Chapter 22 The Legacy had three main headquarter branches, or houses as they like to refer to them. One was in London where most of the main front-burner business was attended to. Another was in New Orleans. Mainly underworld, deep cover assignments came from the southern French/Creole inspired region. The last Legacy "House" was on a tiny island uncharted by modern navigation. It's location was a closely guarded secret. Some speculated it was off the coast of Greece and others said in the Baltic Sea. The only people who knew its exact location were either greatly admired and respected or had gained the knowledge by nefarious means. The locals, all Legacy operatives, referred to it as Smith Island. Directors attached to each Legacy House handled many responsibilities regular agents didn't attend to. They alone sat in secret meetings with the Legacy parent organization, Knights Foundation. They alone pushed for the Legacy to remain on the up and up. They alone were responsible for the Legacy's future. And they alone could bring the Legacy to its knees with one flick of a wrist. For this main reason, people targeted Legacy Directors, tried to win them over to their side. And in some cases the evil forces of the world seemed to be winning. The Black Council, The Legacy's greatest rival, had a man on the inside. No one knew exactly who it was but everyone was eager to discover the mole. Some had their theories but no one had ever gained proof of the real culprit. The main suspects were all directors of the Triad, the three Legacy House Headquarters. Gia Doyle and Philip Lancaster co-directed the London House. Robert Donovan headed up the New Orleans House and Franklin Fairchild, the Legacy Director himself, attended to the business on Smith Island. They were the main suspects. But only one had been exonerated from any wrong doing. Maybe it was because he was a good man or maybe it was because the man was dead. Either way, there remained only three suspects. Gia, Philip and Robert. Now that Franklin was believed dead, the duties, which until now had been delegated to other houses, were becoming an overwhelming obstacle for others to handle atop of their current case loads. A new director would have to be appointed on Smith Island. Many wondered if the director, who was about to be assigned to the Smith Island House, was the mole. The question was: who knew the new director before hand? But that information was top secret. Who could get into secure top level Legacy files? Who had the talent? Who had the money? Only one name came to mind. The Black Council. ****** Franklin Fairchild watched Lisette DuPre from afar as she brewed another pot of what Michaela called her world famous coffee. Her black tresses shimmered as the refracted rays of morning bounced off her curly tendrils. Lisette handed Franklin a cup and smiled. "Guaranteed to melt the hair off a bear or your money back." Lisette played with a small pendant necklace and watched Franklin as she sipped her own coffee. Franklin accepted the cup and walked to the French doors. Below the wrought iron balcony, the French Quarter teemed with life. Already strains of jazz penetrated the air setting the mellow mood for the day. It was nice to relax for a change. Let go of his all consuming responsibilities as director of the Legacy. Before the continuing drama which was now his life began, his job as director kept him up 24/7. No rest for the weary... or was that the wicked? He could never remember. But even in the relaxed atmosphere of New Orleans, thousands of miles from Smith Island, he found he was still on guard. Once a Legacy director, always a Legacy director. He eyed a black couple below the balcony kissing in a doorway and contemplated on his own situation. Someone had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to track him down all those months ago. They were determined that he not see another day. In retrospect, he knew how much trouble this was on not only Michaela, but on Lisette, Kevin and Faith. But mostly he worried about Ethan. Ethan would take it the worst of all. And his very soul wondered if his son could bear that sort of pressure. Ethan was his only living child. Ian was dead. When he had married Kevin and Faith's mother, Faith was only a baby. Somehow Ethan even in his early teens hadn't taken well to his newfound siblings, Faith especially. Then when Gwen died so suddenly a few years later from cancer, Ethan retreated into himself. Faith grew up depending on Kevin while Ethan depended on no one. Franklin knew it was mostly his own fault. He was no mother. Hell, he was barely a real father to them all. Emma had been the real savior. She had been the only one to penetrate Ethan's stubborn iron heart. But of course, Michaela had knocked a few holes in Ethan's shield as well. She loved him. He knew that and look at the mess her life was because of him. Ethan hated her. And for what? So he could live? Maybe it would have been better for them all if he really had died that day at the hand of the evil priest. As he twisted around to glance at the television news, his back went into spasm. He winced. He wasn't as agile as he use to be, but the old man still had a few tricks left up his sleeve. Tricks that even Michaela Forsythe didn't know about. He remembered the expression of utter and total shock on her face when he appeared from the secret passageway behind the fireplace. It was obvious she thought he was dead. And it was even more obvious that his "death" had been blamed on her inexperience as an agent. Michaela had cautiously reached her hand out. It quivered ever so slightly showing the emotion she was feeling. When her fingers found his arm she flinched. Whether in relief or shock, he didn't know. "Oh, my God, Franklin... You're alive." She ran up and hugged him like he was her father. And in some ways, he guessed he was. "Yes," he remembered saying. "It's not that easy to get an old man down." Michaela smiled through her tears. "I thought the reference was 'get a good man down' not an old man," she said. "Either way, the saying still fits." She hugged him a second time. This go around she held him longer. While she listened to his heart beat she clung to him nearly crying. "I can't believe I let the old 'dress up like a priest' maneuver blind me. I should have seen it coming a mile away. I'm sorry Franklin. I'm so sorry." "That's alright, but don't let it happen again," he said jokingly. "But that was no man playing priestly dress up. He really is a priest." "So you're telling me a priest tried to kill you? A priest?! What did you do, tick off God or something?" Michaela had said it in jest but she didn't know how truly close to the mark she'd come. "Or something." "How did you know he was after you? I mean, come on! A priest knocking at your door doesn't usually send people into panic mode. Well, not unless they've recently done something amorally wrong. So fess up, what are you psychic or something? How did you see him coming?" "No, not psychic," Franklin pulled Michaela away from his chest and sat down. "Just an ordinary man with a sister who can't help but stick her nose in where it doesn't belong. She overheard a priest talking with the monseigneur about me. It was the middle of the night at the convent so two priests huddled in secret garnered her attention." Michaela found this hard to believe. "What was she doing out in the middle of the night anyway?" "Jogging," Franklin said. "She's training for the Iron Man. One day, I swear she's actually going to run it." "Jogging out by a church. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. What was she jogging out near there for?" "Don't you know?" Michaela shook her head. "My sister is a nun. ***** The meeting had yet to start but Isidor Kassoff was steaming. He'd heard a nasty rumor that Julian Black was about to announce the death of his daughter, Octavia. There was no way he was going to let that happen. Isidor grabbed Julian by the lapels of his Armani suit and pulled him into the next room away from the other council members. He wanted to do this face to face where no one would interrupt them. "I'm not going to allow it," he said simply in a manner that suggested Julian knew exactly what he was referring to. "Allow what?" Julian said adjusting his tie and brushing the wrinkles out of his lapel. "Don't be coy with me. You know what I'm talking about. You told the Knights Foundation to put out a hit on Octavia." Isidor spoke through gritted teeth. "They owed me a favor. I'm collecting." "You don't need to kill her. Let me talk to her. Reason with her." Isidor was now pleading with a man nearly half his age. Julian brushed back his course black hair preparing himself for the meeting to follow. "You reason with her just about as well as I do. She only understands one thing. Action." "But this isn't right. Ethan Fairchild has been one of our greatest obstacles. I'd think you'd be glad she wants to kill him." "You're right. Ethan Fairchild is a great Black Council obstacle. I'd love to see him dealt with properly. But not like this. He deserves much more than a simple slaying. I want him to suffer." Julian's eyes glowed with rage. "Do you know what last week was? The eight year anniversary of my wife Jannette's death at the hands of Ethan Fairchild. I want the bastard to know what horror really feels like. I've lived it for eight years." "Then tell that to Octavia, she'll understand." Isidor was doing a good job but he wasn't convincing enough. "My decision still stands. Octavia dies. It's already been set in motion." "Like hell it has. Kevin Fairchild no more knows where Octavia is than I do. But you have better sources than I ever did. I'm sure you know where my daughter is." "You're right, Isidor. I do in fact know where she is." The mischief in Julian's eyes lit something in Isidor's brain. It was like a light turned on and all was clear to him. "I know what it is. Ethan Fairchild killed your wife. You want Octavia out of the way, not because she's a threat to the Council, but because you want to do the deed yourself and blame it all on Kevin, poor bastard!" "A very astute observation. It's too bad you won't be revealing this notion to anyone else today." Julian hauled his fist back and punched Isidor. Isidor stumbled backward knocking his head against the mantle over the fireplace. He fell to the floor next to the bear skin rug. "Sleep tight my friend, for tomorrow, Ethan Fairchild dies at my own hand." ***** Octavia Kassoff held a small device in her hand and studied it with great interest. It was small, rectangular and black. It appeared like many devices she'd seen before but it's uses were endless. "Do you know what this is, Ethan?" Octavia showed him the black box like Vanna White moving it backward and forward so he could get a good look at it. "I don't know, air popper? Table saw?" She glared at him. She wasn't in the mood for games. She wanted revenge and today she would finally get it. Revenge was indeed sweet. She paused and cast him a wicked smile. "Do you? Do you know? I've been told many sleeper agents use it regularly. Quite handy actually. It's how I got you here." Ethan didn't answer her. He only glared. His eyes two small black slits and his mouth rigid with anger. "No? I thought for sure an experienced agent like yourself would have known of such a device." Octavia stalked around him, each footstep deliberate. The echo of her heels touching the hard wood floor reverberated throughout the room. "I forget what it's called, but it is a very effective device. One flash from this and it renders a person helpless. Isn't that amazing? One flash. Just think of what you could do with a device such as this. The light does something to the nerves in the back of the eyes temporarily incapacitating a person. Five, maybe ten minutes." She thrust the device toward him as if she would turn it on at any second. As quickly as she thrust it at him, she took it away clipping it back onto her belt like a beeper. "You don't even know why I hate you, do you? All those hours of love making you and I performed. Not once did you suspect." "Didn't I?" Octavia's voice faltered for a split-second then she quickly regained her momentum. "You have no idea at all what you've done to me." Ethan blinked when she moved toward him. The eye movement had no real meaning or significance but Octavia took his blinking as a sign. An admission. "YES!" she screamed, like a sadistic murderer. "You do know! Yet you sit there so unaffected. So righteous in your morals. You killed my brother without backward a glance and yet you can't even say the words. Say it! SAY IT!" Ethan struggled to free himself from the ropes around his wrists. "I don't know what you're talking about, Octavia. I didn't even know you had a brother." Keep her talking Fairchild, he coached himself. Keep her talking until you can undo the ropes. "LIAR!" she waved her finger at him like a tormented mother would a horrid child. "You killed him! You killed him!" Tears streamed down her face and her body became racked with sobs. "It's all your fault," she whispered. "Your fault." |
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