Forgiving

January 1, 2001

9 weeks to go.

A new year.

'Parker, you're getting very good at this.'

'You don't have to patronize me, Jarod. I'm doing my best.'

'I wasn't being patronizing. I'm serious. This isn't easy. I've been working at perfecting it for weeks.' Jarod tried to remember to keep his sentences short. It was easy for both of them to lose track if they became too long.

'How long until we can put whatever plan you've come up with into effect?'

Being careful not to transmit the image, Jarod looked over at the wall and counted the number of marks left. 'Nine weeks. I should be finished here by then, and we can come and join you.'

'Who's we?'

'Wouldn't you rather it be a surprise?'

'You know I don't like surprises. You've given me so many that I can't enjoy them any more.'

'Well, I promise you'll enjoy this one. You couldn't help it if you tried.'

'The biggest question is whether I should trust you.'

'Why wouldn't you? You've enjoyed some of my other surprises!'

'Name one.'

'Thomas.'

January 1, 2001

There were a few seconds of silence. Jarod could feel the tears that were welling up inside Parker and he wanted to avoid them spilling over if he could. Showing her emotions always made her more difficult to get along with, and her frustration and helplessness was creating enough difficulties as it was.

'Parker, I do need your help with something.'

'What is it?' Jarod could tell that she was as pleased as he to have changed the subject.

'I need Broots to create a computer virus to use as a form of attack against the Centre.'

'Why can't you do it yourself?'

'I don't have the time right now. This could take a while. It needs to be complicated and, as you know, you have a lot more spare time than I do at the moment.'

'I bet. You're probably on holiday somewhere, lying in the sun.'

Jarod tried not to allow the anger bubbling away in him, constantly fuelled by frustration, to burst out, and instead restrained himself.

'Can I possibly get you to write down what I need? Or else say it so that Broots can hear and write it down for himself?' The image of Miss Parker pacing the length of the room came into his mind and he had a good idea that it was exactly the way she was behaving, although he couldn't be sure.

'Okay, shoot.'

'First, the virus needs to create a small attachment, which should be sent out with all other emails that the Centre dispatches. This file needs only to be short but make sure it appears as though your father was the one who sent it.'

"Why?" Miss Parker asked the question aloud in response to the looks that Broots was giving her as he wrote down the directions.

'Don't ask questions. We don't have time.'

'Bully.'

'Listen, do you want to do this or not? I mean, we can all just stay where we are and rot while the Centre destroys more lives. It's up to you.'

'Jarod...' Sydney's voice was warning.

'Okay, Wonderboy, what comes next?'

Jarod managed a weak grin at the use of the nickname. 'Next another message needs to be sent which hunts for the file created earlier. It needs to be able to find the file, even if it's been deleted or the message has been put into the trash folder and cleared. I sent Broots a message on how to do that months ago.'

'Fine. Then what.'

'The virus itself needs to be time-activated and also impossible to locate or destroy. The file with the directions shows how to create a Hydra virus.'

'And the purpose of this?'

Jarod couldn't help grinning again. 'If you don't know what the Hydra was, you need to reread your Greek mythology. And you always used to be so good at it. Remember, you were the one who told Sydney about my origami figure, and not the other way around.'

'Stop trying to be clever and tell me more about this virus.'

January 3, 2001

Under the mask of indifference and instant obedience, she seethed. She knew well what would happen if she didn't hide her emotions and she was also aware of the reason that she had been allowed to retain her independence of thought, rather than making her a robot and automaton, like the others. He was playing both hands, rather than just one. He knew whom she had been working with and wanted a card to play in case things went against him. The way he had always done. She despised him for it yet, at the same time, admired the strategy and copied it when she could. Imitation, after all...

So she suffered the indignities of the beatings and insults, biding her time so that she could reveal the facade and step forward to enjoy the glory of success. Of course, she knew that her fate depended entirely on him. A payback for the information which he knew about and which she would do anything to keep hidden.

Her husband, if he knew, would never forgive her and he was not a person whom it was safe to deceive. She knew that, as did many others. His own daughter, in attempting to hide the progress of her affair with the handyman, had tried the deception, and it was only the blood connection that ensured she had been allowed to live.

She, Brigitte, had no such connection on which she could depend and she knew that any potential supporters would be more likely to help in tearing her apart. So she had participated in the farce and now pretended to be a mindless idiot. A person deprived of life, so that she might have a life afterwards.

Part 23

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