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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