Date: Tue, 29 Mar 1994 17:14:00 MST Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Wendy Milner Subject: Questionable Beginning (1/2) Questionable Beginning (1/2) Wendy L. Milner Copyright 1994 by Wendy L. Milner All rights reserved. Kelly crouched in the shadows of the alley. It didn't really matter what alley she was in, they all looked the same from LA, New York, Paris, London or even Moscow. They were all a place for refuse, discarded food stuff, discarded cats, discarded people, and mostly just trash. The only difference between cities was the weather. Here in Seacouver, it was damp and cold. The drizzle was trying to turn to snow. Kelly tried not to lean against any of the dumpsters, cans or piles of unknown but smelly trash. After only a few minutes, the cold was already seeping through her black stretch pants and black sweater. She hadn't figured on being out for any length of time, so really hadn't dressed properly. She should have known better, she told herself as she wished for another cup of hot coffee. Why did cops always get to sit in cars with all the coffee they wanted, and she always had to be given contacts that wanted to meet in the middle of the night in an alley? Life was definitely not fair. She shivered a bit and thought again of coffee. Probably not a good idea. She already felt like she'd had a full pot of espresso. Either that or she was strung tighter than she thought about this detail as her nerves jangled making it hard for her to stand still. Clenching her hands and then relaxing them helped some, but the feeling persisted. She swore off coffee altogether. She'd go back to herb tea or something. Footsteps sounded from the far end of the alley. She was impatient, but waited for him to come to her. There was no need to spook him and have to go through this again. The footsteps come closer. She could make out a fairly tall man wearing a long black leather coat. He was better dressed than most of the people she met in the alleys. She straighten up and came out of the shadows. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," the man said. She was supposed to be meeting a guy named Lenny. "Good for you," she said sarcastically, "I think you've got the wrong alley. Why don't you move on." "I don't think so. You came to me. Who are you?" "None of your business," she said. She was glad she had included the Beretta as part of her night wardrobe. The three pounds of loaded gun was comforting right now. If this guy MacLeod had intercepted Lenny, she was going to have to get the information from him, and she didn't think he would be the kind to give it up easily. In the distance, she heard another set of footsteps. The steps were unsure, hesitating, more what she was expecting from her contact. Maybe MacLeod hadn't gotten to Lenny yet. Maybe he had some other agenda in mind. Didn't matter right now, she had other business to attend, and wasn't about to let him interfere more. "You go on about your business, and I'll do the same," Kelly told him. She took a couple of steps backwards. MacLeod didn't follow her. He almost looked puzzled. Kelly kept moving away from him. She thanked luck that Lenny was coming from the opposite direction. She glanced toward the entrance to the alley. An ill kept young man was standing there looking at the two of them. He saw Kelly watching, turned and ran. Kelly swore under her breath as she took off after him. The kid was fast and knew the streets and alleyways. Kelly pushed herself not to loose him. Her muscles were tight from standing in the cold. She was slow and let him get a head start. He disappeared down an alley and was gone by the time she got there. Damn that MacLeod for making Lenny bolt. Now she was going to have to start over. She walked into the street and looked around. It was after two am, very little traffic on the streets, most of the bars already closed, quiet enough to hear the rain on the pavement. Quiet enough to hear a scuffing from the alley. She waited out of sight for a few minutes. The rain penetrated her sweater. She held still. A few more minutes and the scuffing became steps. She watched for any movement. When a shadow moved, so did she. She took a couple of running steps into the alley and grabbed Lenny. Lenny pulled back, but Kelly had a good grip on his wrist. When he tried to get away, she twisted her grip and knocked him into the wall. "You've got something for me," Kelly said. She applied leverage to his wrist forcing his entire body to bend. "Yeah, in my pocket," he said. Kelly let up on the pressure and allowed him to fish out a dirty and folded envelop from his pocket. "Stay," she said as she opened it. A handful of photographs were contained in the envelop. She put them back and tucked the envelop into her own pocket. "Get out of here," she told Lenny. Kelly watched him run off, then followed at a slower rate. She went back towards the alley where she had left her car. She didn't like the thought that MacLeod might still be around, so rather than calling in from her current location, she drove back into the main part of town before picking up the cellular. "I got the picts," she told the voice on the other end of the phone, "Pretty much what I expected. But I did run into some one I want you to run a check on. He might just be a civilian, but I don't think so. There was something about him. His name is Duncan MacLeod. That's all I've got on him right now. I want an address. And I want to know who he is working for. I've got a feeling that I'll be running into him again. Tap into the local police net and see if they have anything on him. Also check federal. See what you can get me by tomorrow. I'm going in for the night." She got an acknowledgment from the other end and hung up, disconnecting the scrambler as she did so. Cellulars were handy except that anyone could listen in on the conversation. She drove on to her hotel thinking about a hot bath and warm bed. Twelve o'clock found her just rising from her bed. She knew she was going to have another late night, so there was no reason to get up early. A quick shower and change and she went down to breakfast. As she drank her first cup of coffee, she thought about the caffeine buzz she had gotten the night before. Standing in the alley just before MacLeod showed up, her nerves had been frayed, but after she took off, she had been fine. Could have been pent up nerves, she thought, but somehow that didn't seem right to her. She might have said that MacLeod had triggered it, except that was down right ridiculous. She would find out about him. "You were right on MacLeod," her phone contact told her. The voice was different than the one in the night. It didn't matter to her. They were all voices. She'd only met a couple of them before. "Duncan MacLeod has a rap sheet longer than most, but nothing confirmed. Police here have been tracking him for about ten years. Seems he shows up around dead bodies a lot. Either people just die at his feet, or die around him. The police haven't been able to nail him for any, but they do figure he's responsible. Interesting note here, several of these bodies have been decapitated. Then we get into the federal files. A bit more inconsistent, but the same pattern comes through if you dig enough. People die around him. He's also been involved with some high profile crimes and criminals. Again, nothing to bring him to court with, but enough to keep the police looking. And not just in the US. He's got a rap in six different countries. We had a bit of trouble getting through their computers, but still got enough to find his name. Once again, death follows him." "Alright," Kelly said, "He's a contract killer. Who for?" "We come up blank on that. No one we know is hiring him, unless he uses a different name." "I don't think so. He walked up and announced himself to me. Gave name, rank and clan. I don't think he'd use an alias. What about an address?" "Lives on the top floor of a building he owns. Main business of the building, only business actually, is a gym by the name of DeSalvo's Gym. Checked out that guy as well. Charles DeSalvo, ex- seal, fairly straight. Didn't go into business after he got out of the military even though a couple of firms tried to hire him. Instead, he had some odd jobs and then bought the gym. IRS says he didn't make enough to support the business. That's when MacLeod stepped in about a year ago. The place still isn't making a profit, but doesn't seem to lack money." The name struck a cord in her mind. She pictured the alley and saw the name on the building next to it. OK. Maybe she had gone to MacLeod without knowing it. So, maybe, if she were lucky, she would be done with him. "That's what I needed," she said, "Could have been a chance encounter last night. I was in his backyard anyway. So, I'll just stay away and we'll see if Mr. MacLeod does the same. Let's let MacLeod rest. I've got other things to do." Other things included cleaning the photographs, making sure there were no finger prints on them, before putting them in a new clean envelope, the kind you could find in any stationary store, along with a letter, hand written on generic paper with a generic Bic pen. The letter was a straight forward blackmail demand. "$10,000 now and $10,000 a week or your partner gets the negatives," it said, "Tonight, 7pm, ninth street bridge, north side. You do the delivery." It would be interesting to see who all showed up. He might bring the cash himself, or he might have a few friends show up as well. Kelly didn't care. From her position on top of the building across the street, she'd be able to see most of what went on. She had no reason to get close enough to find out if he even brought the cash. She was just interested in getting him into position. She walked into his office building like any other business person. She took the elevator up to the personnel office. From there, she found an empty desk that had an out mail basket. She dropped the letter in the basket and walked out. So much for delivery. She would have liked to have been on the phone when he got the letter, but that was some one else's job. Instead, she waited in her car outside the office building just in case he decided to bolt before the designated time. She alternated between jazz, rock and classical for hours, just watching the exit to the parking garage. By dinner time she was thoroughly bored. She got a signal from her relief that the target was still in his office. Dinner at a nice restaurant, a quick change, then the drive to the bridge. That was the plan. Plans changed when she felt the nerve jangling buzz, looked up and found MacLeod in the restaurant with her. He saw her and walked over to her table. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said smiling, "I'm Duncan MacLeod." He held his hand out to her. "I don't know what your game is, but I'm not interested in playing it. Why don't you leave now. And the next time you see me, go the other way." "That's not very polite," he said taking the seat across from her, "I think we should talk. I like to know who is in the area." "As I said last night, none of your business." She pushed her chair back and started to rise. He put his hand over hers. She felt a surge of energy run between them. She jerked her hand away. "Leave me alone," she said. As soon as she got to her car she called the local number. "Pick up MacLeod. He's becoming a liability. Hold him till this detail is done. Then I want to talk to him. Right now, he's having dinner. I'd suggest a couple of FBI guys come and take him away." She gave the address of the restaurant. She waited out of sight and out of the range of that extra buzz sense she got around MacLeod. Still, she saw the two FBI clones show up and enter the restaurant. She drove closer then, and was near the entrance when they came out, MacLeod in handcuffs, the FBI guys on either side of him. He looked up at her when she stopped. She tipped a non-existent hat at him drove off. At least he would be out of the way for awhile. Time was short. She forgot about having a dinner and went instead to set up. An hour before the target was to arrive, she climbed to the roof and got into position. This time she brought her coat so at least she wasn't so cold. She put the gun case on the tar and gravel roof, opened it and carefully checked all components. She inserted four blue tipped rounds into the chamber, not that she need four, but just in case there were others in the field of fire. She laid a plastic tarp down and sat relaxed on it where she could easily see the bridge. A little before seven she began to see people moving around the bridge. Some were innocent joggers who continued on their way. A few were heavy set men who walked and then disappeared into the scenery. Right at seven, she saw the target's car. She picked up the rifle, adjusted it against her shoulder, and sighted down at the car. She couldn't see the driver very well, certainly not enough for an identification. She called the local number again. "Run a patch for me," she said, "Clear code it and get me the target on line." She waited a few seconds while there were clicks and electronic noise, then the phone rang. The driver of the car reached over and picked up the phone. "Get out of the car. Go to the trash can across the walk way from your car and drop the money there," Kelly said. "How do I know," he started to say. Kelly disconnected the phone. The driver got out of the car. The trash can was under a street light. It was easy to see him now. Kelly put the cross hairs just a fraction of an inch above his heart. He stopped, looked around, dropped the briefcase in the trash and turned. For just a second he was still and straight. It was all she needed. An extra ounce of pressure on the trigger, the report was loud, the gun barrel rose blocking her sight of the target. It didn't matter. In her mind's eye she could see him going down. The rifle went into the case. The tarp was folded and put under her arm. She walked quickly to the stairs and started down. She tossed the case and tarp into the back seat of the car and drove off. She'd know in a few minutes how successful she had been. She drove a circular route to the bridge. By the time she arrived, so had the police and ambulance. One of the joggers glanced her way and gave her a thumbs up. She drove on. Now to find out about the MacLeod character. The house was isolated, several acres of land surrounding it, as did a security fence meant as much to keep people in as out. Kelly stopped at the gate, punched in the six digit code on the pad and watched the steel gate slide open. She hesitated a moment before driving through. She didn't care for locked gates regardless of whose gate it was. Still, she had asked that he be secured for her. The inside of the house was richly appointed, oriental rugs over hard wood floors, antique furniture, masters paintings, high ceilings. More than the comforts of home, although Kelly didn't feel comfortable in the house. It reminded her too much of a similar place where she had almost gotten herself killed. She preferred a simple place with just a couple of rooms, warm and secure. This place didn't feel secure for all its security cameras, mikes and armed guards. It did feel like MacLeod was some where close. The feeling had to be coming from him. She couldn't explain it, and didn't think she wanted to admit to him or anyone else that she had the feeling. How could he have a live wire attached to her nervous system? Nothing made sense about it. "What have you got for me?" she asked the two men in the downstairs room. "Here's the file. Our boy is a real winner." He handed her a thick manilla folder. "Police would love to get some real evidence on him." "Anything else?" she asked as she glanced through the first few pages of the file. "He was carrying when he was brought in," the second guy said. He had a silly grin on his face. "What?" "You'd never believe it. The FBI geeks brought him in without even doing a decent search. They had handcuffed him, but that was all. When we stripped him, take a guess at what he had on him." "I'm not in the mood for games," Kelly said. "Take a look. It's over there on the table. And be careful. The damn thing's got a razor edge to it." Kelly looked over the blade without touching it. "You have to be joking. This is four feet of steel. How the hell could he have hidden this?" "It was there. We were just as surprised to find it as you are. And he was none to happy to give it up. Even cuffed, it took a couple of guys to hold him still. His clothes didn't survive very well." "I don't care about his clothes. Where is he now?" She was pointed to a short hallway. At the end was a barred door and a small room empty of furniture. In the center of the room a naked Duncan MacLeod stood with his hands cuffed in front of him. His posture and muscle tension showed he was just a bit miffed. Kelly took in the view slowly. Too bad he was an adversary, she could have had fun with him. "Why are you doing this?" he said in an overly controlled voice. "You wouldn't go away. Now, why don't we start with what you want, who you are working for and why." He almost growled at her. "I don't work for anyone." "You showing up in the alley, I can almost believe was just bad luck. But coming to the restaurant and sitting down with me, that was intent. The question is intent to do what?" "Have dinner," he said. "At my table, when I didn't invite you. I don't think so. Why are you after me?" "I'm not." "I don't believe that, and you're going to stay here until I hear something that I can believe. Why do you carry that over sized pig sticker?" He shook his head and walked away. Facing the wall he said, "It doesn't matter what I say, does it? Legally, you can't hold me for more than forty-eight hours." "Legally doesn't count here. Just because we asked the FBI for a favor in picking you up, doesn't mean they have anything to do with this. You are here for as long as I say you are here." That wasn't completely true. She'd have to come up with some reason before long or he would be taken from her control, either to be killed or set free. She hoped they wouldn't have to kill him. She could appreciate a body like his. He turned to face her again. "Why?" "I already told you. I want to know who sent you and why. You will not leave this place without telling us everything we want to know." "Can I at least have some clothes?" She gave a grin. "Maybe. If you cooperate. However, for now, I think I'll go get dinner. You interrupted mine." She turned away before he could read her thoughts which had nothing to do with dinner. The two men snickered over their cards as she walked back into the room. Kelly picked up the sword from the side table. "I'm sure you think it's real funny," she said pointing the sword at the nearest one. He leaned back in his chair. "I suggest you watch yourself that you don't find yourself in there with him. Now that would be fun to watch." She went upstairs with the sword and the file. The butler, who was also one of the permanent guards of the house, led her to the study. "Something to eat," she said, "Anything, I don't care. And a pot of coffee." She laid the sword in front of her. She didn't know that much about them, but this one was beautiful. She would have to find some one in the area who could tell her more about them. Meantime, she needed to read the file. Police files, FBI reports, IRS forms, copies of reports from police forces around the world, passport applications, photographs of MacLeod and a few of his friends, newspaper reports on him and an artist lady friend. Kelly read through it all and finished the pot of coffee. She must be getting used to his closeness, the buzz didn't bother her quite so much any more. She glanced at the monitors on occasion to see him sitting in the corner of his cell. Something was bogus in all this. The files just didn't add up to what she saw. Something wasn't quite right here. With the name and address of an expert with swords, Kelly left the house. She'd drop the sword off, then go on to MacLeod's apartment. Alistar Harrison met her at the door, said hello and then lost all interest in her when he saw the sword. He took it possessively in his hands and caressed it. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," Kelly said, "I want a history on that sword when I get back." Alistar barely nodded as he closed the door on her. He was as bad as some of the midnight computer users she knew. Once they got into their computers, real people might just as well not exist. They had their place in the world though, and she used them all. MacLeod's apartment was dark when she arrived. His keys let her in through the stairway door. Once inside, she turned on lights. Interesting place. One big room with a kitchen at one end, living room in the middle, and bed at the other end. The bathroom was small and efficient. No medicines of any kind in the cabinet. No first aid supplies. She wondered about that. With the gym below, she would have thought he'd keep a few things up in the apartment. She went back to the bedroom. There were no closets, instead, his clothes were in an elaborate wardrobe. Expensive clothes, even the casual ones. She took out a set of clothes for him. She thought he'd look nice in a dark blue. She went through his drawers, looking for anything that didn't belong. She went through his desk and found nothing that would indicate why he was after her. She went through the kitchen and found a good supply of wine. She added a bottle to the duffle bag where she had put his clothes. When she finished with his apartment, she started through the rest of the building. Most rooms were unused, or used for storage. She found one room that held a variety of antiques. She didn't think much of that since he had been an antique dealer for years. She still searched the place. The only thing that gave her pause was a rack of swords. Turn Alistar loose and he'd go nuts. Antique swords she thought, different ones from different periods of history, sabers, long swords, broad swords, kinds she had never seen before. MacLeod might be obsessed with them. The gym office gave her nothing to go on either. The papers all dealt with contracts, liability releases, taxes, expenses and general business. Nothing in the entire building told her anything about why he might be after her. She headed back to Alistar's place. "So what's with the sword?" she asked him. "Very unique and very old. I have found a couple of references to a katana with dragon head in my books. It seems to have belonged to a family by the name MacLeod. It appears in different places in different centuries, so the references may not be to the same sword. "What makes it unique?" Kelly asked. Then she got more of a lesson in swords than she had ever wanted. An hour later she was sure the sword was special, but still didn't know why he carried it. "One last question," she said before leaving, "What's it worth?" "It would never be put up for sale. If it were, I suppose that how much would depend on who knew it was for sale. At a low price, I'd say five hundred thousand. High price, a million. But it would never go on sale." He picked up a book and opened it to a marker. "Look here," he said showing the book to her. He started to tell her about the picture, but she wasn't listening. The picture was a photograph of a painting. She couldn't tell if the painting was good or not. She just stared at the man with the katana in his hands. It could be Duncan MacLeod except the painting was a hundred years old. Kelly carried the sword a bit more carefully when she went to her car. She couldn't imagine owning something so valuable and just carrying it around. She also couldn't imagine anyone looking so much like the man she had in the basement. -- Wendy \|/ /\ -O- /**\ /|\ /****\ /\ / \ /**\ Here there be dragons / /\ / \ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\/\/\ /\ / / \ / \ / \/\/ \/ \ /\/ \/\ /\ /\/ / / \/ \ / / \/ /\ \ / \ \ / \/ / / \/ \/ \ / \ \ / / \/ \/\ \ / \ / / \ __/__/_______/___/__\___\__________________________________________________ Wendy Milner HPDesk: wendy_milner@hp4000 Hewlett-Packard Co. HP-UX: wendy@fc.hp.com Mail Stop 102 Telnet: 229-2182 3404 E. Harmony Rd. AT&T: (303) 229-2182 Fort Collins, CO, 80525 FAX: 229-3526 =========================================================================