Date:         Mon, 18 Dec 1995 22:06:15 -0500
Reply-To:     Mike Breen <mikeb@USA1.COM>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Mike Breen <mikeb@USA1.COM>
Subject:      REVENGE AND REBIRTH II - Towards Future and Past, Part 3

Sorry this took so long, but between work and night school, I've been
busier than ever lately.  Anyway, here's part 3 of "Revenge and Rebirth
II."  Lots of adult language in this one and the next part, and the carnage
factor is kicked into overdrive in both of them as well.

BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES, NOVEMBER - DECEMBER, 1995

     He may as well get this over and done with.  Simon Jamerson hailed a
cab outside of the airport and put his suitcases in the trunk.  He told the
driver to take him to a hotel, _any_ hotel.  He sat back and sighed.
     Connor MacLeod.
     What was he, crazy?
     But either Connor MacLeod or Kurdt VonHoffer.  Either way, he was just
as dead.  Besides, he didn't _have_ to even try to take MacLeod's head.
Just make sure he dies in public.
     He sighed again.

     The three of them sat at the table.  Patrick at the head, Michelle to
his left, and Rebecca at his right.  They ate in awkward silence.  Patrick
thought back to when he told Rebecca that he had invited Michelle over for
dinner.
     "What are you, stupid?" Rebecca said.
     "She wants to meet you," Patrick said.
     "And Kurdt VonHoffer wants your head, but that doesn't mean you'll
hand it to him on a silver platter, now does it?"
     Patrick inhaled sharply.
     "I'm sorry," Rebecca said.
     "No," Patrick said.  "I'm sorry.  For not asking you first.  I'll call
Michelle at her hotel and tell her to forget it."
     "No, don't," Rebecca said.  "Maybe _I_ want to meet her."
     So here they were, eating in silence, each thinking of a way to break
it.  Michelle finally did and asked Rebecca, "So... you're French?"
     "Uh-huh."
     "What do you do?  I mean, you're eight hundred years old..."
     "Actually," Rebecca said, "I'm older than that.  I'm almost as old as
Patrick.  I was born in 1165"
     "What do you _do_ with yourself?  I mean you've seen it all..."
     "Actually, I haven't.  We make ourselves part of _your_ world.  That,
in and of itself, keeps us from being bored.  There's _always_ something
new.  If you had told me in the 1300's that the world was round and that
there was another entire hemisphere, and that we'd go to the _moon_, I'd
have told you that you had the plague and were having hallucinations, or
something."
     Relieved that there was actually conversation, Patrick said, "I always
thought that vampires would get bored, since they can't really be part of
society.  They have to stay out of the light, they can only come out at
night."
     "Vampires?" Michelle said.  "Surely there's no such thing as vampires."
     "Until a year ago," Patrick said, "you didn't think anyone could live
to over eight centuries."
     "That's true.  Have you ever met any vampires?"
     "A few.  The only one I actually liked I came across in the 20's.  He
kept changing his last name, but he always went by the name Nicholas.  He's
about my age..."
     "I heard he was a cop in Toronto," Rebecca said.  "Anyway, Michelle,
to answer your question, I mostly spend my time either painting or
sculpting.  You ever hear of an early 19th century painter named Rebecca
DuPuolt?"
     "Yeah.  Sounds vaguely familiar."
     "That was me."
     "_Really_?"
     Rebecca nodded and said, "Though my paintings didn't really sell until
after she died."
     "I see..." Michelle said.  "You pretended to die and became someone else."
     Rebecca said, "No I actually _died_, in a fire.  Patrick dug my body
up from my grave after the funeral."
     Michelle shivered, realizing the full implications of not only what
Rebecca was saying, but of Immortality itself.  She said, "I hadn't
realized... Patrick and I never actually got that far in our relationship.
I'm sorry."
     "Don't be," Rebecca said, taking her drink, getting up and heading for
the couch.  The others followed.  "That happened over a hundred and fifty
years ago.  It's ancient history.  It wasn't the first time I died, and it
sure as hell wasn't the last.  It's also not the first time either of us
have been dug up from a grave."
     Patrick nodded and said, "That Immortal I was telling you about,
Michelle?  The first time I encountered him, his men had killed us.
Fortunately, we had some friends who dug us up afterwards."
     "It must be something..." Michelle said.  "Living forever."
     "It's not all it's cracked up to be," Patrick said.
     "The heads..." Michelle said.
     "Not only that," Rebecca said, indicating Michelle's belly.  "I
wish..."  Tears welled up in her eyes and she closed them.  "What the hell
am I _crying_ for?"  She felt someone take her hand and place it on
Michelle's belly.  She felt a kick.  Opening her eyes, she saw Michelle had
taken her hand.  "Thanks," she said, sniffing.  "I'd give it _all_ to be
able to feel that inside of _me_."
     "It's not," Michelle said, echoing Patrick's words, "all it's cracked
up to be."
     Smiling lop-sidedly, Rebecca said, "Speak for yourself."

     Connor MacLeod wandered the streets of Boston, doing a bit of
nighttime sight-seeing.  He walked through Government Center towards Center
Plaza.  He stopped, feeling an Immortal nearby.  It wouldn't be Patrick or
Rebecca, they were having Michelle over for dinner that night.  It also
wasn't Nancy.  She was playing an acoustic show over on Landsdowne Street.
Then who..?  He felt the comforting feel of his sword beneath his coat.
Although not the Ramirez blade, it was steadily becoming a part of him.  He
then remembered what Patrick had uncovered about VonHoffer's plot.  Somehow
VonHoffer had found out about his arrival in Boston the other day.  He had
become, just by landing at Logan, a VonHoffer target.  Be that as it may,
he wouldn't let that bother him.  He'd get rid of this pawn in short order.
 He walked towards State Street, and took a right onto Court Street, and
felt the Immortal follow him.  He hoped that he could get to the alleyways
before the Immortal confronted him.  He turned into Court Square, which
bustled in the daytime, but was deserted at night.  A voice behind him
said, "MacLeod."
     Connor turned around and said, "I don't know you."
     "I am Simon Jamerson."
     "Shouldn't you be at your master's heel?"
     Jamerson took his sword out from beneath his coat.  Connor did the same.
     "You realize that VonHoffer sent you here to die, don't you."
     Jamerson said, "I don't think _I_ am the one who will die, MacLeod."
He attacked.
     Swords locked, Connor said, "You don't stand a chance, Jamerson.
Surrender now and I won't take your head."
     Jamerson backed off and attacked again.  Connor blocked and parried.
Then he turned his attack around to the offensive.  He backed Jamerson
against a corner where two buildings came together.  "Give in, Jamerson,"
he said.  "You don't stand a chance, and you know it."
     Jamerson attempted to stab Connor in the chest.  Connor blocked it,
but it still scraped off of his side.  He disarmed Jamerson, placed his
sword against his neck and said, "Where is VonHoffer?"
     "I don't know!"
     "Liar."  Connor swung, severing Jamerson's head from his shoulders.
The Quickening seeped slowly at first, from Jamerson's headless corpse
towards Connor.  Then it exploded.  Connor screamed, and the electricity
shattered windows, and exploded against the streetlights and the few parked
cars.  It showered him with sparks and glass.  Then, it was over, and
Connor collapsed in a heap on the ground.  He then felt the presence of
another Immortal.  Opening his eyes, he gripped his sword.  He heard
someone clapping.  He got to his knees, then his feet and looked up.
     "Good show, Highlander," the other Immortal said.  "Almost as
entertaining for me as O'Brien.  You played your part of the plan out
wonderfully."
     "Who are you?" Connor said, tiredly.
     "I think you know the answer to that question, my friend."
     "VonHoffer.  What are you doing here, you bastard?"
     "I'm here to make sure nothing happens to our mutual friend over
there."  He indicated Jamerson's body.
     "Stand aside, VonHoffer, and let me dispose of it."
     "Oh no," VonHoffer said.  "That's not part of the plan."
     Connor gripped his sword and said, "Stand ASIDE!!"
     VonHoffer, with nearly blinding speed, had his sword out from beneath
his coat and at Connor's neck.  He said, "Think about it, MacLeod.  You are
in no condition to fight.  You've just taken a Quickening, and you are
exhausted, not to mention that nasty unhealed wound on your side.  I, on
the other hand, am fresh and would take _your_ head in short order."  He
pressed his blade against Connor's jugular vein and a bead of blood seeped
out.  He said, "Your choice, MacLeod."
     Connor, knowing that although he had taken Jamerson's head he had been
beaten, returned his sword to its spot beneath his coat.  VonHoffer said,
"A wise choice.  You do have the reputation as a logical thinker, MacLeod."
 He replaced his own sword beneath his coat.
     "This is not over, VonHoffer.  Patrick will take your head, and if
Patrick fails then _I_ will take your head.  I will hunt you to the ends of
the earth.  This is _far_ from over you bastard."
     "Of course it's not over.  As far as the Irelander taking _my_ head...
 perhaps.  But if he does, his life will be over."
     Connor, helpless, turned and left the square.
     VonHoffer turned and walked towards the Pi Alley movie theater.  He
walked into the lobby towards a payphone.  He placed a quarter into the
slot and dialed the number of the Area A police station.  When the desk
sergeant answered, VonHoffer said, "I'd like to report a murder..."

     "The second one in two months," Detective Frank D'Gornio said.  "What
a fucking mess."
     His partner, Detective Jim Douglas shook his head.
     "Another body," D'Gornio said, "and were probably further than we were
after the first two were found.  Lemee guess," he said to the Medical
Examiner.  "The cut was made extremely clean and with something razor
sharp."
     The ME, not looking up and said, "Absolutely.  We've definitely got
the same MO here.  This is absolutly the same guy."
     "Damnit.  At least in the Garden we had a motive."
     "We did?" Douglas said.
     "Yeah, at least then he was a vigilante.  But this..."
     "Maybe this is a different guy."
     "Nope," the ME said, still not looking up.  "This is definitely the
same guy.  The angle of the cut and the fact that it's so clean...  only an
expert swordsman could make a cut like that.  How many _real_ expert
swordsmen are in Boston?  And how many are actual killers?"

     The next day, D'Gornio and Douglas were looking over the files once
again.  Echoing the ME's words the night before, Douglas said, "How many
expert swordsmen _are_ serial killers?"
     "And we've definitely got a serial killer on our hands," D'Gornio
said.  "Five bodies, three that were definitely killed by the same guy."
     "_Five_ bodies?"
     "Uh-huh.  Marriman, John Doe number one from the Garden, John Doe
number two from last night, the body in Chelsea in April, and the murder
that Marriman and his wife witnessed back in January of this year."
     "But no body was found."
     "No, it never was.  But that doesn't mean that it never happened."
     "If no body was found in the January murder then why are we finding
them, all of the sudden?"
     "Maybe the man's sickness has progressed to the point that he _wants_
the bodies to be found."
     "If that's the case, then how many murders have been committed between
January and now that we _don't_ know about?"
     "I don't even want to _think_ about that."

     Connor walked into the Ammamoto School of Martial Arts and felt the
Immortals inside.  He stood in the lobby until Patrick came out of the main
workout room.
     "Connor," Patrick said, "come on in."  He ushered Connor into the main
workout room, and then into the padded and mirrored teaching room where Joe
was giving a class.  They walked through another door into the office,
decorated in Japanese style.  He sat behind the desk and offered a seat to
Connor.  "How do you like it?" he said.
     "It suits you.  Patrick, I made the paper this morning."
     "I know."
     "You saw?"
     "Yup.  'Second body found near Pi Alley' or something to that effect.
The Herald said, 'Headhunter Hits Hard.  Police Pretty Perturbed.'  What
happened?"
     "VonHoffer sent someone after me, I beat him, and VonHoffer prevented
me from disposing of the body."
     "Yup.  Same old story."
     "Patrick, you realize that somehow he's gonna tie it to you."
     "Yeah, but the question is how?  Pretty good, though, for a random
last-minute detail."
     "Patrick... he knew I was here.  He _somehow_ knew that I was in
Boston.  There was nothing random or last-minute about it."
     "But how..?"
     "The Watchers," Connor said.  "How _else_?"

     The next two weeks were quiet.  Connor had returned to New York for
Thanksgiving, but promised Patrick that he would be back in Boston in early
December.  Rebecca and Michelle became fast friends, and Michelle had
realized that Rebecca and Patrick were not only in love, but made for
eachother.  She had made her choices, and she now had to live with them.
Her fate wasn't as bad as she had originally tried to make it out.  After
all, this Immortal that was after Patrick could have targeted her had she
stayed with him.  She and Patrick had a new understanding between the two
of them.  They could now go on with their lives, and still be friends,
which was fortunate since she liked Rebecca so much.  She returned to her
husband the day after they had dinner.  He was happy to see her, and she
told him everything.  He understood and they tenderly reunited.  She was
working hard at CardnalSoft, and getting paid well.  She had taken to
meeting Rebecca for either lunch or dinner every couple of days.  Today
they were eating dinner in an out-of-the-way place in Chinatown, since
Patrick had a late swordsmanship class at the dojo.
     "What a day," Michelle said.
     "You're telling me," Rebecca said.  "I've got this show tomorrow.
Hopefully, the 'hipsters' will have enough money after Thanksgiving to
spend on my paintings."
     "That's ok.  My boss is starting to get _real_ impatient.  He want's
results yesterday, and he want's to make money last week."
     "These things take time."
     "That's what I _told_ him.  I said, 'I'm sorry you're unhappy with my
work, Mr. VonHoffer, but...'"
     "_What_ was his name?" Rebecca said, her heart-rate up.
     "VonHoffer.  Kurdt VonHoffer."
     Rebecca's heart leapt into her throat.  "Stay here, Michelle.  Don't
move."
     "Rebecca..."
     "Don't leave until I come back."  Rebecca grabbed her coat and ran
outside.  There was no phone in the restaurant, so she ran down towards
Essex Street.  She found a payphone, with someone talking on it.  She ran
down a block and found another, but the receiver had been smashed, and a
third one, another block down, that the coin-slot was broken.  She ran back
to the first one.  She tapped the young Asian teen ager on his shoulder and
said, "Excuse me, but this is an emergency, and this is the only phone for
blocks"
     "Fuck you," he said in Chinese, and returned to his conversation.
     She noticed his gang colors, but tried again unperturbed.  She said in
Chinese "I said, this is an _emergency_."
     "And I said fuck you," the teen ager said, this time in English, and
pulled a knife out. Then he turned back to his conversation.
     Rebecca, now mad, pulled her sword out and tapped him on the shoulder
with it.  The teen ager turned back and swung his knife.  She expertly
disarmed him and said in English, "Is it worth it?"
     "God damn, lady!" he said in English.  "You can use the phone all you
want!"  He ran away.  "You're _crazy_!" he said as he ran.
     Rebecca laughed and deposited a dime into the phone.  She dialed the
dojo's number.  The phone rang once, twice, three times.  On the forth ring
the machine picked up and Joe's voice said, "You have reached the Ammamoto
School of Martial Arts.  Office hours are from nine in the morning to five
at night.  Classes begin at seven in the morning and run until eight at
night.  The school is available for personal training from six in the
morning until nine at night.  Please leave a message after the tone."
     "Damn," she said, hanging up the phone.  She ran back towards the
restaurant.
     McKinley walked out of the shadows.  He took his flip-phone out of his
pocket and dialed VonHoffer's number.  When VonHoffer answered he said,
"Something's happened...  I think they may have figured out who it is that
Michelle is working for... _I_ don't know, but someone may have been better
off if he used a different name... I'm sorry Kurdt but...  Look, if you
_don't_ want my advice...  Kurdt...  Fine, I'll follow them... Goodbye."

     VonHoffer slammed down the phone.  He had no _idea_ something like
this would happen.  The question "what's your boss's name" hardly ever
comes up in a conversation.  He did not use an alias around Michelle Taylor
because he was afraid that _someone_ would have slipped and used his real
name in front of her.  VonHoffer could see all his plans unraveling before
his eyes because of _one_ minor detail.  He slammed his fists on his desk.
He picked up his phone and hurled it across the office.  One by one, he
emptied his drawers and threw the contents across the room.  Then he walked
over to his bookcase and threw all his books against the opposite wall.  He
walked back over to his desk, picked the computer monitor up off of the
desk and threw that across the room as well.  It smashed against the wall,
showering the rug with sparks and glass.  He then left the office and
walked up the stairs to his penthouse apartment.

     Rebecca returned to the restaurant and said, "We've got to get to
Patrick."
     "But, Rebecca..."
     "Michelle, you are in great danger.  Never mind eating, come on."
Rebecca placed a bill on the table, grabbed Michelle by the arm, and said,
"You have a car?"
     "No, not in Boston.  I didn't rent one when I came here."
     "Damn.  I didn't take mine, either."
     "What about taking the T?  Or a cab?"
     Rebecca laughed and said, "That's all we need right now, for the green
line to break down.  And I don't trust cabs, especially now."  Rebecca
walked into an alleyway and spotted what she was looking for.  An old car,
probably without an alarm.  She put on her gloves and took a small tool out
of her pocketbook and pried the passengers side door's lock off.
     "Rebecca?  What are you doing?"
     "What does it look like?  Grand theft auto.  An _old_ friend named
Amanda taught me this.  Put on a pair of gloves"
     Michelle couldn't help it.  She began to laugh.  Rebecca unlocked the
door, slid in, and told Michelle to get in.  Michelle put her gloves on and
complied.  She then popped the ignition and started the car with a
nail-file.  She put the car in gear and sped off.
     McKinley entered the alleyway just in time to see them leave.  "God
_damn_ it!" he said.  He took out his flip-phone and dialed the office
number.  There was no answer, so he dialed VonHoffer's penthouse number.
     "This better be good, John," VonHoffer said, coldly.
     "It's not.  Rebecca stole a car and they took off."
     "They're OBVIOUSLY going to get O'BRIEN!!"
     "Yeah, but..."
     "He's probably at the God damned dojo you incompetent little shit!  Go
there and try to find out what happened!  And DON'T let me see your ratty
little face around here until YOU DO!  Do you UNDERSTAND?"
     McKinley didn't answer.  He hung up.

     VonHoffer slammed the phone down.  He ripped it out of the wall and
walked over to his balcony.  He looked down onto the unfortunately deserted
street and dropped it.  Several seconds later, he heard it smash against
the sidewalk.  If it had killed someone as it landed, he would have felt
much better.

     They arrived at Kenmore square and Rebecca parked the car illegally.
If it were towed, well hell it wasn't her car anyway.  They walked into the
dojo and into the teaching workout room where Patrick was giving a samurai
fencing class.  Elaine was among his students.  He looked up, saw the two
women standing at the entrance and said, "That will be all for tonight."
He bowed to the class.  They bowed back and filed out, all except for
Elaine.  He sheathed his katana, wiped himself with a towel, and said,
"What's up?"
     "Tell him," Rebecca said.  "Tell him your boss's name."
     "Kurdt VonHoffer."
     Patrick went white.  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it
again.  He then turned to Michelle and said, "Leave this city.  Go as far
away as possible."
     "Patrick..."
     "Michelle your life is in danger.  Kurdt VonHoffer is the Immortal
who's after me."
     "Then I want to help you," Michelle said.
     "How?"
     "I can get us into his office, and access his computer system.  He and
another man are constantly working on something.  I just assumed it had to
do with his software company."
     "That's obviously a front.  Damnit, I should have see it!  It was
right _there_ infront of my eyes.  'CardnalSoft.'  I must be getting senile
in my old age."
     "Patrick, it's not your fault," Rebecca said.
     "How did he find all this out," Elaine said.  "The Watchers are the
only people who know why Michelle left and where..."  Elaine broke off,
knowing the implications of what she was saying.
     "Yes," Patrick said.  "The Watchers have _all_ that information."
     "Who're the Watchers?" Michelle said.
     "They observe and record our life stories in secret for history's
sake.  They're supposed to not interfere, but...  By the way, Michelle,
Bernard's _my_ Watcher."
     "_Bernard_?  Saxophone Bernard is your biographer?"  Michelle said.
     "Shocking, isn't it?"
     "How'd you find _that_ out if it's supposed to be a secret?"
     "_That_," Patrick said, "is a long story I'd rather not get into."  He
turned to Elaine and said, "Bernard mentioned to me that his old student is
VonHoffer's Watcher."
     Elaine nodded.  "It all fits now.  He's got to be in VonHoffer's
pocket.  I'm not looking forward to telling him."
     "You're not going to.  I will."  He turned back to Michelle and said,
"How do we get into his computer."
     "I'll show you when we get there," Michelle said.
     "No," Patrick said.  "Just give me the codes, and _I'll_ do the
breaking and entering."
     "Um, Patrick..." Rebecca said, "I'm the pro at that stuff.  Remember
that I learned from the best."
     "Allright.  Just you.  Michelle, I don't want to risk either your life
or the baby's.  Just give me the access codes."
     "I don't have them."
     "What?"
     "He's locked me out of his system, but I'm close to getting in.
Patrick, _you're_ not the hacker here, I am."
     "Michelle..."
     "No, Patrick.  I _have_ to do this.  VonHoffer has controlled me since
before I left Redmond.  I _need_ to get back at him."
     "Allright, we'll plan, then leave in a couple of hours.  Damnit, we're
gonna miss Nancy's gig tonight."

     VonHoffer went into his bedroom and picked up the extension phone.  He
dialed the number of Stink's apartment.
     "Yuh," Stink's voice said.
     "Tonight."
     "Tonight?"
     "You _heard_ me.  I _made_ you, you ungrateful shit, so you'll do what
I say.  She goes down _tonight_."  He hung up and then dialed McKinley's
cell phone.
     "Yeah."
     "Did you find out," VonHoffer said.
     "Not yet.  I can't just go marching into that dojo and say, 'hey guys,
what's up' now can I?  I'm gonna have to talk to my old mentor, and _he's_
not gonna find out until later."
     "Fine.  You have a new assignment, then.  I want you to follow Stink.
He'll be taking Peters on tonight.  After he falls, I want you to make sure
she doesn't dispose of the body, and I want you to enter the information
into the Watcher database _immediately_."  He hung up.

     Nancy tuned her guitar.  She had become a regular on acoustic nights
at Bill's Bar on Landsdowne street.  It was nearly midnight when the MC
announced her and she stepped up to the microphone.  "Thanks," she said.
"These are just some songs I wrote over the summer."  Damn, she _had_ to
work on her on-stage presence.  She strummed a chord and began playing.
She closed her eyes and began singing, passionately.  She had completely
lost herself in the music.  Half-way through her set, she felt another
Immortal enter.  She smiled, slightly, knowing it was either Patrick,
Rebecca, or both.  She finished the song to applause and looked out into
the audience.  "Thanks," she said.  Just because she couldn't see them
didn't mean that they weren't there.  The lights were rather bright and hid
the audience from her.  She did some more songs and then announced the last
song.  She sang as if her life depended on it.  When the song ended she
thanked the audience and said, "If you want to be on my mailing list, I've
got a sign-up sheet.  I don't have any tapes yet, but I'm working on that.
Thanks again."  She walked off of the stage.
     "Great set, Nance," the MC said.
     "Thanks."
     She put her guitar away and several people had come over to sign up
for her mailing list.  She looked for Patrick and Rebecca but didn't see
them.  That's when she saw who had _truly_ come.
     She knew now that his name was Stink.
     She turned to the MC and said, "I've gotta take care of something.
Can you watch my guitar?  If I'm not back by last call, here's my phone
number."
     "Sure, Nance.  What's up?"
     "Just an emergency.  Thanks alot."  She gathered her coat, and quickly
left the club.  She walked down Landsdowne Street towards Kenmore Square.
She turned onto Brookline Ave, passed Fenway Park, and headed in the
direction of the square.  She ducked into the Rat, hoping he wouldn't
follow.  After she paid the cover and went downstairs, she thought she had
lost him.  Then she felt him again, coming down the stairs.  She tried
loosing herself in the crowd, but knew that would only work for a while.
Eventually, she turned and saw him walking towards her.  She walked towards
the back of the club and exited by the band entrance.

     "This is it," Michelle said.  "I have a key to his office, but I don't
know the alarm code for the office or the building."
     "Leave it to me," Rebecca said.  She studied the alarm pad, then
looked at the keys.  Finally, she laughed and hit one button.  "When in
doubt, use the night bell."
     A security guard answered the door and said, "Oh, evening, Michelle."
     "Hi.  I just left some work here, and my friends and I were in the area."
     "Sure, come on in.  Just sign in."
     "Sure."  Michelle signed in.  Patrick signed his name, "Ralph Fisher,"
and Rebecca signed "Stephanie Fisher."  Then they walked towards the
elevator.  When they arrived at the proper floor, they stopped outside the
door.  Patrick and Rebecca looked at eachother and Patrick said, "He's not
in there."  Rebecca nodded as Michelle looked from one to the other, then
remembered the Buzz.  Rebecca looked again at the alarm system, took out a
small piece of equipment, and set it up.  She hit several keys and said,
"Try the door now."
     Michelle unlocked the door and opened it slowly.  No alarm went off.
Relieved, she stepped inside, with Patrick behind her, and Rebecca behind
him, putting the device back in her purse and closing the door.  Michelle
turned the lights on.
     "My God!" she said.
     The place was a shambles.  Files were thrown, books had been tossed
from their shelves, and the computer monitor had been thrown against the
wall closest to the door.
     "It looks like someone was here first," Michelle said.
     "Nope," Patrick said.  "This is his temper at work.  He's mostly cold
and calculating, but when things don't go exactly as planned, he falls
apart.  Someone must have followed you to the phone and back to the
restaurant, Rebecca, probably his Watcher, and phoned back."
     "I'll have to grab the monitor from my office," Michelle said.
     "I'll do it," Patrick said.  "I don't want you lifting that..."
     "Pat, I'm pregnant, not crippled."
     Patrick sighed and let her go.  She came back with a monitor, placed
it on VonHoffer's desk, and plugged it into his mini-tower.  Then she sat
at his chair and booted it up.
     "Rebecca," Patrick said, "cover the door."
     Rebecca nodded, took her sword out, and stood ready at the door.

<<<to be continued>>>
(c) 1995 Mabnesswords

The rest of the Irelander saga can be found at:
http://www.vuse.vanderbilt.edu/~copelasa/ireland.htm
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