*Peter*
The darkness receded, making room for the pain, as Peter reached out toward the familiar voice echoing in his head. Part of him wanted to shrink from the fire licking every inch of his body, but the voice, at once commanding and comforting, lured him closer.
*Peter, please. You must answer me, my son*
*Father?*
The link was weak. Nevertheless, Peter could sense his father's sigh of relief at his response.
*Peter, you must hang on just a little bit longer. We are doing everything we can to find you. Kermit and Paul are ...*
*Paul?* Peter interrupted, certain he had heard the other wrong.
*Yes, my son. Paul has returned. Peter, we have very little time, you must listen to me*
*No! Please, make it stop.* The link faded rapidly as Peter felt a needle plunge into his upper arm once again, and then all was black.
*****
"Peter? No, Peter, please," Caine cried out. Matthew and Kermit dropped out of the link, anguish clearly written on all three faces.
"What happened?" Paul demanded.
"That bastard must have dosed him with drugs again," Kermit growled, "The link is gone."
Paul jumped slightly as the beeper attached to his hip vibrated. After checking the number, he looked up again, hope lighting his eyes for the first time.
"I might have something here." He reached for the phone and punched in a series of numbers.
"What do you have...Yes...Good, ok..." he placed one hand over the mouthpiece and addressed his companions, "I need paper and something to write with."
Kermit threw open the door and literally grabbed the first passing officer he saw. "Get me a pad of paper and a pen, now."
That accomplished, Paul returned his attention to the phone,
"Go ahead...You're certain it's him?" The only sound in the room, other than Paul's voice, was the scratching of the pen. "OK. Got it. Thanks, Barjor, I owe you another one."
Immediately upon hanging the phone up, Paul shoved the pad of paper toward Kermit. "I've got an address of a warehouse owned by one of Mariston's relatives, some distant cousin. It is only about 5 miles outside of town."
"Why the hell didn't my earlier searches turn this information up?"
"The cousin is with the Agency, and under deep cover. Supposedly, only
five people even know the guy is still alive." A single raised eyebrow
told Kermit the rest. As much as he
"Let's go, then."
Everybody present stood up, ready to move out, but Paul stopped them
with a raised hand.
"Hold it. Kermit and I go alone." The look he caught from Caine forced
him to amend the statement, "And Caine, but that's it. We have to do
this as quickly and quietly as possible. Mariston may be insane, but he
is also a highly trained covert ops agent and we don't know what he's
capable of or what kind of surveillance he has. The more people we have
with us, the more likely he is to discover us and kill Peter before we
have a chance to get to him."
The remaining parties scowled and glowered, but nodded in acceptance.
"I'll have a backup unit prepped to go, just in case." Captain Karen's
Simms' voice brooked no argument.
******
"What? How the hell did they find me? Nobody is supposed to know Carl
and I were even related."
The one-sided dialog was distant but real. Peter shivered at the
conveyed anger, obscurely grateful that it was not directed at him this
time, but still concerned. The last thing he needed was for the maniac
to get pissed off and decide to test the merits of using murder as a
stress relief technique. Not that he held out much hope of making it
through this ordeal intact, but as long as he was still alive, there was
still a chance of rescue. His father had said that Paul was working
with Kermit to find him, and that in itself offered him a great deal of
hope.
A loud crash in the next room over redirected his attention to the
voice. As the drug haze began to lift, Peter cocked his head and
listened to what he now assumed was a phone conversation.
"You said they'd never find me...Dammit, woman, what kind of game are
you playing?...Fine, I'll just kill the brat right now...what do you
mean 'No'? Why the hell not?...All right, all right, just sent the damn
car."
Another crash, immediately followed by a short ring, confirmed Peter's
suspicions. The drugs were still present enough in his system that he
was having trouble processing the words he had overheard, but the
frightened tone of voice had been clear. He winced as the door to the
small room was thrown open. The man was infuriated.
"Damn you, little nephew-boy. I should never have gotten involved in
this mess, but she offered me the ultimate revenge." He snickered and
then grew deadly serious, "And now she says that I can't even kill you.
Hell, I don't even have time to smack you around a little bit more.
Shit."
The man looked down at him, face contorted with contempt and rage, and
kicked him hard in the ribs. Peter doubled over, trying to protect his
midsection, and won himself another kick in the shoulder and a third
aimed at his head. Then nothing. When he woke up again, unsure of how
long he'd been out, the man was back in the other room. From what he
could see through the partially opened door, Peter figured he was
hastily packing up his stuff and getting ready to meet the car he'd
mentioned on the phone.
Another crash, louder and angrier this time, followed by a blessedly
familiar voice, shed a blinding light on the rest of the previously
overheard conversation.
"Don't move, Mariston. Bat even an eyelash and I swear I won't hesitate
to put a bullet through your twisted brain. Now, where is my son?"
End Part 13
