Bob Santiago looked over his shoulder, alarmed by a man he saw approaching. The area wasn't well lighted and the liquor store a block away cast an eerie glow onto the littered street. The man, while rather tall, seemed to focus on the pavement at his feet, his hands shoved into a well-worn leather jacket. Bob's eyes followed him as he passed by, surprised that the man seemingly took no notice of him, didn't even glance in his direction.

Sighing with relief, Bob turned to the phone and deposited several coins. Quickly, he dialed a number he had memorized and then turned to survey the street again. Bob shuddered and tried to suppress it. Either the night air was chilly, or maybe his nerves were getting the best of him.

He jumped when he heard, "White House."

Startled, Bob spoke quickly, "John Maxwell, please. Tell him it's regarding a Tom Daniels." Only silence answered him and Bob grew nervous, not realizing the operator had already patched the call through.

"John Maxwell."

"Mr. Maxwell," Bob responded nervously. "I contacted you earlier about the whereabouts of Tom Daniels and Alexandra Luthor."

"Yes," Maxwell exclaimed. "I'd be most interested in anything you could tell me. Give me your location and I'll have someone pick you up, so that we can talk privately."

"No!" he yelled into the phone, quite panicked. "I don't have much time. Daniels' physical condition is critical. I believe Luthor will kill him soon."

Maxwell responded with measured tones, hoping to calm his informant and allow enough time to trace the call. "Where's he being held, what's the location?"

"He's in an abandoned facility outside Twin Peaks. It's on CA-189, maybe a quarter mile after you turn onto it from Lake Gregory Drive. There's a private road on the left, it's about a half-mile long…really overgrown. If you didn't know it's there, you'd miss it.

As Santiago spoke frantically into the phone, he didn't notice the man in the leather jacket watching him from the shadows of a nearby building.

"Good," said Maxwell. "Now for your protection we need to get you out…"

"No," interrupted Bob. "I'll be missed and they might try moving him again. I need to be there to prevent her from disappearing with Daniels." Sighing deeply, he reluctantly promised, "But, don't worry. I'll have Daniels ready to travel when you get there. I'll go with you then. Just hurry…please hurry!" Santiago abruptly hung up the phone.

Furtively glancing around him, he quickly strode to where he had left his car behind the liquor store, never noticing the tall man that shadowed his movements, speaking into his collar. As he passed the man's hiding place, the stranger quickly pressed himself against the wall of the building.

Bob threw himself into his blue Taurus, started the engine, and veered quickly into the alley that led to a cross street two blocks away.

The tall man emerged from his hiding place, spoke briefly into his shirt collar, and then, in long strides entered a nearby vehicle to follow his prey.

The recent events in the desert were the cause of his nightmares and his constant preoccupation with solving the current crisis. The task of developing a strategy to combat the Homo dominants' plan consumed him.

"Attwood here."

"Walter…John Maxwell. I've a source that has supplied a probable location for Tom Daniels."

"And you're sure this source is reliable?" questioned Walter.

"As of this moment, it's the only one we have," said John, his voice icy with reproach. "It's imperative that we proceed with the appropriate caution of course."

"Of course," replied Walter, assuming a more cooperative tone. "How can I assist you?"

"I've contacted Ray Peterson. He'll be arriving at the lab shortly. I want you to join him there and wait for further instructions." Pausing deliberately, John finally asked, wondering if Attwood knew that he knew the answer. "I believe that there's someone in the coexistence faction that has helped your group, by supplying some useful information on the Homo dominants' plans. Am I mistaken?"

"No," responded Walter, swallowing his surprise. "Her name is 'Mariana'. She's provided substantial intelligence for both Ed and Ray."

"Good," said Maxwell. "I hope you have a way of contacting her? I think it would be wise to have her join our little group. We need her to help us take added precautions against a Homo dominant presence."

Walter agreed and said, "Dr. Tate can contact her. I assume you want her brought to the lab as well?"

"Correct. I'll contact you there in five hours. If all goes well, the recovery of Tom Daniels will also allow us to apprehend Luthor. Be waiting for my call."

Walter heard the receiver slam into its cradle and the line went dead. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. They were in need of a break at this moment. The stress of the recent events had been difficult, and any efforts on their part to stem the Dominants' control could well depend on neutralizing Alexandra Luthor and her attempts to undermine their achievements. Also, the new intelligence regarding Daniels had forced his hand. Recovery of Tom, given his supposed status in the Dominant community, was of major importance.

Walter debated calling Sloan. Over these past few weeks, he had watched her bury herself in work, trying to mask how distraught she was over Tom's disappearance. But Walter knew that arousing her hopes was…premature at best. So many variables…so many things that could go wrong. 'Not yet,' he decided.

Sighing, he reached for the phone to call Ed. Walter hoped that Ed could convince Mariana to cooperate one more time.

Walter seated himself behind his desk, and motioned for Ray to sit as well. The men sat in silence, each sipping fresh coffee. The lab was still quiet for the moment, but would be bustling with others shortly. Walter hoped that Maxwell's plan was underway by then. Ray Peterson was a common visitor to the lab, but any undue notice to their activities could be disastrous.

The phone rang and Walter promptly answered. Ray leaned forward to listen carefully.

"Attwood."

"Walter." John Maxwell's voice was brisk. "Are Ray and the Dominant woman Mariana there with you yet?"

"Ray Peterson is here, but we're awaiting Mariana's arrival." Glancing at the ex-detective, his expression clearly said, 'If she could be persuaded to come.' "How do you wish to proceed?"

"Have Peterson and the woman arrive at Ontario airport in two hours. A team will join and brief them there. Any questions?"

"None," responded Walter. "But the woman, we don't know where she stands regarding our purposes and her orders."

Sighing heavily, John elaborated, "We'll proceed with or without her. Time is of the essence, so I'll be in touch shortly. It would be best to keep the lab clear this evening, except for some medical personnel. And have Sloan Parker remain at her residence. We can't have her interfering with any part of this operation. She'll be carefully watched to make sure she complies," warned John. "Understood?"

"Yes." Walter hung up, a slightly perplexed expression crossing his face. 'We' re ALL being watched,' he mused.

Ray looked at Walter with eyebrows raised. "I take it this plan of ours is a go?"

"Yes. You and Mariana will meet a team at Ontario. I assume you'll be given full details at that time."

"OK," said Ray, slowly. Thinking it over for a few seconds, he shrugged his shoulders and asked, "How do we know that Mariana will show? It's not as if we have her at our beck and call. Hell, we don't even have much of an established trust with any of them." Ray stopped when he noticed Walter gazing past him. He turned in his chair in time to see Ed and Mariana approaching.

Ed opened the door for Mariana, oblivious to the humor in her eyes at this gesture. But as they stood in front of Walter and Ray, her gaze cooled.

"Thank you for coming," said Walter, projecting wariness. "We're in great need of your help. Won't you sit?" He gestured to another empty chair next to Ray.

"No, I believe I will stand for the moment." She took a long measured gaze at the office and then settled on Dr. Attwood, their peaceful factions' so-called contact, if Mark had his way. "What would you have me do for you?"

"We have some information on the place they're holding Tom Daniels. We felt that during our retrieval mission, the presence one of your species would be invaluable to us."

Mariana looked at him coolly, but with interest in her eyes. She spoke slowly. "And you want me to try and detect any of my kind, IF they're in any way involved." Seeing Attwood's nod of affirmation, she stressed, "I can assure you they're not." Holding up her hand to forestall Rays protest, she stated dryly, "Or, more likely, you want me to act as a radar for your own species. To tell you if anyone is nearby, human or dominant. Is that not so?" Her tone was flat.

"I understand your reluctance," stated Walter, "but from what Ed and Ray have told me, making sure of Tom's well-being benefits the both of us, does it not?"

"Yes. It does." She looked at Ed. :Hope and eagerness: They resonated from all three men. She sighed lightly and said, "I'll help you." Then she smiled wryly. "I just don't fancy myself as a new and improved version of a German Shepherd," she quipped.

Ray grinned. Her sense of humor seemed refreshing; it even drew a small chuckle from Walter.

"Ray will bring you up-to-date," Walter informed her. "I suggest that you go immediately. And Mariana?" She turned back from the door. "Thank you."

Mariana nodded briefly and left the room, with Ray following her. As the door shut, Ed looked at Walter.

"Do you think this will work?" asked Ed, his brow furrowed with concern.

Walter noted Ed had developed an attachment for this woman, beyond that of her helping them to find Tom. 'Interesting,' he thought. Locking eyes with the younger man, he continued, "It had better work."

Ed stood up and turned to leave. As he reached for the door, Walter called out. "Oh, and Ed, don't mention this to Sloan just yet. I have no doubt she'll think something's up when I send her home in a few hours. But it would be best that she doesn't know of this."

Ed turned and muttered over his shoulder, "That's easier said than done. You know her well enough by now, Walter." And with that, he headed off to his office.

Nicholas nodded curtly to the dark-haired man at the back entrance of the two-story house. As he entered, he could hear strains of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata coming from the office at the top of the stairs. He shook his head. Lewis' affinity for classical music was lost on Nicholas.

As he climbed the staircase, he eased off his leather jacket. He'd been up for over 24 hours, tailing Dr. Santiago till he was sure of his destination and then, returning quickly to meet with Lewis after reporting in. As he neared the office, he paused at the entrance, his 1.89m (6'3") frame blocking the doorway. He knew that Lewis was aware of his presence, but waited for acknowledgement.

"Come in, Nicholas. I see you made good time. Excellent." Lewis finished typing on his laptop and closed it. He turned his head slightly and regarded the chameleon closely. "Won't you sit?" It was hardly a question though, and Nicholas obeyed immediately, sat in the hard-backed chair, and waited for Lewis to continue.

Nicholas found Lewis' inspection unsettling, but gave no indication of it. His long, blue-black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he wore faded jeans with a gray T-shirt. He appreciated this manner of dress in an abstract way. It was comfortable and he blended well into any crowd.

"You've done well," praised Lewis. "Now, what can you tell me of Dr. Santiago?" Lewis formed a temple with his fingers, awaiting a report.

"In San Bernardino, he contacted someone by pay phone. Then he quickly returned to the facility outside Twin Peaks. The building is quite large and I would assume heavily guarded inside. This is supposition, since I only spotted security cameras on the perimeter. Apparently, Santiago wasn't detected upon his return, though I can't be sure, since I left immediately to contact you."

"And his emotional state?"

"He was afraid and desperate. But resolute."

"Very well," said Lewis. "Have something to eat and rest for a few hours. We'll leave shortly to relieve him of his burden as it were."

Nicholas stared at his mentor for a few seconds before he understood this reference. Lewis oftentimes spoke cryptically and this was one of them. Nicholas stood and left the office, making his way to the kitchen downstairs. He was ravenous.

In the kitchen, he dropped his jacket in a nearby chair and moved to the refrigerator. He looked up sharply as Kyle entered the kitchen. The men did not speak. Though, as he returned his attention back to his food, he sensed Kyle looking at him, his gaze measured. Ignoring him, he took out the makings of a sandwich and began to prepare his meal in silence. After a moment, Nicholas glanced up to find that Kyle had quietly disappeared. An unfamiliar uneasiness swept over him.

Charles made his way slowly to Alexandra's makeshift office. His reluctant gait was the only outward sign of his misgivings in approaching her at this moment. He knew she impatiently awaited news from him regarding Bob and Jon's movements during the last several days. He was sure they were a risk to the work conducted here, despite their expertise.

Charles noted the empathy they felt for the Homo dominant specimen that was again in the deprivation tank. After they stabilized Daniel's life signs that first time, Bob and Jon argued for discontinuing the experiment. They felt it was inhuman to subject even one of the other species to this torture. Their logic had swayed a lot of the staff, but Charles cut off this line of sympathy fast. He over-ruled all objections and personally placed Daniels back into the tank. Normally, Bob and Jon's discomfiture would matter very little to him. But as it had hampered his ability to see his work done, he cared a great deal. His ambition had brought him far in a short amount of time, and he intended to go further. Only his fear and hatred for this new species matched that fire.

And so he had endeavored to keep the two doctors and some of his staff in line. Luthor was a demanding taskmaster, one he had no intention of disappointing. Unfortunately, he feared he had done so now. He knew that Santiago was up to something, but had no substantial proof. He dreaded this impromptu meeting, especially when he had nothing concrete to report.

"Come in, Charles," invited Alexandra. "And shut the door behind you." Luthor spoke with an air of impatience. "What have you uncovered for me?"

Charles fought the urge to shrug. "The security cameras may have been tampered with. There are three incidents where they supposedly malfunctioned yesterday. But, the technician assured me it's a minor glitch."

"That would hardly seem likely, now would it," purred Alexandra coldly. "What else? Did you question him, get his alibi?"

Nodding, Charles continued, "Dr. Santiago was in his quarters sorting data from the current experiment. He has no corroboration for this alibi, however, unless you count Dr. Mitchell."

"And you find this satisfactory?" Sarcasm dripped like venom from her voice.

Inwardly, Charles winced. He must tread carefully here. Luthor had no patience for mistakes, but she could turn on a dime when it came to deciding who was expendable and who was not.

"No-o," said Charles drawing out the syllable. "But Santiago produced copious notes this morning that would account for his absence. I brought them in case you wanted to peruse them now."

The words were barely out of his mouth before she snatched the papers from his hand.

Charles summarized Bob's notes quickly to his superior. "The data would suggest there's an anomaly in the brain wave patterns on the 18^th of October. There's no known reason for this phenomenon that we can detect. But, the erratic heart rhythm seems to be increasing and he's weakening significantly."

"I suggest you not let our test subject expire before we are through," she said, her voice deceptively mild. "I'm sure I still have your full cooperation on this?"

"Of course." A silence hung between them.

"Then come back when you have more substantial evidence—on both counts," ordered Alexandra. "Understood?" She gave him a veiled look.

"Understood." He turned and made haste to put as much distance between her and himself as possible.

Bob hid in the shadows of the unmonitored corridor. He'd almost panicked when Charles had questioned him earlier as to his whereabouts yesterday. And seeing him head to Luthor's office earlier had almost unnerved him completely.

But he had committed himself thus far, and there was no turning back. Despite his fear, he didn't think he could look at himself in the mirror again if he didn't stop what was happening.

He hugged the wall of the corridor as Charles passed. When he was sure that sufficient time had elapsed, he entered the corridor. Boldly he walked to the tank room to deal with Charles. He needed to get him out of the way, long enough to try to get Daniels ready to travel. 'If he wasn't too late,' he thought, horrified.

Up ahead, he nodded curtly to the guard who stood at the door to the tank control room. Taking a deep breath, he placed his right hand in his lab coat pocket and entered the room.

Charles whirled from the control panel and glared malevolently at the intruder. Bob almost stepped back from the sheer force of enmity that stood before him. Quickly he recovered, and gave the appearance of ignoring the man's reaction to him.

Bob approached the control panel in even, measured steps. Inside however, he fancied his legs were made of jelly and thought, 'Steady now, steady.'

"I came to do some further observation," he said tentatively. "I hope that meets with your approval?"

"It's late. But do as you like," Charles sneered. "But I would think you had sufficient data at the moment."

"There won't be much more," cautioned Bob sarcastically and bitterly. "You and your superior have seen to that." Staring at the control panel, he appeared to copiously study the readout directly in front of him. Then, he tore a length of paper on which the EKG results were printed. "Amazing!" he breathed as he backed up out of the glow of the panel's overhead lights.

"What ever are you talking about?" said Charles, his voice tinged with both annoyance, and curiosity. He backed up as well to try and see the data.

Bob took two more steps backward and stopped. He thrust the paper into Charles' hands. "These readings are unlike anything I've seen yet. What do you think?"

"I don't see anything..." Charles began to mutter, and then suddenly slumped lifelessly to the floor.

Bob quickly pulled the man to the outside wall, away from any monitors or cameras. Wiping off his fingerprints from the syringe, he dropped it on the floor beside the prone man. He prayed that the guard monitoring the cameras was still entranced in his magazine, as he hurried to set Tom free from the tank.

Bob had removed all the monitoring devices from Tom's body when he heard the alarm sound. He started, but then remembered that he had purposely arranged for the annoying alarm to the pharmacy door to go off. It malfunctioned often enough that he knew the guard would go look, but would not be unduly suspicious.

Almost the next instant, the door to the room swung open. Jon quickly stepped inside; hands full of towels and a scrub set with which to dress the unconscious man.

"Did anyone see you?" Bob whispered through clenched teeth as they heaved Tom's naked body out of the tank and laid him on the floor to dry and dress him.

"No one," reassured Jon. "I estimate we have about 10 minutes before the guard makes his way back." Frantically, they tried to ready Tom to be moved so that Maxwell's team could rescue him.

Jon administered a sedative and then methodically wiped his fingerprints from the syringe. They quickly dressed Tom and Bob held him upright as Jon retrieved the wheelchair from the other room. Jon braced the chair as they both struggled to place Tom in it. Finally, they secured him with a strap.

"There's no car. But the camera on the west side of the building is disabled. This should give you enough time to escape. Most of the guards are sleeping, but you must hurry. There's a blanket and some supplies hidden in the niche under the loading dock. If something goes wrong, remember it's only 11m (12 yards) to the woods. You can hide there if you need to, until Maxwell's rescue team arrives."

"Jon, are you sure you don't want to come?" asked Bob, worried for his friend.

"No! We do this the way we discussed. Besides, I can cover for you here. But you've got to hurry!" Jon's whispering became almost strident in its intensity.

"Be careful, for God's sake!" Bob replied as both men pushed the chair to the door.

Opening it, there looked to be no one in the corridor. Rushing out, they split up. Jon went to see to the guard and get as far away from the lab room as possible. Bob headed in the opposite direction, making his way to the western door by the supply dock. Mercifully, the alarm had ceased, but Bob's heart hammered loudly enough in his chest to wake the dead.

Ray Peterson rode in the rear, a high-powered scope rifle slung about his shoulders. Mariana and another man occupied the two seats to the side, while the driver and a third man sat up front.

There had been little talk the last 32km (20 miles), as the team headed into the heavily wooded area. Mahoney and Reese, the men in front, wore dark green jumpsuits belonging to the company's employees. They were of medium height and build, one with dark hair, and the other light brown. Their faces were nondescript, neither oval nor rectangular, and they had eyes that were neither green nor brown. It was difficult to say what they looked like. But both were without obvious markings or facial hair. They were no one or could be anyone.

Saul, the man sitting next to Mariana, was by no means so nondescript. He was in his early forties and had a face and forearms burnt dark by the sun. His dark hair was beginning to gray at the temples and his receding hairline made his forehead long, creased with lines of age or intense concentration.

Ray felt fundamentally out of his depth. 'But it's a little late for that revelation, now wasn't it,' he asked himself. He glanced at Mariana. She kept an aloof and a studiously calm air about her that Ray felt sure would deflect bullets.

The sun had now set, what little they had been able to see through the trees. He knew that they would be at their destination soon, and prayed that Tom was still alive and they could safely whisk him away. 'Fat chance, Peterson.'

But this was more than simply pre-mission jitters. He had a strange sense that they were being followed. Every time he turned to face straight ahead, it felt as though eyes bore into the back of his neck. It was an odd itching and burning sensation he couldn't seem to shake. Experience told him to shake it off, but one glance from Mariana, secretly acknowledging his premonition, spoke volumes.

They would be there soon and then this would be all over. He wondered if he would live to tell about it.