Date: Wed, 17 Aug 1994 08:43:42 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "(Nancy Cleveland)" Subject: Revised Repost Aloha, Chapter 2 (P 1-6) For newbies, this is the second chapter of a continuing series, the first chapter was posted in July as Aloha (parts 1-7) and is available in the archives....constructive comments are welcome....it can only get better, right? I've also posted it this time in smaller pieces, as people were complaining that my posts before were too large to fit in their mailboxes...let me know if this fits, now. Comments can be sent to me at NancySSCH@AOL.COM Aloha c 1994 N.L. Cleveland Chapter 2 (P 1-6) Two round holes starred the side window of the Jeep. Splinters of glass rained on Jonathan as he ducked and tried to steer, hunched over the wheel. The rising wail of the police sirens drowned out any sound of the shots. He had no idea how far away the gun was, only that it was on the sea wall side. He glanced quickly at MacLeod. The man was slumped in his seat, his head lolling. A tiny thread of red inched its way down his temple. He didn't seem to be breathing. < Damn. I hope he knew what he meant when he said he was immortal.> The windshield shattered as three more shots cut through the Jeep. Jonathan was on the outer street now, and the Jeep was moving faster, but with the engine still off, there wasn't enough speed to maneuver well. He brushed his hand across his forehead and it came away sticky. A piece of flying glass must have hit. He took a corner and was out of direct line of sight from the house. Jonathan shot quick glances over his shoulder as he navigated the twisty road, still rolling the Jeep in neutral, the engine and lights still off. He wrenched the wheel by instinct at the turns, while at the top of the hill, the first police car evidently pulled up into the driveway, blue lights flashing in the sky. The blue glow was eclipsed by a sudden incandescent burst of light. The wave of sound that followed deafened Jonathan momentarily. Even the sirens disappeared in the hollow vacuum of white noise. The light faded to soft flickering reds and yellows as the remnants of the house burned, the glow reflecting off the low hanging clouds that mixed with the smoke from the fire. Lights went on in the houses along the street, the yellow glimmering out from between the tropical foliage that screened them from the road. The first sound he could hear was the fire engines starting up the hill, from their station in Konaloa, their sirens' distinctive wooh wooh drowning out even the police sirens that still approached. < This was supposed to be a quiet escape. > A dark sedan loomed out of the night shadows, almost on the Jeep's bumper, also running without lights. Another starred hole splintered the rear window of the Jeep. < They've found us, whoever they are. No reason to keep quiet any longer. > Jonathan turned the key. The engine caught. He gunned it and headed straight out the drive, towards the state park. It was only a mile away, through the exclusive and quiet suburbs. He knew these roads. This was his planned escape route, his back door out in case of trouble. The car following didn't have a prayer. < I hope.> He skimmed through a red light, the last one before the park gate, gambling that no one was coming around the blind side corner. They were through. He flashed his lights on, more to warn any oncoming traffic to get out of the way, than to see the road. He knew it well, every contour, every curve and bump. The car behind followed suit, their headlights on high, the light stabbing at him through the soft dark night. Mercifully, the roads were deserted so far. A soft rain had started to fall, making the surface slick and forcing him to slow as he slewed the Jeep around the steep and twisting roads. He had eyes only for the narrow path of blacktop before him and the whipping leaves and greenery on the side. He hunched over the wheel, trying to sense what was coming up before he could actually see it, using his instincts to turn the wheel. The car behind had stopped shooting. Out of bullets? Or just wanting to make it a close and personal kill. He couldn't see how many people were in the car, but there had to be at least two. Was it the Dragons, or the Agency? Not that it mattered, at this point. Later, it would be good to know. If there was a later. He narrowed his eyes against the mist, as it slicked against his face, and droplets slid down his skin. They were well into the park and the road had narrowed to almost a single lane here. He checked the gas gauge. Still half full. The engine was purring and showed no sign of strain so far. He was climbing now and could feel the vast expanse of empty space on his right as the road wound up the volcano's flank. The car behind was sticking close to his bumper, accelerating and trying to push him off the road whenever they could get close enough to hit the rear of the Jeep with their front end. He slowed even more, letting them make contact with his bumper again and again, then he pushed down the gas pedal and pulled them after him in a tantalizing race, staying just out of reach. He pushed up his speed again, and they followed, close on his bumper. He knew this part of the mountain intimately. A few hundred more yards. It was time. Now. He turned his lights off, and slammed on the brakes, hearing a crunch as his rear lights went and the headlights behind wobbled at the impact. He pulled the wheel to the left as hard as he could, the edges of his tires skimming the shoulder of the blacktop, threatening to shimmy and slide off into the dark void to the right. The other car continued ahead, the driver distracted for the second it took to go right off the road on the corkscrew bend. There were no guardrails here, they'd been pulled out last week in another crash. Jonathan had seen the wreckage being salvaged the last time he'd been out here. It was a calculated guess that the state road department wouldn't have replaced them yet. A gamble that worked. He saw the headlights of the other car pinwheel down the side of the hill, and then he was around the shoulder of the mountain, out of sight. Not even a glow lightened the cloud filled sky behind him. "Nice driving." Jonathan glanced to his side. MacLeod was watching him, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. His voice sounded..odd. Different, somehow. "Glad you made it... back. How are you feeling?" MacLeod grimaced, and rubbed his head. "I've got a hell of a headache. But I'll live. Those were more of your friends, I take it. What's the plan now?" "Do you feel up to driving?" MacLeod started to nod, then stopped and put his hand back on his head. "Sure. Just don't ask me to do any gymnastics for a bit." He closed his eyes for a moment, his mouth twisting in pain. Jonathan half reached towards him, then checked the motion at MacLeod's sharp gesture. "I'm fine, I said. Leave me alone." Jonathan pulled the jeep over to a wide spot in the shoulder, and stopped. He got out and walked to the rear of the Jeep, checking the back for visible damage. The left rear light was broken, but the bulb was still intact. Good enough. He stood for a moment, relaxing, preparing for the next stage of the journey they were to face tonight. The rain was still falling gently, and he held his face up to the falling water, trying to wash off the dirt, the grime, the blood. He opened his mouth, letting a few of the cool, moist drops in, to trickle down his parched and dry throat. No more time. He walked to the passenger side and climbed in. MacLeod had shifted to the drivers seat and flicked on the lights. Jonathan looked at him carefully, obliquely studying his face. The man looked haggard. Haunted. There were lines of strain running from nose to chin , and his eyes seemed unfocused, as if he weren't looking out at the world around them, but instead was seeing some inner landscape, and an unpleasant one, at that. < More of this Immortal stuff? Or will he even tell me? > Jonathan wondered just how many ugly surprises awaited him in his new *life* as an Immortal. "Which way?" "Just pull a U and go back straight down the hill, take the first left when we hit a light. It'll run us directly to the airport. You'll see the signs." MacLeod expertly turned the Jeep and they headed back. Jonathan peered out the window, searching for evidence of the crash at the sharp bend. There was no sign of the sedan, not even a skid mark where the car had disappeared over the edge. It would be a while before anyone noticed the car. The jungle was very thick here. He felt a moment's deep regret, almost like a physical sensation of pain, of mourning for the man of peace he had once hoped to be... and now would never become. The cycle of killing was not over. It seemed sometimes it would never end. Jonathan reached into the back seat and pulled his Laptop out, rummaged in the case and located the modem connection, then tied it into his phone. He turned on the computer and began typing rapidly, the glow of the screen casting an eerie green tint on his hands and everything in the front of the Jeep. Jonathan tried to access his main account in Switzerland. The phone was digital and the scrambled signal couldn't be picked up by any eavesdroppers, but for some reason the code wasn't working. He frowned, then cleared the screen and tried a different access code, one for a special account he'd set up, separately, just in case. This one worked. This account was intact, these funds available. < Ok, so the Bahamians were secure. What the hell was going on in Switzerland? > Jonathan shot another quick glance at MacLeod. The Immortal seemed to be holding up all right. His driving was confident, and relaxed. But he seemed abstracted. And he hadn't uttered a word since he'd started down the mountain. Typing rapidly, Jonathan activated the automatic withdrawal option and made several rapid transfers of funds. He took the money through seven different banks in three different countries, then redeposited it again under another name in the original bank. It should be untraceable, now. He paused and thought, then notified the bank he'd want access to a line of credit in their Washington D.C. branch. It would be waiting for him when he arrived. If he arrived. He cleared the screen and tried the Swiss again. Nothing. It was as if he'd never existed. The bank refused access, refused to acknowledge. He tried a final access code. A higher level entry code. The reply message blinked across his screen. "No such account. Please check your code number and try again, or contact customer service for assistance.' Damn. The Agency must have stripped his assets. They'd known how to access his account, but he'd been guaranteed that no one could withdraw anything except him. That was the point of having a Swiss account. How did they get in? What deal had they made with the Swiss bankers to shut him down? There had been no warning, no papers filed or served, just a total wipe of the account. He glanced up and noticed they were out of the park now. It had been nearly an hour since he'd led the sedan over the edge, nearly two since he'd left his house in flames. Left his life in flames. It was all ashes now. The embers of the house should be cool and dark. < I wish my heart felt that way.> A surge of raw grief shot through him for the two boys whose bodies had burned with the house. He'd barely known them, had only just met Jari, and Hikari, he'd never really met at all. And now, he never would. Except maybe in hell. < The waste. The senseless waste.> He felt as if his heart lay back in the embers of the house, a burned, hard lump of tortured flesh, straining with every beat not to burst. The bitter taste of ashes choked him, soured in his mouth. < I started it all. My own obsession with revenge, with wiping out the Black Dragons for murdering my parents. I didn't know how complete the wheel would be. Blood gathers blood, hate gathers hate. > He felt moisture trickle down his face, and wiped it away with the back of his hand. Just the rain. < Just the rain. > He wondered if Ski had been notified yet. < I need to call him. Or would it be better if he thought me dead?> Perhaps this was best. He would at least be safe, this way. No contact. A clean break. This was the way it would have to be. He ignored the pang of conscience that tugged at him. Ski would grieve. Maybe even blame himself for not staying to help. But that part of his life was over. It had to be. He was immortal now, whatever the hell that meant. But there was still a last bit of business to finish. A visit to the Agency. His lips pulled back in a reflexive snarl. Revenge. It felt right, and tasted so very sweet in its anticipation. There was nothing else to anticipate. Not now. Not ever. It would do. He glanced at the luminous clock blinking in the corner of his screen. It was almost 2 a.m. The airport was another hour away, but there was no point in arriving too soon. The less time they spent in public now, the better, at least until they were off the island and could blend with the general population. He sat up, ran his hands through his curly hair, feeling it damp and stiff with sweat, and perhaps blood. MacLeod had pulled up to a stoplight, sitting silently at the empty intersection as he waited for it to turn green. He'd glanced occasionally at Jonathan as he hunched over the screen, but had offered no comments, asked no questions as Jonathan had fought his electronic battle. Now, he looked at him and spoke, his first words since starting the Jeep. "Do you know when the first plane leaves?" Again, Jonathan sensed something was different. The timbre of MacLeod's voice, his intonation. Something had changed. Was changing. < Is this the same man I met at the auction? Or is he someone else now, someone I've never seen before?> It was an eerie feeling, wondering if he was talking to MacLeod, or to someone or something else that had emerged from inside, from the Immortal's past. Eerie, and unsettling. "Not yet, but I can find out. Go for about another 20 minutes, then pull into a side street and park." MacLeod stepped lightly on the gas as the light changed and moved the Jeep forward on the empty street, the soft misting rain throwing gleaming reflections across the shiny slick blacktop. Jonathan turned back to his Laptop, and accessed his Easy SABRE connection. The first flight out of Hilo this morning was at 5:30, direct to California. There were several empty seats. "How does San Francisco sound to you?" "Fine. Do you need some cash for the tickets?" No. I've got a card I'm using. My name's Ethan, now. Ethan Sommers. What name do you want me to book you under?" MacLeod thought for a moment, his eyes seeking out Jonathan's in the flickering light of the street lamps. He seemed to hesitate, then make a decision. Jonathan felt a tiny lessening of the tension in the Jeep. < A moment of trust. > "Look in the front pocket of my trench coat. Take the first passport and use it." Jonathan rummaged in MacLeod's coat and out pulled several passports. He examined them in the dim light. "You mean the American one, or the British one?" "The British will do for now. Joshua Cartwright. Esquire." MacLeod flashed Jonathan a brief grin. "Just returned from a charming vacation in the colonies. Use the AmEx card in my wallet, the Cartwright one." "Right. Charming." Jonathan turned back to his Laptop and made the two reservations, booking them separately, from different accounts and access names. He had a half dozen on-line accounts set up under different identities. =========================================================================