liked Mary. Not in the way he normally took to members of the fair sex, but with the affection one felt for a favorite maiden aunt. Grinning broadly, he introduced himself and she patted the bed on which she sat, inviting him to join her.
?I?ve been expecting you,? she informed him. ?I?ve heard all about you.? Her tone was a mischievous tease.
?You ?you have? Well don?t? I mean you don?t want to?. That is?? Al spluttered and squirmed and Mary laughed again.
?Don?t worry Admiral,? she reassured, smiling Sam?s disarming smile, ?I?ve been looking forward to our little chat.? Just as Sam had absorbed much of her strong Irish brogue, so correspondingly had it diminished in her, and she spoke with a curious mix of Sam?s comparatively mild American accent and a mere trace of her own. It was this duality in their guests that generally made Al so reluctant to socialize. He was the only one who retained an awareness of both personalities when speaking to each of the displaced persons.
It made it hard for him.
Sometimes it made it damned hard.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 4 cont

Perceiving his best friend as the sensational Samantha Stormer, he had made Ziggy tweak their neural link, and then been faced with seeing Sam?s reproving looks behind her come-to-bed eyes. Then seeing clearly the pure crazed murderous hatred of Leon Styles pulling the trigger to kill him, with Sam?s hand on the gun, Sam?s face gloating as he fell. Knowing full well it wasn?t Sam, yet still the feeling of betrayal hurt more than the bullet slamming into the flak jacket.
Not to mention the most unnerving experience of all, strolling into the Waiting Room expecting to confront Sam?s familiar form, and seeing within his friend?s features an infinitely more familiar face looking back at him ? a face from his past. His own face - some forty odd years younger - but unmistakably himself.

Now he sat beside Mary, and began as always with the banal queries. Was she comfortable? Were they feeding her properly? Did she have any complaints? She replied that she had been through all this with ?that lovely Dr Beeks? and reiterated that she was in excellent health, and spirits, save for her concern for the children she was neglecting by not being there. Initial reassurances as to their well being had become vague mumblings and changed subjects. She knew that something was amiss and now demanded to be told what it was. Her determined expression was at once both typical Sam Beckett and pure Irish Nanny, and neither would brook any prevarication when they required answers. So Al came clean.
??but Sam is gonna get them back, for sure.? He concluded, asserting the inevitability of this outcome as much to convince himself as to placate Mary, whose hands had flown to her face in horror at the news of the kidnap, and had remained there as the story unfolded.
?He?d better, mister.? She proclaimed, lowering her hands to form fists, which she shook menacingly in Al?s face. ?I love those girls like they was me own, you know.? A wistful look crept across her face, and she reached out to touch Al?s arm, holding his eyes with her own. She spoke softly now, but earnestly.
?We can?t let anything happen to them. I?ve raised them both. Been a mother to them all through. And their mother before them, did you know that??
Al shook his head, reading both great pride and a deep sadness in her expression. Beeks was usually the one to conduct the therapy sessions, but he sensed her need to talk, and he knew how to be a good listener when the occasion arose, especially if it might give Sam an edge. Patting her gently on the hand, he encouraged her to tell him all about it, whatever she could remember.
?I?ve always loved children,? she began, ?come from a big family, see. There was Michael and Patrick, and then meself,? she was counting them off on her fingers, ?After that came the twins, Clodagh and Kathleen, then Colm and Bernadette and little Bridie. Mother died giving birth to our Bridie, and being the eldest girl I sorta took over mothering them all after that.?
?How old were you?? asked Al sympathetically, remembering how he?d had to look out for his little sister.
?Nearly nine.? Mary evidently thought that nine was quite mature enough to take on the responsibilities of a ready-made family.
 
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?I enjoyed it,? she asserted when she noticed Al?s shocked expression. ?No, really I did. Sure ?n? it was hard work, and I didna get much time t?meself, but we all pulled together and did our share. It felt good to be needed. The little ones depended on me, looked up to me. What else was I to do, tell me that? Let them split us up? Put us in all in different Homes??
Al shuddered. NO. That was not an option to be accepted lightly. Family should not be divided.
His expression was one of awe and admiration. No wonder she was so level headed and calm in time of crisis. She had done her growing up early; taken a great weight onto her young shoulders.
?What about your father?? he asked, afraid he could predict what the answer would be. He knew all about single parents who couldn?t cope. He?d been down that road.
?He worked hard in the fields to put food on the table, but my Da was also fond of a drop o? the poteen. Oh, he never beat us,? she hastened to prevent Al from jumping to this obvious conclusion. ?He loved us. It was just that he spent most of his time at home asleep. He did his best, but sometimes it was like having one more big brother to take care of.? There wasn?t a trace of bitterness or resentment in her tone, only a little sadness.
?So, you really have been a Nanny/Housekeeper all your life.? Al observed.
?When did you find the time to get married?!? He chuckled, and then choked on it as he saw a tear form in the corner of her eye. Perhaps he should have extracted more background information from Ziggy first. He usually did, but then things had been altogether topsy-turvy about this Leap from the start.
He began to stammer an embarrassed apology for putting his mouth into gear before engaging his brain, but she dismissed it with a matronly pat on his knee.
?Don?t distress yourself, Admiral. ?Tis all water under the bridge now.?
?Please, call me Al,? he instructed. ??Admiral? is so formal, don?t you think? Especially for a leprechaun!? he made a sweeping gesture from head to foot, indicating his garb. At that Mary laughed again and Al thought once more how much he liked the old girl. Not wanting the conversation to end; fascinated by her amazing life story, and still mindful enough of his duty that he hoped to glean something to Sam?s advantage, Al urged her to tell him more.
Normally, their ?guests? suffered the same Swiss-cheesing of the brain that plagued Sam. Mary appeared to have total recall. It was a pretty safe bet that GFTW wanted it that way for a reason.
?How did you come to be with the Stricklands? Through the mother, you said? Manhattan is a long way??
?To Tipperary?? interrupted Mary, with an infectious giggle that Al couldn?t help but echo. It was rare and refreshing to meet someone with his own impish sense of humor. Al gave back the question ?Cue for a song?? and took a deep breath ready to comply. Mary simply laughed again and turned to look at him.
?You remind me of my Dermot.? She informed him. ?He used to go out fishing the bay on his Da?s boat. I?d watch him when I took the wee ones to the beach for a paddle. (It kept them clean!)? She whispered this last confidentially, with a ?know what I mean?? nudge. Al supposed that their farmhouse would have been pretty basic in its amenities in those days. If she could clean them up while they had fun, then why not? Her job must have been tough enough; she deserved the odd short cut.
?He used to serenade me as he sailed back to shore. ?When Irish eyes are smiling?.? She sang a few lines, swaying gently, her head tilted to one side, eyes staring across the room as if she could see in the distance her sweetheart coming in with the tide. ?He had the voice of an angel, my Dermot.? She concluded, wistfully. Hearing Sam?s mellow tones singing the refrain, Al could almost picture the scene. It was the sort of charming old-world love story that Hollywood musicals were made of.
?I was nineteen when we got wed.? Mary reminisced, ?Dermot was all of 21. Then after a year, he persuaded me we should move to the mainland to seek our fortunes. I left the twins to look after the farm and Da and the little ones, and came to London with Dermot to find work. I thought if I could send money home, it would be more help than staying and struggling on what little we had. Dermot promised it would be a great adventure, a wonderful new life. At first it was. It was so different to life in the old country, and Dermot soon found work as a hod-carrier on a building site. I started by offering my services as a baby sitter to the neighbors. We had a cosy little place, and were ready to start a family of our own.?
Al could hear the ?but? ringing loud in his ears. It didn?t take a clairvoyant or a hybrid computer to predict that this blissful marriage wasn?t destined for a Golden Anniversary. He hardly dared to ask: ?What happened??
 
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?It was nearly Christmas and I was three months pregnant. We had never been happier. We were looking forward to ?53 with the promise that it would be the best year of our lives.? She rubbed at the third finger of her left hand, a finger that should have borne a gold wedding band. Her nervous movements showed she was disconcerted not to find it there, more so than at seeing a man?s hand where her own should be. Al closed his own hands over hers/Sam?s, stilling the busy fingers.
?You don?t have to tell me.?
A crooked half-smile. ?I don?t believe in bottling up feelings ? especially grief. That?s the cause of many a heartache in itself, so it is.? She pronounced with such vehemence that Al was startled. He?d touched a raw nerve. Ziggy - who was monitoring the conversation discreetly - marked the attitude in her memory banks with a double asterisk.
?Dermot was working overtime, earning extra money for the baby. There was an accident at the building site,? Mary resumed her narrative, her eyes moist with tears as she relived it; ?Dermot fell from some scaffolding: broke his neck.?
?The baby must have been a great comfort to you.?
?I miscarried.? Matter of fact, these things happen tone of voice, but with such profound sorrow in her eyes that Al felt compelled to fold her in his arms and hug her. It was a purely fraternal hug, which was a reaction he was not well acquainted with.
?I?m starting to act like Sam,? he mused, wishing his friend were truly there ? in either role ? rather than just his aura.
?Oh, my dear, I?m so sorry.? Offered Al inadequately, expressing regret both for her tragedy and for his insensitivity in raking it up. He handed Mary the handkerchief from his breast pocket and she wiped her eyes, accepting his apology with a wan smile, and a dismissive wave of the hand.
?I was twenty-one years old, a widow alone in a strange town with no money to get home. I didna have much in the way of education ? save what life taught me along the way ? but I had the luck o? the Irish, and that?s Luck Enough. Come the New Year, I had the good fortune to land a job as Nanny for Howard Wexler, a diplomat at the American Embassy in London. He and his wife had a daughter of two, Rachel, and a newborn son, Daniel. Their old Nanny had quit suddenly to go and nurse an elderly relative back in the States. After all my brothers and sisters them two was easy to care for, even though Rachel was a sickly child. She had kidney trouble, but we didn?t know about that until much later. Then little Joseph came along in ?56, but he weren?t no trouble at all.?
?They were happy years,? she went on, ?I was treated like one of the family.?
She smiled nostalgically. ?And when Mr. Wexler was recalled to America in ?61, they took me with them. I raised those three children like they was me own, and kept house for the family while their parents were out socializing and being diplomatic with all the big-wigs.? She exchanged sniggers with Al. From her tone, her attitude to official functions mirrored his own. Though a full Admiral and adept at ?being diplomatic? in the right quarters when the devil drove, deep down in his heart he was still the irreverent Ensign who believed anyone above the rank of Lieutenant was a horse?s ass.
?You?re my kind of woman, Mrs. M,? he told her.
?Mary.? She insisted, continuing her potted autobiography.
 
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?So, anyway, it was by providence that just when I was starting to miss having wee ones under me feet, seeing as Joey was fifteen an? all, Rachel went and got herself married to Lyle Strickland. Oh, but she made a beautiful bride did my Rachel. She persuaded her parents that she had more need of me than they did. She couldn?t wait to start a family. Only it wasn?t to be so simple.?
Mary lowered her head, staring at her hands in her lap, the sadness back in her eyes.

?Her kidneys had been getting steadily worse over the years, until ? in ?76 it was ? they failed completely. Both of them, would you believe it? It?s not so rare as you?d think, so it seems. We thought we?d lost her,? her voice cracked momentarily, ?but the doctors were wonderful, and Heaven be praised she got a transplant just in time. It really did make a new woman of her.? Now the eyes sparkled, the tears were of joy. ?She had so much more energy, and color in her cheeks, and soon she was saying that I?d be a Nanny again instead of a Nurse. Still it was a couple of years before she conceived successfully. You?ve never seen a happier couple than when little Shelley Anne was finally born. Then when Tori came along in ?81 we thought everything was perfect.? Her slight inflection on the word made it clear that they would be forced to think again.
Al felt as if he were on a roller coaster as he followed Mary through the ups and downs of her career, marveling at the way she triumphed over tragedy time and again. He had a sudden compulsion to find out what she had done in the original history, when her latest fledglings were so cruelly ripped from her nest. Surreptitiously punching the query into his hand-link, he was soon able to sneak a peek at his answer. She too had fought the kidnappers, and been knocked out, sustaining a skull fracture, but had not regained her senses before the ambulance had been called. She was in hospital when news of the girl?s deaths was brought to her. Strickland?s suicide left her the sole heir to his fortune, but rather than relax in well deserved retirement, she had used the money to convert his enormous home into an orphanage, which she had run with the help of her sisters until her death at the ripe old age of 103.
Somehow, Al was not in the least surprised.
Returning his attention to her narrative, he asked her with mounting dread
?What went wrong??
?The strain of carrying Tori and giving birth was the trigger, they said. Rachel?s graft kidney began to fail; she was suddenly rejecting it. It sometimes happens even after a number of years, so they told us. Lyle brought the family to England for Easter in ?82, in the hope that a holiday, a change of air, would buck her up. She had this puzzle book he bought her for Shelley?s first birthday. It was a sort of treasure hunt thing for a jeweled hare that had been buried the day Shelley was born. The idea captured Rachel?s imagination and she?d tried hard to solve the riddles. She was a clever little colleen was Rachel. They were going to explore together, see if they could track it down. Only it backfired. She was that close,? Mary held her thumb and forefinger a fraction apart to indicate extreme proximity, ?when it was announced that the Hare had been found. She was so bitterly disappointed to have been beaten; it seemed to take all the fight out of her. She just sort of gave up, and before we knew what was happening, she had succumbed to some infection. It took her from us in the blink of an eye.?
Mary sobbed then, her shoulders heaving with grief. Al offered what little comfort he could, feeling the keenness of her sorrow, wondering again at the cruelty of the hand life had dealt her, and silently re-affirming his promise that Sam would not let this fine woman suffer further tragic loss.
?Poor wee Tori was only 6 months old. She doesn?t even remember Rachel. I?m the closest thing to a mother she?s ever known.? Mary shook her head slowly at the injustice of it, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief and sniffing dismissively as if annoyed at herself.
In the normal course of events, Al found a woman?s tears embarrassing, annoying or arousing. Hearing Mary?s melancholic tale, he merely found hers profoundly moving and he encouraged her to let loose her sadness and frustration. He told her that Tori could not have found a better surrogate in all the world. He didn?t need to be a shrink to see that her role was that of the strong uniting force that kept everyone else going through each successive crisis. She probably seldom allowed herself the luxury of breaking down and letting go. Then he held her gently in his arms while she cried a lifetime of hurt and sorrow. He was again amazed by his own purely platonic gesture, notwithstanding the fact that it appeared to be Sam?s frame he was hugging.
?I must be mellowing in my old age.? He thought.
 
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He felt that they were kindred spirits, he and Mary. Both had been given a pretty rough deal all told, and faced with such adversities a person either went under or got tough. They had got tough, but it didn?t stop them from feeling the wounds that ran deep within. He wanted to let her know he understood, and allowing her this release was the best way he knew how.
When she was all cried out, she dried her eyes and patted his arm.
?Bless you, Al. I feel better for that.? She told him. Confirming his assessment of her as having to be a rock for the family?s benefit, she told him that he was, however, absolutely wrong to assume she bottled up her emotions.
There was a hint of reproach in her voice, yet Al sensed it was not aimed at him. On the contrary, she affirmed, she believed devoutly in sharing grief and talking openly about feelings. It was nevertheless a welcome change for someone else to be the shoulder for her to cry on and she was grateful for his indulgence of a ?silly old woman?.
Al shook his head.
?Oh no, no, no. There?s nothing silly about you, Mary McGillicuddy.? He told her firmly. ?If I?m any judge ? and I like to think I?m a very good judge when it comes to women ? you are a regular Minerva. You?ve a very wise head on those shoulders.?
?An? if?n I?m not much mistaken, you?re no eejut yersel?, Albert.? She nudged him in the ribs, smiling once more. ?I think you and I shall be good friends while I?m here, so I do.?
?I?d like that, Mary,? replied Al sincerely, ?I really would.?

When Ziggy alerted him that it was time he checked in with Sam, Al headed for the Imaging Chamber with a huge grin on his face and a lightness of step that verged on an Irish jig. He was in such a good mood that he didn?t even chew out the Corporal on guard duty for being slow to salute him as he left the Waiting Room. The more so when he noticed it was Kincaid.
?Damn fine job you did yesterday, Corporal. Damn fine.? He congratulated the young man warmly. Rusty blushed freely right across his freckled face and looked nervously at his feet, mumbling an unintelligible reply. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the Admiral danced on down the corridor without further comment, then tugged at his tie agitatedly as if it were choking him.
Watching Al?s elated exit from her hiding place in the shadows, Tina stamped a petulant foot. These days it seemed her paramour would rather spend time with another woman ? any other woman (even one that looked like a man for Chrissakes!) ? than be with her. Heaven alone knew what he could possibly have found to talk about all that time. He was up to something. Or he was avoiding her. Well, two could play at that game. There were others around who appreciated her, even if he didn?t.
She?d show him.
By the time she?d finished with him, he?d be laughing on the other side of his face. She?d wipe that smug self-satisfied smile right off and no mistake. With a ?harumph?, Tina stalked off to hook the bait with which to reel in the errant Admiral.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 5

Chapter Five​

Thursday 1st December 1988.
London.

Sam was still lying prostrate on the four-poster bed when Al arrived.
?Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine. Up and at ?em.? Ordered the Admiral brightly.
Sam stirred, moaning softly. He was still fully clothed. The duvet was in a state of disarray around him, evidence of a restless night. Now Sam curled up on his right side. His lower arm slid beneath the pillow, bunching it up under his ear. The left coiled round his face, cradling his head, cupping the injured area in his hand, so that he resembled a duck with his head tucked beneath his wing.
?C?mon, Sam. Another day, another dollar ? you got work to do, buddy.?
?Goway,? mumbled Sam; shifting position again in a futile attempt to get comfortable, and grunting with the effort.
?Quit playing for sympathy, Sam and get up. Ziggy says the kidnappers are gonna make contact soon.? Al wanted to believe his friend was just yanking his chain, but the dried blood in Sam?s hair and the tension, which oozed from every pore, told a different story. The mention of kidnappers had penetrated his befuddled brain, however, and the Leaper roused himself reluctantly, turning bleary eyed towards the sound of Al?s voice.
?Okay, okay, Oi?m up, Oi?m up. Just give me a minute, will ya?? Sam rubbed his eyes, willing them to focus. ?Oh, me aching heed.? He complained. An unbearable tightness scraped at his scalp. He had the sensation of someone pulling his hair out ? one root at a time. Unlike Al, he was not at all rested or refreshed from his night in bed. He couldn?t say ?night?s sleep? for he had not slept above a few scant minutes at a stretch all night. Each time he sank into oblivion, the stabbing in his head dug down and found him, dredging him back up to all too painful awareness. The hours had dragged frustratingly, yet paradoxically he could not conceive that it was already time to arise and face another day. He was grateful that he?d closed the drapes whilst concluding his unpacking the previous evening. (Was it as recent as that?) They kept out the morning sunshine, which though weakened by the season, would still have been too powerful for his poor pounding brain to endure.
Sam was still intermittently rubbing his eyes, and despite his assurance to the contrary he had made no attempt whatsoever to get out of bed, or even to sit up. Al was growing increasingly concerned by Sam?s reticence. He punched the hand link, trying to establish if his friend?s condition had deteriorated. He didn?t need Sam?s medical degree to know how tricky head-wounds could be. At the same time he requested the information from the horse?s mouth.
?What?s wrong kid??
?Can?t see straight. Like Oi?m looking trew a veil.? Sam muttered, renewing his rubbing.
?Is that all?? Al?s voice reflected his relief; he caught a laugh in his throat.
?You are, dummy,? he teased, ?the net curtain, remember?? He stuck his holographic head through the lace that surrounded the bed, a big beaming grin on his face. It didn?t have quite the reassuring effect he?d expected, however.
Sam recoiled with a cry.
?Aargh, don?t do that!? He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes, then, wrinkling his nose in distaste, he peered through hooded eyes at Al.
?Doesn?t help.? He declared. ?Are ya sure you?re tuned in to the right channel??
 
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More button pushing established that Al was, indeed, properly locked into Sam?s brainwaves. It also provided him with a prognosis from Ziggy, who informed the Admiral matter-of-factly that Dr Beckett had ? as already stated ? sustained a fractured skull and should seek medical attention forthwith or she, Ziggy, would not be held accountable for the consequences. ?Which tells me precisely nothing,? thought Al. Now, instead of encouraging Sam to take up the call to arms, Al?s concerns for his friend?s welfare made him seek to keep the Leaper abed and call a doctor.
Contrarily, this was the suggestion that spurred Sam into action. Self-interest was never one of his strongest motivators, and besides, the vision of the two young girls he?d shared such happy hours with lying so horribly murdered returned now to haunt him.
?No can do.? He informed Al, in response to his suggestion. He disentangled himself from the bedcovers and got up ? in the most unorthodox manner Al had ever witnessed. Still uncoordinated, and unwilling to subject his throbbing head to the forces of gravity, he swung his legs out first, and then the rest of his body rolled after, leaving his head flat on the pillow until the last possible moment. He ended up on all fours, swaying precariously. This position being untenable, he sank back on his ankles, slowly raising up his torso, grabbing at the bed and leaning against it as the room span wildly before his unfocused eyes. He drew in three or four deep breaths then, gritting his teeth; he rocked forward and hauled himself to his feet, pushing on the bed to provide a fulcrum for the leverage of his arms. Once upright, he staggered woozily backwards a couple of paces, and hooked his arms round the bedpost for support, as a drunk caresses a lamppost.
?Steady, Sam,? cautioned Al, instinctively reaching out to do just that ? frustrated as always by his inability to lend practical assistance. ?Are you sure you?re up for this, buddy? You really don?t look so good you know.?
Sam clung on tighter still, white knuckled, his head resting against the bedpost, eyes closed, panting. Then he swallowed hard, and lifted his head to look at Al. Mary?s Irish brogue was ever strong on his tongue, much to his continued bemusement.
?Sure?n Oi?ve felt better, an? dat?s a fact.? He blinked slowly, still struggling to make his eyes function within normal parameters. ?But it seems t?me Oi?ve felt a whole lot worse too in me time.? He paused momentarily, as if daring Al to refute it, and then he continued, ?And just supposin? fer a moment I was t? say Oi didna feel loike goin? trew with it. What odds would Ziggy put on me being able to sit this one out altogether, d?ye t?ink?? he gave his friend a mildly patronizing stare. Al reflexively began pushing buttons, then stopped short and looked up at Sam, sheepishly.
?Point taken, buddy. Just go easy, huh??
?Doubt if Oi can manage much else.? Somewhere in the canyons of his brain a cyclone was raging and the lure of the bed to which he still clung was strong, but his look was one of determination.
?Have Oi got time for a quick shower? It moight make me feel a bit more human.?
?Sure thing. Go for it. I?ll come back in good time for the call. Hang in there, Sam.? Al looked at his friend compassionately.
Sam managed to extricate one arm from the support post, and gave a half-hearted thumbs-up, before feeling his way around the furniture to the en-suite. Al watched him go, his heart in his mouth as he witnessed each faltering step, expecting at any moment to see Sam fall flat on his face. He waited until the Time Traveler disappeared through the bathroom door and then keyed in his own door and left.

~~~***~~~​
 
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The shower invigorated Sam more than he dared hope, though less than he would have wished. After the initial torture of washing congealed blood out of his hair, wincing and gasping as he rubbed in the shampoo, he basked in the feel of the water on his face and body. By the time he stepped out and dried off, he was walking more or less steadily, without the aid of walls or fittings.
He could see well enough to pick out a coordinating salmon pink outfit of twin set and skirt from Mary?s wardrobe ? though he most emphatically left the bra and girdle lying idle in the drawer. He even coped with scrubbing the stubborn bloodstains out of yesterday?s ensemble. The only hitch in the proceedings came when he sat down at the dresser to comb his hair. As the stiff tortoiseshell teeth of the comb made contact with the back of his head, the unbearable pressure made him dizzy, and he fumbled with the comb, dropping it on the carpet.
Bending automatically to retrieve it induced a sudden wave of nausea and he struggled to maintain his equilibrium. He grabbed at the dresser and fought to control his breathing as the room swirled around him, silently cursing his folly.
Looking at Mary?s distorted reflection in the mirror, he implored her, ?Remind me not to do dat again in a hurry, would ya, Mary?? Elbows on the dresser, he crossed his arms and slumped forward onto them, eyes closed, waiting for the pounding in his brain to subside. It seemed to take forever before the pain eased enough for him to dare to sit up.
Even longer before he felt brave enough to get to his feet.
When he did, he proceeded haltingly, pausing every three or four paces to check his balance and make sure he was still heading in the right direction. In this manner, he weaved his way into the dining room, where he came face to face with his employer, Lyle Strickland.
This morning, the businessman was wearing a double-breasted gabardine suit in air force blue, well cut and very fetching. Had he not been distracted by even more physical considerations, Sam may have spared a moment to wish the suit were his, rather than the pleated tweed skirt he bore. As it was his attention was focused on making his way over to join Strickland at the table by the window, where he was having breakfast. Not that Sam was hungry. In fact the smell of fried egg, bacon and sausage wafting up form Lyle?s plate made him feel queasy again, but the stability of the wheel-back chair only a short distance before him was too great a temptation to ignore.
?Ah, Mary. Join me for breakfast. Feeling better this morning?? Strickland had been bent over his repast, and poring over the morning?s edition of the Financial Times. He registered Sam?s arrival from the corner of his eye, and half rose from his seat politely, without really looking up. His whole demeanor was as if yesterday had never happened and Mary was suffering nothing worse than a head cold. Sam detected none of the stress he would have expected from a man whose daughters were under sentence of death.
However, since the Leaper was unsure how accurately his powers of perception were operating, he gave the man the benefit of the doubt.
Outside the window, the dawn sunshine had been swallowed up by dark, menacing clouds, and spots of rain began to tap on the glass and dance on the balcony. They echoed the drumming in Sam?s head.
He eased himself gratefully into the chair, carefully pouring himself a cup of black coffee. It was with some slight satisfaction he noticed that less than a quarter spilt in the saucer. Lyle ignored him while he sipped slowly at the coffee, relieved that it stayed down. After a while Sam even risked a slice of dry toast and with each successive mouthful he felt himself regaining some degree of normalcy. His doubts about the girls? father were growing, however.
The man had finished his disgustingly greasy meal without once taking his eyes from the peachy pink pages of the newspaper he was reading and making no attempt to communicate, beyond the odd mumbling of pleasure or annoyance ? to himself rather than Sam ? about the rise or fall or various share prices. For all the attention he paid, Mary could have been a character on the TV screen, and the children non-existent.
Last night, Sam had thought he?d seen a loving father, frantic with concern for his offspring.
Yet this morning??
 
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Come to think of it, the man?s reactions had struck him as strange even at first, but he had attributed that to the blow to his brain. He was still not in full possession of his extensive faculties, so perhaps he was making something of nothing, but his instinct told him that all was not as it should be. He recalled Shelley-Anne?s panic when he?d found her mother?s book. Could the divorce be even more acrimonious than he?d guessed? Sam envisaged the situation: Father gets to take the children on holiday, doesn?t intend to surrender custody on their return to the States. He stages a kidnapping to throw the wife off the scent, enabling them to start afresh someplace else. Maybe even arranges their ?murder? to prevent the mother from pursuing them. Only there is a falling out with the ?kidnappers? or a misunderstanding as to his intentions, and the poor little pawns wind up dead for real. No wonder the grief stricken father had taken his own life, burdened by the guilt of knowing he?d effectively killed the two people he loved most in the entire world. Except that at this juncture, he was sitting there, supremely confident that he was pulling off the perfect ruse to put one over on an ex-wife who was trying to keep him from his girls. No need to worry, everything was under control. His control.
Sam looked across the table, seeking confirmation of his hypothesis in the man?s bearing or his face. He tried to think back to the previous evening, to put his finger on what it had been about Strickland?s behavior that had aroused his suspicions. Something had definitely been amiss. Yet, looking back, if Lyle had been expecting the ransom note then he was a consummate actor, for he?d deceived not only one confused, concussed imposter, but also a professional Observer who was nobody?s fool. And if he?d gone to such lengths to put on an act then, why was he making so little effort now? It didn?t add up and Sam was almost certain that his temporary mental handicap was not exclusively to blame.
The Leaper realized that if he were going to stand any chance of making headway he would have to make his presence felt. Somehow he didn?t think starting a polite conversation about the British weather would do the trick. If he wanted to succeed in drawing this fellow out from the world of high finance into which he?d disappeared, it would take something much more dramatic.
Sam remembered how Al had congratulated him for exaggerating the previous evening when in fact he felt he had been playing down his condition. No matter, the point being that since he was still suffering, he may as well turn the situation to his advantage. Once more the simple truth would suffice, with only the merest hint of embellishment for flavoring. So Dr. Beckett took a deep breath and prepared to do one of the things he hated most ? draw attention to himself.
He began by clattering his empty coffee cup clumsily back into its saucer, which as he?d suspected didn?t even register with the other man.
Next, he excused himself from the table and began to rise slowly to his feet. He gambled that Strickland?s in-bred civility would have him mirror the action, as indeed he did, though still automatically without actually looking up. So, before Lyle could resume his seat, Sam deliberately caught the leg of his own chair with his foot, flipping it over behind him and leaving him swaying precariously. With a louder cry than was strictly necessary he grabbed at the table, accidentally knocking over the milk jug. Sam was relieved on two levels when his companion sprang round to catch him before he crumpled to the floor, and then helped him over to the couch.
?I think maybe I should call you a Doctor after all, Mary.? The employer?s concern sounded genuine, even if Sam couldn?t make out his expression clearly enough to confirm it.
?You should call me a Doctor, after all I am one!? thought Sam fleetingly.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 5 cont

?Dere?s no need, really,? Sam reassured him aloud, if half-heartedly. ?Oi?ll be foine in a tick. Just stood up too quick, so Oi did.? As an opening to a discussion of the magnitude Sam had in mind, it was pretty feeble, but at least he had the man?s full and undivided attention at last. It even looked for a moment as if Strickland was going to pull rank and insist, but Sam forestalled him.
?Oi?ve a lump on me heed as big as a goose egg, t?be sure, and the granddaddy of all headaches, but we?ve more important t?ings t? worry about just now, have we not?? it was a challenge. Lyle sat down on the settee next to Mary and put his head in his hands.
?I spent the whole night worrying,? he confessed forlornly, alleviating Sam?s suspicions to some degree, ?I told you we should never have come back to this @#%$ country.? Then almost at once the other man backed off again, clearing his throat and straightening up. He rose to his feet, squared his shoulders and strode away.
?Then I remembered, you promised you?d get them home for me. So I figured I have nothing to worry about, right. Have I??
There was no hint of sarcasm or teasing in his tone. It was sheer self-deception. His expression of blind faith in Nanny?s ability to make everything all right was pure Christopher Robin. He was the little boy who?d fallen from the apple tree and scraped his knee, and Nanny was going to dry his eyes and kiss him better. Pathetic - in the truest sense of the word.
With a flash of insight, Sam realized where Strickland was coming from.
In his working life Lyle was the confident, capable businessman, accustomed to manipulating people and events to his own considerable advantage. At home, it was a different story. He was out of his depth with family matters, relying totally on Mary to keep things on an even keel. When things went a little awry, he didn?t get bothered with details ? a busy man with loftier matters on his mind. So when they went badly wrong, he couldn?t conceive of the consequences. And if the thought was unbearable, then don?t think it. Bury your head in the sand and pretend it is not really happening. Ignore it and it will go away. That was why he?d been so engrossed in his newspaper. It kept him from having to address the really important issues. Classic avoidance.
Sam wanted to get hold of the man and shake him and shout at him: ?Get real!?
But even if he could have overcome his lethargy enough to complete the maneuver, he didn?t think it was the sort of behavior appropriate to a woman in his subservient position. Whilst he was pondering a more suitable response, they were interrupted by a loud rap on the door. Sam stirred himself to answer it; mindful of his adopted duties, and expecting the awaited contact from the kidnappers. A dismissive wave of Strickland?s hand bade Sam retain his seat, while he turned and barked, ?Come.?
At this the door opened to admit a lean young man in his late twenties. His features and complexion suggested West African ancestry, though his accent when he spoke was positively Brooklyn.
?I have dose figures you requested, Mr. Strickland.? With which he handed over a wad of papers to his employer and hovered at his shoulder while they were perused, oblivious to Sam?s presence. Summing up the close cropped wiry black hair, the Navy blue suit with sharply creased trousers, the whole bearing of the newcomer, Sam tagged him as Strickland?s P.A. Quietly efficient, capable and affable, deferential without being obsequious, Sam felt the young man well suited to the task.
Whilst Sam sat silently nursing his relentlessly aching head, the two men muttered and mumbled over their fact-sheets in close conference, moving over to the writing desk to consult the incongruously modern calculator Strickland had placed there. After several minutes, the muted conversation ceased and Strickland dismissed his companion:
?Get on it right away, Otis.?
?Yessir.? Replied the young man smartly, and headed for the door, turning back as Strickland added, ?And get that smarmy redhead on Reception to check up on the limo. I want it here in good time. First meeting?s at 10 sharp.?
?Yessir.? He left, closing the door behind him. This encounter raised a barrage of new questions for Sam, who had deliberately kept a low profile during the exchange. He had no idea what relationship, if any, existed between Otis and Mary. He may have simply been preoccupied and not noticed the old woman, or they may just move in different circles and not even be on speaking terms. This option the Leaper deemed to be unlikely if Otis had been Strickland?s assistant for any length of time, as seemed to be the case, but Sam was unwilling to risk any social gaffes in the face of so little information. He could always attribute ?Mary?s? rudeness to the head injury, if Otis later commented on her lack of interaction.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 5 cont

Sam had been unable to form much of an impression of the man beyond his professional capabilities. Was he totally trustworthy? Had he even been told of Lyle?s personal problems, or was his involvement strictly business? Did he really enjoy his work, or was it all a fa?ade? Could he be nursing a secret grudge ? underpaid, undervalued? Enough to plot a kidnapping to get his boss to give him what he felt he was owed? Sam couldn?t help suspecting some form of ?inside job?. After all, the villains had known who and when to strike, and the family hadn?t been in the country very long.
Otis looked to be a personable, honest young man, but Sam knew better than most the folly of judging by appearances. He, who was a human chameleon, constantly changing his camouflage to blend in with his surroundings, he looked at himself now, in his tweed skirt and twin-set, and thought he was behaving more like Miss Marple than Mary McGillicuddy, seeing suspects coming out of the woodwork, trusting no-one, expecting every smile to be hiding a crocodile?s jaws. He would reserve judgment on Otis for now, though his inclination was to believe the young man innocent. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. It was a philosophy that had served to keep him alive on more than one occasion. Sam started wishing that his invisible informant would deign to show his face again, supplementing the suppositions with a few sound facts.
At that precise moment, as in the previous leap, Al turned up like a genie summoned from his lamp, materializing in the centre of the grand piano. Glancing at his bisected torso, he hastily moved forward, making a note of Lyle?s position at the writing desk, where he was still deeply engrossed in the papers Otis had brought him. The Observer did not think they needed to make the usual exit to the men?s room. If Sam kept his voice down, Al was sure that they could talk without disturbing Strickland. He pretended to perch on the coffee table so that he could converse with his friend at eye level, clearing his throat to attract Sam?s attention.
?Earth calling Dr. Beckett. What planet you on, buddy??
Sam looked up, wearily, ?Oh, hi, Al.? he muttered.
?How d?ya feel, Sam?? Al had been hoping for a perkier response by now, despite the constant warnings from Ziggy.
?How do Oi look?? countered Sam.
?Quite frankly, pal, I?d say somewhere on the down side of lousy,? observed the Admiral.
?Yeah? Dat?s roughly aboot how Oi feel,? agreed Sam. ?What news??
?Ziggy says the phone?s gonna ring any time now. We still have no idea where the girls are currently being held, but the odds are still way up there on them getting killed, so play it cool, okay??
?Sure.?
The phone rang.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 5 cont

?Get that for me, would you, Mary?? commanded Lyle without looking up, despite the fact that the phone was practically within arms reach for him. Al looked across at the father, aghast that he didn?t leap up and grab it on the first ring.
?He?s a bit of a cold fish, isn?t he?? Al nodded in Lyle?s direction.
?And then some,? replied Sam, hauling himself to his feet and dragging himself over to the phone, eager to stop its jangling.
?Balmoral Suite, M?? he began.
?Mornin? duchess, how?s your head?? came the taunting reply. Even muffled by the telephone and his own dulled senses, Sam recognized the voice as that of the ?waiter? from the previous evening. Not wanting to admit they had him at a disadvantage, Sam retorted:
?Fine, how?s your groin?? He thought he almost heard the man wince, and allowed himself a slight smile.
?Is the rich bastard gonna pay up? Or do we take these little brats on a one way trip?? his tone was both aggressive and edgy. Sam bit back the threats he wanted to shout at the creep, the warning to leave those poor innocent young girls alone. He swallowed to compose himself. Play it cool. A grisly vision chilled his blood.
?How do we know you haven?t already done that? Oi want to talk to them.?
?Not likely, duchess. But we thought you might want a bit of proof we got ?em. So put a sock in it and listen, right.?
Sam heard a click and a whirr as the kidnapper started up a cassette machine, then the voices of Shelley-Anne and Tori, tiny terrified fragile voices pleading not to be hurt, to be let go; begging their father to give the kidnappers what they wanted, their Nanny to help them. Tori was crying. Her sibling was fighting valiantly but vainly to sound brave, trying to reassure her sister that their nightmare would not last much longer.
As he listened, Sam found himself gripping the phone, his stomach churning. He leant back against the wall. He daren?t imagine what sort of night they?d had, how badly they were being treated. It sounded as if the atmosphere wherever they were was tense in the extreme. And despite the girl?s statement that they were unhurt, Sam was unconvinced. He knew first hand what their captors were capable of ? he felt sure the girls had not been tucked up for the night in comfy beds with a bedtime story and a tray of milk and cookies. He didn?t want them in those evil clutches a second longer than was absolutely necessary.
Abruptly, the tape was switched off and the kidnapper broke into Sam?s thoughts.
?That?s all you get for now. So? Has Daddy dearest got the readies ready or not??
He chuckled at his choice of phrase. ?I ain?t hanging on the phone all day. I may not be bursting with ?O? levels, but I?m not that dumb.?
Sam hadn?t yet ascertained what, if anything, Strickland had done about getting hold of the million pound ransom, but he now believed that man?s assurance that he?d pay anything to get his daughters back, so he winged it.
?We?re working on it. It takes a while to come up wit? dat sort o? cash. We couldna just get it from a hole in the wall machine in de middle o? the night, now could we? You have to give us more time.?
?I told you, I ain?t stoopid.? The voice was terse, angry. The man was on a short fuse.
?I wasn?t trying to?? placated Sam, not wanting the guy to take out his temper on the girls.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 5 cont

?Shut your gob and listen, duchess.? Henry cut in. ?You tell that Strickland bloke to have the money in unmarked bills stuffed into that big old carpet bag thing of your?n. Then he?s to get in his motor and drive up the M1 with it. He?s to come off at Junction 13, turn right and be at Brogborough Picnic site by half five tonight. He?ll find his next instructions taped underneath one of the picnic tables. ?Course, if he?s late, someone else might just have taken them away first, if you catch my drift.? This last threat was delivered with a malicious snigger.
Sam was seething, but managed to keep his anger in check. He glared at Al, who had been pushing buttons throughout the conversation.
?Sorry, Sam. Ziggy still can?t get a lock on them. You?re gonna have to track ?em down the hard way.?
?Don?t worry. You?ll get ya money.? Sam told the extortionist curtly. Then, inexplicably sure of his facts, he added; ?Only dere?ll be one slight change in plan, so dere will. Mr. Strickland doesna drive himself, so Oi?ll be delivering it to you personally.?
This seemed to throw Henry off balance for a moment, so that Sam expected to hear him conferring with his accomplice. However, she was evidently not at hand to offer fresh instructions. The man umm-ed and ah-ed for a bit ? initiative was obviously not one of his strong points. Then he muttered a grudging ?S?pose that?ll have to do. Just make sure you turn up on time. Or else.? With which he hung up.
Sam stood motionless until the buzzing tone of the disconnected call became intolerable to his ear. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and let out a long breath.
Only then did Strickland look up from his work and acknowledge the call had taken place. He looked at Sam with questioning eyes. ?Are they all right? Did you speak to them??
Aloud, he simply asked ?Where and when??
Sam retreated to an easy chair and sat down again, breathing heavily.
?They?re playing games with us.? He told both Al and Lyle. ?Directions by installments. Oi?ve t?be somewhere called Brogboro by five thirty with the money. Oi?ll get me orders from there.? Sam was wringing his hands in frustration. ?Does that give us enough time??
-&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ?Ziggy?s predicting the girls will be kept alive as insurance until they know if he?s gonna pay up. Don?t panic, buddy.? Soothed Al.
-&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ?We should have the cash by?? Lyle paused to look at his watch, making a mental calculation, ?by 3:00. How far is this Brogboro place? I never heard of it.? He was once again all business, no trace of emotion.
?Oi?m not sure,? Sam looked at Al fro prompting. ?Oi?ll be needing a map.?
?Ask at reception. They?ll get hold of one for you.? Strickland could have been discussing plans for a picnic, but Sam could hear the underlying tension in his words.
?That?s a good idea, Sam. At this distance, Ziggy?s bound to need all the navigation aids you can get.?
Further discussion was cut off by the return of Otis with the news that the chauffeur from ?Edwardian? was waiting out front in a white stretch Lincoln.
Lyle immediately gathered his papers into a leather briefcase and they departed with no more from the father than ?Leave you to it then, Mary.?
?Unbelievable.? Al pronounced, shaking his head. ?What is it with that guy? Doesn?t he have any idea what?s going on? Or is it just that he doesn?t care at all??
?Oh, Oi?m sure he cares deeply, Al.? Sam corrected. ?He just doesn?t know how to show it Oi guess.?
?No kidding. That much I had noticed.?
?Pretty obvious, huh??
?Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?? said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.
Sam shot his friend a reproachful look, and changed the subject.
?What about the mother, Rachel? Is she back State-side? Shouldn?t she be told? Even if they are divorced, she still has a right to know her kids are in danger.?
Al was surprised. Firstly, that Sam had got the mother?s name right and secondly that he had gotten the marital status so very wrong.
?I don?t know where you?re getting your information, pal,? he scolded, ?but you?re way off base.? He repeated what Mary had told him about Rachel?s illness and sudden demise.
?Probably PRD,? responded Sam automatically, with the confidence of an experienced diagnostician.
?Say what?? countered Al, with the ignorance of the layman.
?Polycystic Renal Disease,? explained Dr. Beckett, ?that nearly always affects both kidneys. It?s fairly common. Can tend to run in families?? Sam stopped, caught his breath, and then stared at Al. ?Is there a history? Are either of the girls going to inherit it?? Sam gestured at the hand link, desperate for answers. Obligingly, Al pressed the necessary buttons. He shook his head.
?Amazing, Sam, I?m impressed. Ziggy confirms she did have PRD. We can?t tell about the girls, I?m afraid. Ziggy says there are too many variables and not strong enough odds on them surviving the current danger. Neither of Rachel?s parents had it though, only a cousin so far as we can tell, and the girls haven?t exhibited any symptoms to date, so maybe they?ll be lucky.?
?Tis devoutly to be wished.? Uttered Mary/Sam, his hands clasped together in supplication. The thought of saving their lives only to consign them to the same problems that had beset their mother was unendurable.
?Don?t sweat it, Sam,? advised Al, ?One crisis at a time, huh?? he paused, ?Two at the most.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 5 cont

They both forced a laugh. Sam knew what Al meant. The relative comfort of the four-poster bed still beckoned from the bedroom. He turned a deaf ear to its call. Although still unable to ignore his pain completely, he was somehow managing to relegate it to the dimmer recesses of his consciousness. Not so far that his friend couldn?t see the effort it was costing him, of course.
?Hang in there, kid. Rest up ?til the cash gets here. There?s not a lot you can do before then. May as well conserve energy.?
?Whatever you say, doc,? mocked Sam, settling back in his chair, knowing full well that had their positions been reversed he would have offered much the same advice, and expected it to be followed to the letter. Al favored him with a sly smile and called up his door.

Sam sat perfectly still, watching the spot where the bright rectangle had swallowed his companion for a full minute or more after it disappeared, as if he suspected it may return to catch him out. Then, with the furtive look of a knowing transgressor, he let out a weary sigh and got to his feet.
?Oh sure, Oi could take it easy,? he said to no-one, ?but then how am Oi supposed to get meself back in gear when Oi need to?? No-one gave him an answer. The way Sam felt, if he dared to ?rest up? now, it would take nothing short of a tornado to shift him when the time came. ?Wrap me up and label me ?Not to be opened until Christmas?? he mused. Let Al think he was being sensible. No point in worrying him -even less in arguing with him. ?Oh well,? Sam told himself, ?here goes nothing.?

Twenty minutes and a couple of aspirin later, Sam had managed to make it down to the hotel lobby. He?d rejected the option of relying on room service. The suite was starting to feel claustrophobic, and he figured he?d better not try to drive before he could walk. He approached the main desk ? a solid, paneled, mahogany monstrosity that dominated the area. Firmly entrenched behind this wooden barricade, the receptionist was busy berating a pair of gossiping bellboys. This was evidently the slow part of the day, with very few guests checking in or checking out, but she was making it abundantly clear that they should appear ready for action at all times. Slacking would not be tolerated.
With a stern look, she nodded in Sam?s direction and they snapped to attention. Sam?s sympathies went out to the lads, who visibly trembled under the onslaught of this sharp-tongued martinet.
Her manner changed totally when she addressed Sam. Charm turned on like a tap; smile carefully contrived to appear genuine and natural.
?Good morning, Madam. I trust you are enjoying your stay with us. How may I assist you??
Sam winced almost imperceptibly at her words. ?Enjoy my stay? Hah! For sure, so far it?s been a barrel load of laughs and no mistake.?
He forced a grin, which he reckoned to be pretty much as natural as her own, and replied lightly, ?Top o? the mornin? to you too, m?dear. Would you be after knowing where Oi might be able t?lay me hands on some road maps??
Sam thought he caught an odd look from her at this request, but it was there and gone in a nano-second, and he concluded that it was probably just wild imaginings and blurred vision. His mind was playing all sorts of tricks on him this morning. He even fancied that both this young woman?s face and her voice were familiar to him. Yet he was positive he had never seen her before. Her flowing locks were such a striking shade of dark ruby red that once seen could never be forgotten. Sam figured that Mary must have met her the day before when they checked in and ? like the accent ? the memory had lingered on. The badge on the breast pocket of her smart, well pressed uniform identified her as Miss H Brookes.
?Planning a touch of sight-seeing?? she enquired conversationally.
?Somet?ing loike dat,? evaded Sam.
Miss Brookes reached beneath the counter and produced a small paperback with blue and red writing on a white cover pronouncing it to be the ?A to Z of London?. She pushed it across to Sam with another gushing smile.
?Compliments of the management.?
One glance told the traveler that it was not all he needed.
?T?ank ya kindly, young lady, but we were t?inking of goin? a bit further afield. Oi?ll be needing somet?ing wit? the motorways on it as well. Is dere somewhere Oi could buy???
?Oh, of course. One moment please.? She ducked down behind the desk and began rummaging through cubbyholes. Sam leant on the countertop and took the opportunity to close his eyes momentarily in the hope that when he re-opened them the lobby would be docked in calmer waters.
?Ah, here we are!?
Startled, Sam opened his eyes and forced them to focus as she handed him a spiral bound tome containing detailed maps of the entire British Isles. She looked at him with what passed for concern. ?Are you alright, Madam? You look very pale. Can I get you something??
?T?ank you, m?dear, Oi?m perfectly fine,? he lied, ?Just me time o? life.? He whispered conspiratorially.
 
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?Well then, this should have everything you could possibly need.? Miss Brookes informed him, with a curious edge to her voice. Then she flashed him her professional smile again.
?May I recommend you try a day trip down to Brighton? There?s plenty for the children even at this time of year, and you could take in Poole. I?m sure you?d love the potteries.?
?Sounds lovely, we may do that.? Sam was rifling through the gazetteer, anxious to find his target. His response was polite but dismissive and he started to move off so that he could study his route in privacy. His breeding led him to conclude with a ?T?ank you.? Holding the books up and waving them at shoulder height in farewell as he departed.

Watching him go the receptionist allowed herself a gloating grin. The silly old cow had looked straight at her but not recognized her. She had known she could get away with it but it had still been risky. She shuddered, wiping the merest hint of sweat from her palms. She was so high on the thrill of her own audacity as to be practically orgasmic. What if the old girl had identified her and raised the alarm? But no, she had it too well orchestrated for that. The stupid @#%$ would be looking for a blond, not a redhead, and the last thing she would expect ? anyone would expect ? would be for the kidnapper to turn up, bold as brass, at the scene of the crime and put in a normal day?s work. It meant trusting Henry to play minder to the brats, but then she had them so well sewn up they could be left more or less unattended ?til she got back. They couldn?t go anywhere.
Honor Brookes was well pleased with the way things were going. No police plodding around trying to look unobtrusive, and every indication that the ransom would be paid. Providing Henry didn?t screw up, she was home free.
She had fumed when he?d called her back after the ransom message. She?d told him clearly and repeatedly that direct contact was a definite no-no, and it had taken all her self-control to talk to him without giving herself away. His news had actually pleased her when she thought about it, especially since she?d seen the old girl?s condition. She hadn?t been fooled for a moment. The Nanny was patently still suffering from the blow that clumsy oaf Henry had dealt her. Honor was going to enjoy giving her the run-around. Suddenly the game had gained a whole new dimension and she felt a tingle of anticipation run up and down her spine. She couldn?t remember when she?d had so much fun.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Monday January 6th 2003.
QLHQ

Rusty Kincaid came off duty and returned to his quarters without stopping to talk to anyone on the way. He divested himself of his uniform and donned his civvies, relieved to be free of the constraints of collar and tie, which he tossed carelessly onto the floor of the closet. He was supposed to be taking Patti into town for dinner, but he decided he really couldn?t be bothered to dress up. He threw on a pair of jeans and a baggy sweater. She?d have to take him as she found him. Leaving the closet door open, he wandered aimlessly round the room. He wasn?t entirely feeling himself, but couldn?t have said in what way.
After a time he found himself by the head of his bed, idly rearranging the objects on his cabinet. He altered the angle of his alarm clock cum radio, making it easier to read the digital display from his pillow. He shifted the photo taken by Patti?s friend Brenda of ?the happy couple? at their engagement party last month, pushing it further back, to a less prominent position. Then he lifted up his most prized possession and turned it over in his hands, almost caressing it. It had been tucked secretly under the bed at first. Contraband. Then he?d got bolder and propped it behind the big brass photo frame. Now he would give it pride of place. Why shouldn?t he? It was his by right.
Spoils of War.
Just a memento of his first ever real bomb.
Once he?d rendered it harmless, Rusty had removed the entire device from Gushie?s chest. Ziggy instructed him to dispose of the whole thing safely, and so he had ? more or less. Well, okay, less actually. He?d taken the explosives out into the desert and detonated them under controlled conditions according to the book. Only before he destroyed it, he?d removed the original trigger device. It was cracked and chipped on the casing and not really much to look at, but it was a symbol of his triumph, a reminder of his skill. If it hadn?t been for him, this simple little gizmo could?ve decimated the population of the Project faster than a Funding Cut.
So where was the harm in him having this one little keepsake? God knew he?d earned it. He refused to feel guilty about it. If the others didn?t like it, well they could go to Hell. He didn?t need ?em anyway. All they ever did was criticize him in any case. He?d even been denied a proper hero?s reception cos of that damned pompous computer and it?s Security Restrictions ? insisting that no one else in the complex was to know what had really happened.
Not that he cared. Stuff the lot of ?em.
Rusty Kincaid was just fine by himself, thank you very much. He clutched his trophy to his chest and ignored Patti?s insistent knocking when she came pounding at his door. As far as he was concerned, dinner was cancelled. Suddenly he wasn?t hungry anymore.
Except that when she finally gave up and went away, his relief was short-lived. He felt a strong sense of despondency and overwhelming loss. He was alone and for some reason that scared him. He had never been the sort to scare easily, and yet?
His bravado abandoned him and left him trembling like a frightened child. Dropping the device onto his pillow - where tiny silver droplets leaked into the brilliant white linen unnoticed ? he ran to his door to call Patti back. Only once there, his hand froze by the control as if it had forgotten the movements required to affect an opening. By the time he?d managed to re-educate his fingers and flung the door wide, there was no sign of his fianc?e in the corridor. It was deserted save for Matt, a fellow Security guard whom he knew only casually. This young man was to remark later that Kincaid, upon spotting him, had retreated back into his room like a cuckoo into its clock, looking confused and guilty and calling out ?What do you think you?re staring at??
Inside ? without understanding why ? Rusty flopped down on his bed, cradled his trophy to him as if it were a security blanket, and cried himself to a troubled sleep.
 
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?But he was in his room, Bren, I?m sure of it,? sobbed Patti.
?Did he answer you? Maybe he?s sick,? suggested Brenda, trying to placate her near hysterical friend.
?I-I?m afraid he is, Bren,? Patti turned to look Brenda full in the face, ?but,? she paused, ?but not like you mean.?
She had been ready only five minutes later than the time Rusty had said he?d pick her up. Another seven had passed while she tamed the odd wisps of her thick blond hair and smoothed every last crease out of her full length, scoop neck chocolate brown dress. The dress Rusty had bought her as a reward for conquering her addiction to chocolate. She hadn?t known whether to kiss him or kill him when he?d given it to her for one hundred days on the wagon ? ?Don?t eat it, wear it!? he?d said and laughed. She loved his laugh ? rich and warm and sensuous. She hadn?t heard it in a couple of days, and the world seemed empty without it.
A lot of things had changed about Rusty over the weekend and none of them for the better. Ever since he?d been called back on duty suddenly and unexpectedly on Saturday afternoon, he?d been secretive and edgy, irritable, introverted. He wouldn?t tell her why he?d been called back, or what had taken him so long. Their day off together had been ruined and she?d been left kicking her heels, but he hadn?t even the courtesy to offer a hint of an explanation. Okay, so she knew he worked in Security and therefore had a higher clearance than a humble coding clerk, but he still could have at least managed some sort of apology. He owed her that much. But it was as if she were no longer important to him. He?d been so strung out that night, high, elated one minute like he?d just taken on the world and won. Then the next minute he was so apathetic about anything and everything that she couldn?t draw him out on the most basic topics of conversation, never mind the classified stuff.
If she hadn?t been with him when he got the summons, she might have accused him of ducking off to see another woman. After all, it never ceased to amaze her that a great looking, wonderful guy like Rusty saw anything in a pudding-on-legs like her anyway. In the early days of their relationship she had been convinced that she was to be no more than another notch on his bedpost, but her ego had been bolstered enough to go along even with that level of attention. She had taken a lot of persuading that he really saw and loved her ?inner beauty?; that he preferred her ?cuddly?. He never saw the attraction in ?stick insects?, he avowed, but preferred a woman who was ?a good handful?. So, she?d been the happiest woman alive when he?d told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. She?d believed him.
She still did.
Somehow she was sure the problem wasn?t another woman. It was a bit more than cold feet, though. Cold everything, in fact. There was no trace of affection left in him, and he had been the most affectionate, caring, tender lover she had ever known. (Not that the list was a long one.)
There was not a word or a look or a touch to let her know he still cared. He had withdrawn into his own little world ? a turtle in his impenetrable shell. She?d practically had to bully him into not canceling tonight?s dinner date ? booked with such thoughtfulness well before Christmas. He knew how hard it was to get a table; it was the most popular restaurant in town. He?d agreed not to waste the booking. But then he hadn?t turned up. So when she?d preened till she could preen no more, giving him time to be simply ?running late?, she had gone looking for him.
 
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She must have pounded on his door for at least ten minutes, calling to him, asking if he was all right. Telling him to hurry, that the reservation would not be held for them all night. Rusty had completely ignored her ? not a sound. Brenda was wrong though; he hadn?t been delayed on duty, or taken to his sick bed with a sudden bout of flu. He had been moving around in there. Some sixth sense told her categorically that he had been inside all the time. Yet he had totally ignored her. Patti thought she would almost have preferred it if he had berated her ? told her to go away and get lost. Even said he never wanted to see her again. At least that way she?d have known where she stood. Being ignored was so hard to come to terms with. Not knowing if she had done something to offend, if she had been the unwitting cause of his melancholia. Not that she could see how that could be. She wasn?t the one who?d changed. Well, maybe she had, thanks to Rusty. She?d lost quite a bit of weight on the no chocolate diet, and whilst she would never be svelte (nor did he want her that way) she was confident of buying her wedding dress at least one size smaller. Assuming there would still be a wedding, of course. She?d gained in self-confidence, become more outgoing and full of life, more like her sister Robyn, more like Rusty.
The old Rusty, that was. The one who?d been full of joie-de-vivre; life and soul of every party and always good for a bit of fun; a witty tale. The one who?d taught her how to get the most out of life. Except that now it seemed the more she blossomed, the more he withered.
At first she had been cross at his change: Impatient; indignant; angry; hurt. Now her abiding emotion was worry. Rusty?s behavior was so utterly uncharacteristic that she couldn?t help but speculate ? he was ill.
Mentally ill ? schizoid - or maybe he had a brain tumor.
She didn?t know what, she wasn?t a doctor. Yet even a layman could tell something was going on in that handsome head of his, and that something was serious. She wanted to help him, but when she?d hinted earlier that he might have a problem, he?d acted like he was embarrassed and tried to change the subject. When she persisted, he?d gone berserk, ranting and raving at her that he was perfectly okay and she should mind her own @#%$ business. Normally he never cussed. He?d been so angry that for a moment she?d thought he was going to hit her, but at the last instant he?d turned away and stalked off, fists still clenched at the end of rigid arms. It was a side of Rusty she?d thought she?d never see, and she could conceive of no other cause than a mental aberration due to a medical abnormality. ?Cept maybe drug abuse or glue sniffing or some such. They caused radical personality changes didn?t they? She voiced her fears to Brenda, whose response was utter incredulity.
?Get real, Patti ? drugs? Rusty? Drugs? No way. There?s gotta be another explanation.?
?Yeah, well, I?m listening, Bren.? She gave her friend a challenging look.
Brenda only shrugged and shook her head slightly.
?I dunno. I guess he must be sick. He sure is acting strange; I?ll give you that. Have you talked to Dr. Beeks about it??
?Nope,? confessed Patti, ?but I reckon it?s high time I did.?
Wiping her eyes she rose purposefully to her feet and took her leave.
 
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Verbena Beeks was used to being permanently on call ? never off duty. Of all the personnel based at QLHQ, hers was the second most demanding job. And on nights like these, she?d even challenge Al for that unenviable position.
Granted, he had to be a master juggler with the budget, had to be any number of things around the Project, and had to be at Sam?s beck and call in all sorts of tense situations. And granted these demands took their toll on the Admiral. But at least he, along with every other Tom, Dick and Harriet, could come and unburden himself on her consulting couch. (Not that he ever lay on it. On the rare occasions she got him to stop long enough to talk, he always adamantly refused the comfort of the couch, preferring to sit in one of her more rigid upright seats, or more likely pace the floor with his familiar monotonous regular tread of four steps- turn- four back. She knew its origin, and refrained from commenting on it.)
Dr. Beeks had no such luxury. She was the psychiatrist and counselor to absolutely everyone in the complex. There wasn?t anybody she could consult for a second opinion, no one she could thrash out case histories with and not break patient confidentiality. (With the possible exception of an egotistical hybrid computer whose responses were often couched in riddles or annoyingly ambiguous, and which at times seemed to be the most neurotic patient of them all!) Most of all, there was not a living soul she could tell her own troubles to.
She could almost swear there was a clause in her contract expressly forbidding her to have personal problems. She was only allowed to have solutions. Allowed and expected.
With a weary sigh, she bade Patti a goodnight, promising to have a talk with Rusty in the morning. She was about to ask Ziggy for her expert analysis, which for once would have been most illuminating, but was precluded from doing so by the arrival of a very agitated Tina. Dr. Beeks made herself a mental note to have the water supply checked for contaminants. It seemed that odd behavior was becoming contagious.
Verbena knew that having to keep a secret like the incident with the bomb was asking a lot for someone like Tina, and expected this to be the cause of her present flap. Surprisingly, it didn?t come up.
As usual, Tina?s initial tirade concerned Al Calavicci and his negligence of her. Verbena listened patiently while the young woman worked through her jealousy of each of the ex-wives, especially Ruthie, the third, who?d returned to the scene in such a dramatic and unexpected way recently, rekindling old emotions in Al that Tina felt very threatened by. Then Dr. Beeks provided the suitable soothing responses as the pulse technician berated Dr. Beckett and the Project demands that kept the Admiral?s attention from where it belonged. Dr. Beeks had heard it all before. She knew precisely how to help Tina weather this storm, though she could have done without it tonight. She was tired, she had a headache, and Rusty?s condition was playing on her mind. She really wanted to give the problem her full attention.
So it was that she was repeating the standard platitudes, responding to Tina?s needs with the recitation of well-rehearsed lines without really listening on a conscious level. It therefore took her by surprise when she suddenly realized Tina had changed tack. She was still complaining about ?him? being unresponsive, but she was clearly no longer referring to the Admiral.
?I?m sorry, Tina, you?ve lost me,? confessed Dr. Beeks frankly. ?Whom are we talking about now??
?I told you, Gushie. You know, short guy, moustache, and bad breath? Gushie.? Tina?s sarcastic tones could slice through solid steel. ?Yes, I remember who Gushie is.? Bena replied with a smile. ?I should?ve guessed,? thought the psychiatrist. Tina nearly always sought solace with the Chief Programmer when things turned sour between her and the Admiral. Why on earth she should gravitate toward Gushie when there were plenty of far more attractive fish in even their somewhat restricted pond was beyond even Beek?s insight. Gushie had little to recommend him as a candidate for the ?other man?. (Mind you, the Admiral wasn?t exactly the most blatant front-runner either, being so much her senior.) Still, despite his shortcomings, Gushie was a kind, gentle and generous soul and he could be a good listener, so perhaps in Tina?s case he did have all the right attributes after all.
Especially since he was never really meant to be a serious rival for Tina?s affections. No doubt in Tina?s mind it was the ultimate put-down for Al, that she would turn her back on Casanova for the arms of Quasimodo as he himself had once put it in this very room.
 
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Gushie had more than once left Dr. Beeks in no doubt that he understood the situation, ?the game? perfectly. He held no delusions of a happy ever after with Tina, knew he couldn?t compete on a long-term basis. Yet, unlike most ?bits on the side?, Gushie was well content with whatever scraps Tina saw fit to throw him, and was not bitter at having to share her affections with the Admiral. It was certainly not his MO to behave churlishly at being the obvious second choice.
?You say Gushie is avoiding you too?? Beeks had now restored her attention to 100%. This sort of uncharacteristic antisocial behavior was fast reaching epidemic proportions. A loud note of discord was reverberating through their normally harmonious group. She needed to find the cause and get it stopped before she had more people in her office than at their workstations.
?Maybe it?s something they ate.? She thought aloud, mentally adding the canteen to the water supply on her list of things to be checked.
?Huh?? Tina looked at her quizzically. Was the shrink losing her marbles too?
?Are you, like, trying to be funny??
?Not at all.? The doctor reassured her. ?In fact, I?ve never been more serious in my life. Tell me exactly how Gushie behaved.?
?Like I said, I was mad at Al for spending so long in the Waiting Room. After that business in the motor pool,? she winked conspiratorially, ?I was ready to give him another chance and I was waiting for him when he came back from Dr. Beckett, but he was so wrapped up in Sam?s predicament ? as usual ? that he cut me dead. I tried again in the morning, but by the time I got to his room to invite him for breakfast, he was already on his way to the Waiting Room and that woman. He was in there, like, forever. So I went to find Gushie. By the time I got there (well, I had to put my face on, didn?t I?) he?d just sent Al back to the Imaging Chamber and his precious buddy. I asked Gush if he wanted to take me out this evening, I was gonna rub Al?s nose in it when he stepped out again, y?know??
?Yes, I know.? Verbena knew exactly how Tina operated and as a rule both men were putty in her hands, allowing themselves to be led, not unwillingly, by the nose.
?But Gushie wouldn?t play along, huh??
?He knew I only wanted to make Al jealous, but that?s never mattered before. I don?t think that?s what was bugging him anyway. He just?? she paused, incredulous, ?he just didn?t want to know. He was, like, totally withdrawn, yeah??
?Maybe he was just busy. Preoccupied. Sam has been hurt you know,? reasoned Beeks.
Tina looked shocked. She hadn?t known. Now she felt guilty for being cross that the scientist?s travels had once again put her inevitable reconciliation with Al on the back burner. She actually liked Sam. Really liked him. In fact if he and Donna weren?t such an item, she might have tried giving Al a bit of competition in that fishpond too!
?You see what I mean?? she complained. ?Nobody tells me anything these days.? She made a play of checking her armpits for odor. ?Is there, like, something I should know??
Verbena patted her hand gently and laughed, ?Many things, Tina, my dear, many things. But that isn?t one of them.?
?Will Sammy be okay? Is he, like, hurt bad?? Only Tina could get away with calling the eminent doctor Sammy, and then only in limited company, and certainly never to his face. Verbena could always judge the depth of Tina?s agitation by the frequency with which she peppered her conversation with the word ?like?. Her concern for Dr. Beckett was sincere.
?His skull is fractured. By rights, he should be in hospital, but of course he won?t hear of it. We?re just praying there won?t be any complications.?
Verbena?s concern was just as genuine. She too nurtured a deep fondness for Sam, though of a more platonic nature, as did almost everyone who got to know him.
 
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?Poor baby.? Tina shook her head and looked uncharacteristically maternal.
They sat a while in silence, each with their own thoughts. Then the doctor?s musings brought her back round to Gushie?s aberrant behavior and she drew Tina back to her tale.
?You said Gushie was withdrawn? How else would you describe his manner??
?I dunno. It?s hard to say exactly. He was just, like, different.? Tina looked pensive as she tried to analyze how Gushie had changed. She frowned and took a stick of gum from the pocket of her long waisted silver jacket. Before unwrapping it she held it out toward her companion, who waved a declination. Tina shrugged and popped it in her mouth, lobbing the foil into Verbena?s bin like a basketball into a hoop.
?He acted sorta, I dunno, like I made him nervous, I guess. And it wasn?t from fear of being caught together, neither. It seemed like he couldn?t think straight, couldn?t concentrate. Oh, and his hands were shaking too. I don?t know what else I can tell you. He was just, like, totally not himself. D?you think he?s, like, still in shock over the ?you-know-what?,? she silently mouthed the word ?bomb?, ?or something??
?Or something. I suppose it could have hit him harder than he admitted. He did seem to spring back a little too quickly for my liking. Leave it with me, Tina. I?ll have words with him tomorrow; see if I can do a bit of subtle probing, okay? I?m sure it?s nothing personal.? Verbena?s tone was at its most reassuring, though privately her mind was racing, and she had far more questions than answers.
Unfortunately, by the time she was finally alone for the night, she was far too tired to formulate her questions into words, and so did not seek Ziggy?s opinion about this alarming trend.
An omission she would later regret most bitterly.