Date: Tue, 31 Oct 1995 10:56:42 EST Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: Adam, Part 4 I suspect some people will have murderous intentions toward me after this installment, so as a special treat, I'm sending out two parts today. Just don't expect one tomorrow; I do have a job to hold down, y'know! Adam, Part 4 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Duncan gulped the air and tried to curl around the pain in his heart. He couldn't; his hands were bound above his head. He tried once, twice, three times to get his feet under him, and bumped his head when he finally stood up. The tiny room wouldn't stay still. _A boat,_ he realized at last. _I'm on a boat._ There was another Immortal present. He twisted around and found himself staring at Adam Pierson's expressionless face. "Well, well, what have we here?" said a silken voice. "Duncan Macleod himself, at my mercy. Well done, Pierson." Duncan's eyes turned toward the speaker and widened in recognition. "You!" he croaked. "I've seen you before." "That's right. When you killed three of my friends." "They forced me to it. I spared your life!" The Hunter leaned forward. "That was a mistake. One that _I_ will not repeat." Duncan looked away from the hatred in the other man's face and tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was in the cramped cabin of a small boat. His handcuffs were threaded through the deck beams above. The wooden decking below his feet vibrated with the voice of the motor, and they were swooping easily over light waves. Joe Dawson lay beneath a narrow table, his face pale but his breathing steady. Aside from the chief and Pierson, there were two other Hunters in the room. One was propped in the narrow doorway, and Duncan could see steps rising behind him. "So," he said, "why haven't you killed me yet?" He looked at the chief as he spoke, but pitched the question so that Pierson would know it was addressed to him as well. The other Immortal looked away. "Oh, we will," the chief purred. "Don't be in such a hurry. Your young friend Ryan died earlier than I planned, so I thought I'd take my time with you, make it last." The muscles at the back of Duncan's neck clenched with fury. "Besides --" his captor sat in one of the chairs at the table, crossing one leg nonchalantly over the other "-- we have so much to talk about." "I don't have anything to say to you," Duncan growled. "Not at the moment, perhaps. When your friend Dawson wakes up, we'll see." "Forget about him. Your quarrel is with me." "Ah, the noble Immortal, trying to protect his weak little friends. That's exactly why it's so useful to have two of you. You see," the chief leaned forward confidentially, "we hurt Dawson, you speak. We hurt you, Dawson speaks. Very simple, isn't it? The best part is, _you_ can be hurt again and again. And Joe here has _lots_ of stories to tell." "Why not just kill Macleod and let Dawson go?" Pierson spoke up uncomfortably. "He's not one of them." "He isn't one of us, no matter what he carries on his wrist!" the man in the doorway broke in. "He's a damn traitor." "Get rid of Macleod, and Dawson can't hurt us anymore." Pierson didn't meet Duncan's eyes as he spoke. "You know he's about to be thrown out of the Watchers. The leaders don't trust him anymore." "Well, if it isn't Softheart Pierson, speaking up for the underdog again," the chief chuckled. He turned to Duncan. "Did Adam here tell you that he cut the head off your buddy Ryan, just so we couldn't hurt him anymore? He destroyed a perfectly good source of information because he couldn't stand to listen to Ryan screaming." Duncan's black glare didn't waver from his enemy's face. Pierson swallowed. "Ryan was holding us back," he said nervously. "You were wasting time on him. We could never have trusted anything he told us." "So you said. All the same, I think I'll leave someone else to guard our two new captives. Be careful with Macleod, Johnny. Tell us when the other one --" He nudged Joe's still form with one toe "-- wakes up." The chief ushered all but one of his men out of the cabin. The boat picked up speed, moving over the swells with a rhythmic bounce. The guard stood a few feet in front of Duncan, a smirk on his face. Duncan smiled back and began pulling at the cuffs threaded through the deck beams. His wrists were scraped raw, but he almost managed to get his right hand through as far as the thumb. Alarmed, Johnny came forward to tighten the cuffs. As soon as he was in range, Duncan grabbed the beam, lifted his feet from the deck and wrapped both legs around the other man's waist. He used the sway of the boat to throw the guard off balance and trip him to the floor, then twined his ankles about the man's neck. His face purpling, Johnny struggled against the chokehold. He couldn't pull Duncan's ankles away with his hands, but he braced his feet against the bulkhead and pushed himself bodily out of Duncan's grasp. He sprawled on the carpet, choking and fumbling for his gun. Joe Dawson wrenched the gun out of Johnny's hands and clipped him neatly on the back of the head. Duncan blinked. "How long have you been awake?" "Long enough," Joe rasped. He dug in the guard's pockets for the keys to the handcuffs and tossed them up to Duncan. "God, I hate boats," he muttered. "You seasick, Joe?" Duncan asked humorously as he pulled his hands free. "No, I just prefer it when I can stand, that's all." Joe looked around the room. "What do we do now?" "We wait. Best thing to do is catch them coming down the stairs, one by one. The first one won't be expecting trouble, and if we're lucky neither will the rest." Joe considered the narrow doorway. "What if they shoot first and ask questions later?" "That's why you're going to stay under that table, away from the door," Duncan said. "Keep that gun handy." He cuffed Johnny's hands behind his back and hauled the body to one side. "Mac, do you believe what Alan said? About Adam?" "Killing Richie, you mean? I don't know." "He's just as bad as we thought. Playing every side against the other." Duncan shook his head. "Maybe not. Meth -- Adam told me he tried to make them think Richie was dead. Maybe he pulled some kind of trick on them. I noticed no one mentioned a quickening." "Good point. But he still lied to us about being Methos." "I'm wondering about that, too. I had a few minutes to talk to him alone, before Guise and his gang came along. He knows some things that only Methos -- the guy from Santi's drawing -- should know." "Macleod, you know that doesn't mean anything! He could have gotten information any of a dozen ways. He's a Watcher!" "No, the Watchers didn't know about this. Only Methos and Cassandra." "And you?" Duncan hesitated. "Well -- I hold Cassandra's quickening." "So, maybe Pierson has Methos' quickening. Maybe he killed Methos before he started posing as him. Lends a certain credibility, doesn't it?" Duncan sighed. "Yeah, it does." "It would explain a lot." "You could be right. But I'm still not sure he isn't on our side." "That makes him twice as dangerous, not knowing if he's an enemy or a friend." "I know." Duncan frowned. "Look, when the fighting starts, you keep your eyes glued on Pierson. You see anything that tells you what side he's on, let me know right away." "You really think there's a chance we can get out of this?" Duncan shrugged. "It probably depends which side Adam Pierson is on." They both stiffened as footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Hey, Johnny, is Dawson awake yet?" someone called through the door. Joe licked his lips and yelled, "Say again?" in a voice quite unlike his own. Duncan gave him a startled look. The footsteps came closer. "I said --" The door opened "-- is Dawson awa-- " The words cut off as Duncan caught the speaker in a choke hold and eased him down to the deck. Joe found some rope and began to tie up their second captive while Duncan listened cautiously at the door. "They're going to miss him in a minute," Duncan said. "I'm going up there while we still have surprise on our side." "You want the gun?" "No, you hold on to it." Duncan started to slip through the door. "Macleod . . . watch out for Pierson." Joe watched Duncan glide soundlessly up the stairs, then started to pull himself upright against the doorframe. Without his cane, with that drug still weighing on his eyelids, and with one leg incapable of responding to the ship's motion, he couldn't balance unless he kept hold at all times. He stuffed the gun into his belt and started to work his way up the steps. A body came rolling down from above and knocked Joe back into the cabin. He disentangled himself, checked to make sure the man was unconscious, and started the painstaking journey again, muttering under his breath. He could hear feet scuffling about on the deck above, and the unmistakable sound of someone falling down. It couldn't be Duncan, though, because the fighting continued, with fewer feet involved. Joe reached the deck in time to see Duncan take down the remaining man. Pierson stood a few feet behind Duncan, his back to the stairs Joe had just ascended. He was holding Duncan's katana. "Put it down, Adam," Joe growled, pulling the gun from his belt. Pierson turned. "Joe!" Joe jerked the gun. "It's aimed at your head. Now put the sword down." He stepped toward the side of the boat and grabbed the railing, making a circle around one of the crumpled, groaning figures on the deck. Pierson dropped the katana. "Joe, I'm not --" "He's all right, Joe," Duncan called, raising the back of one wrist to the blood that ran from his lip. "Let him go." Joe, scanning the scattered bodies, realized one was missing. "Where's Alan?" he yelled over the roar of the motor and the wind. Duncan looked bewildered. "Right in front of you!" "No, _Alan_. Alan Guise! I don't see him --" A shot rang out from above their heads. Duncan staggered and clutched his side, where a red stain blossomed. Another shot, and he sank to his knees. c Joe twisted to look up the short flight of stairs to the control deck. Alan Guise was peering over the parapet with gun in hand. The barrel foreshortened. Joe brought his own gun up, releasing his grip on the railing to brace with both hands. Adam Pierson was diving for the katana. "No, wait!" he shouted. The muzzle of Alan's gun flared, and the bullet struck Joe squarely in the chest. He lost his balance on the crest of a wave and flipped over the side of the boat. The impact of the bullet knocked all Joe's breath away before he even hit the water. Then he was tumbling over and down through the chill darkness. He kicked and flailed his arms and realized his clothes and artificial leg were dragging him down. He shrugged out of his coat, loosened his pants, and fumbled for the straps to his leg. It was pitch black under the water, and he was still going down. His ears filled with water, and his nose stung. He kept his mouth clamped shut by force of will. Then his leg was off, taking his pants with it, and he started to thrash toward the surface. Still too slow. He pulled at the fastenings for the vest he wore. It had saved his life when the bullet hit, but now it was likely to drown him. Nearly naked, he tried again to swim upward. His arms were strong from years of lifting his body's weight, but he was already dizzy with the lack of oxygen. Soon he would pass out and start to breathe water. Doggedly, he ignored the burning of his lungs and kept moving his arms. He was blind and dazed when he broke the surface and leaned back on the breast of the water, gulping the air. Slowly other sensations began to trickle in, like the harbor lights and the fact that the water was damn cold and the air even colder. And the distant whine of a motor. He turned in a circle, looking for Guise's boat. It was far away, skipping across the waves. As he watched, he saw the lights begin to swing in a wide circle. After a minute the boat veered back the other way, then straightened out again. He saw it slowing before the sputtering of the motor reached him. There was a bewildering series of blue flashes, followed by a strengthening yellow glow, then a blinding flash. The crack of the explosion seemed to flatten the waves with its sound. Watching the flaming fragments fall from the sky, Joe shivered, and it was not just from the cold. It looked like that explosion had been set off by a quickening. The last he had seen, Duncan had been shot, and Adam Pierson was holding a sword. That meant his friend Duncan Macleod was dead. =========================================================================