"Collateral Damage".

Paula Stiles
<thesnowleopard@hotmail.com>

Summary: Joe and Methos watch a disaster unfold on 
television.

Disclaimer: Davis/Panzer Productions, Rysher 
Entertainment, and Gaumont Television own the Highlander 
universe. The World Trade Center disaster is all too 
real.

Archive: Sure. Just ask first.

Note: This is dedicated to the real victims of the 
terrorist attacks against the World Trade Center in New 
York, and the Pentagon in Washington, as well as their 
friends and relatives who are only now beginning to pick 
up the pieces.

You can find this, and my other stories, at: 
http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html



COLLATERAL DAMAGE

"I don't like this killing from a distance. I like to 
feel my axe in my hands; see my enemy's eyes before I 
strike."
'War' in 'Revelation 6:8'

September 11, 2001. 14:10 hours, Greenwich time.
     Joe didn't normally pay much attention to 
television. Today, he couldn't tear his eyes away from 
it. It wasn't a very big tv, just a 13 inch in Methos' 
kitchen. The huge expanse of white shelves, wall and 
floor dwarfed the little set (Joe still couldn't 
understand why Methos had bought this huge, ugly house 
outside London). The events unfolding on the tv, however, 
dwarfed the house just as easily as the house did the tv.

     Methos entered the kitchen, looking shaken and 
drawn, carrying his coat over his arm. He put it on a 
chair. Some days, he looked like the kid that he wasn't. 
Today, he looked exactly like the 5000 year old man that 
he was. He came and sat down next to Joe, setting his 
mobile phone on the counter. *Since when did he start 
wearing pink?* Joe thought irrelevantly.

     "Did you get hold of anybody?" Joe asked.

     Methos nodded, staring at the tv. "The Embassy 
didn't know anything. They said it's pretty chaotic over 
there, though. She could be wandering around on the 
street. We just don't know...."

     Not knowing, that was the worst. Who had done this? 
Why had they done it? Did they plan to do it some more? 
And most importantly--where was his daughter and was she 
all right? Joe was scared to death, and he didn't mind 
showing it.

     Two commercial planes had collided with the twin 
towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, seven 
minutes and twenty-five minutes ago, respectively. It was 
almost certainly a terrorist attack. The towers still 
stood, but were burning and pouring out smoke. A pall 
hung over the city. Another plane had crashed into the 
Pentagon in Washington. Government buildings were being 
evacuated all over the United States. Chicago, in 
particular, was on alert. The casualties could easily run 
into the tens of thousands. The BBC was saying that 
50,000 people alone worked in the World Trade Center.

     Joe had reluctantly taken up Methos' invitation a 
week ago to visit him at his new house in England. Joe 
suspected that the Old Man was feeling lonely, rattling 
around in this soulless monstrosity all by himself. Of 
course, hanging out with a renegade Watcher (and secret 
Immortal) wasn't the brightest thing Joe could have done, 
so he'd hesitated before accepting the invitation.

     Now, he was glad that he'd come here. Very few 
people knew that Amy Thomas, one of his young field 
Watchers, was his daughter. Methos was one of those 
people. Amy had gone to New York a month ago, trailing an 
Immortal who worked at the World Trade Center. She had 
probably been there when the planes had hit.

       Automatically, as he had been doing every five 
minutes since ten minutes to two, Joe picked up his own 
mobile and pressed Redial. The phone beeped through his 
daughter's mobile number, then rang and rang and rang. 
Eventually, he clicked off the phone.

     Methos put a hand on his shoulder. "It's gonna be 
okay, Joe."

     "Sure. Absolutely." Joe found himself nodding 
repeatedly like an idiot. "At least the towers didn't 
fall down."

     At that point, one of the towers disappeared in a 
cloud of smoke and debris. It happened so quickly that 
Joe, at first, didn't quite register it. Then, Methos 
said quietly, "Did that tower just collapse?"

     For a silent, stunned moment, they both stared at 
the television, scanning the image there. Where there had 
been two buildings, now there was one.

     "Yeah," Joe replied finally. "Yeah, I think it did." 
Then, he picked up his mobile and pressed Redial again. 
As Methos laughed at the image on the television in 
shocked disbelief, the phone rang and rang....

     "Could you try the Embassy again?" Joe asked Methos.

     The Old Man started, as if he only now realized he'd 
been laughing. "Sure, Joe," he said, looking guilty. He 
picked up his mobile and slunk off into the living room 
to make the call. Joe pressed Redial again. The phone 
rang until he gave up and cut the signal.

     Moments later, the other tower collapsed. It had 
been hit first, but near the top, so maybe it had been a 
little more stable. The second one had been hit much 
farther down. It had crashed in first. The BBC announcers 
were saying that the planes had been small, but they 
looked just like medium sized commercial jets to Joe. Joe 
wondered if whoever-it-was had stolen the planes on the 
ground, or if they'd taken a full planeload of people 
with them on their apocalyptic joyride. Reports began 
coming in that four planes had been hijacked. The fourth 
plane had crashed in Pennsylvania. There had been several 
hundred people on those flights alone. Joe felt sick.

     "Methos!" he called. "The other tower just went."

     Methos came back into the kitchen. "The Embassy 
still doesn't know anything," he said, then stopped at 
the sight on the television. BBC One was showing a replay 
of the other tower telescoping in on itself in a huge 
mushroom cloud of dust. "Jesus Christ," Methos exclaimed, 
and burst out laughing again. Joe recognized the strange 
tone of the mirth as hysteria.

     "I'm sorry, Joe," Methos sighed, throwing up his 
large hands at his own inappropriate amusement. "I just--
this is just so fucking unbelievable! Whoever came up 
with *this* little plan should have been drowned at 
birth." Coming from Death, the 5000 year old last 
Horseman of the Apocalypse, that statement 
was...disturbing. Methos had seen and committed so much 
carnage in his time. He shouldn't have been impressed by 
this, shouldn't have been unnerved, shouldn't have been 
scared.

     Joe rubbed the stump of his left leg--a leg that 
he'd lost in Vietnam, another unbelievable series of 
events. It already ached from the tension of the day. 
"I'm gonna call Amy again," he said and pressed Redial. 
He let the phone ring for ten minutes this time.

     "Today is the festival of Diada in Barcelona," 
Methos said thoughtfully, as Joe finally hung up.

     "Diada...Isn't that the day that the Spanish king's 
forces took Barcelona in 1714?" Joe asked. Methos nodded. 
"The death toll was pretty high that day, wasn't it?"

     "Seven thousand, I think," Methos replied 
thoughtfully. "Not counting all the ones who fell during 
the siege. I don't know. That's something the historians 
would know. On the ground, it just felt like...the end of 
the world."

     Joe digested this unexpected revelation. "You were 
there," he said. "At the siege."

     Methos was silent, while on the tv the Pentagon 
burned. "We'd armed every civilian we could and put them 
all on the streets by the end, but it wasn't enough," he 
admitted finally. "God wasn't with us that day."

     Joe sighed. "Guess God wasn't with the people of New 
York today, either. They're already calling this the 
second Pearl Harbor."

    "I think that they are probably right," Methos said. 
"The Catalans never forgot Diada, and I doubt that your 
people are going to forget this day, either. Whoever did 
this, and whoever rejoices over it, is a fool. The media 
is already trying to pin this on that spoiled brat Osama 
bin Laden who's hiding out in Afghanistan. The U.S. will 
almost certainly retaliate against Afghanistan, and the 
Israelis will use this as an excuse to escalate their 
operations against the Palestinians on the West Bank."

     "But we don't even know that they were involved," 
Joe protested.

     "Doesn't matter," Methos retorted grimly, no longer 
laughing at all. "C'mon, Joe. You've seen this before, 
inside the Watchers. This is only the first strike in 
something very, very ugly. Whoever did this won't be able 
to find a hole big enough to hide in. The U.S. government 
will just burn its way through its most likely list of 
suspects around the world until it feels sufficiently 
safe again. That could take decades. Trust me. At some 
point, in the very large resultant pile of bodies you 
will find those responsible for this." He spat into the 
sink. "Fools."

     "'Collateral damage,'" Joe mused. "That's what 
Timothy McVeigh called his victims in the Oklahoma City 
bombing." He shook his head. "I just can't understand who 
would plan something like this. Kronos, maybe, if he were 
still alive."

     "Kronos would have liked to," Methos said bitterly. 
"It was just his style. He *lived* for 'collateral 
damage'. But he would have needed me to plan it. Believe 
me, I would never have been this big a fool. I liked to 
scare the hell out of people, not piss them off. No, I 
think that the people who did this were so wrapped up in 
the beauty of their plan that they never calculated just 
what the true consequences would be. After all, who has 
ever done this kind of thing before? Where's the 
precedent? I think it should start sinking in within the 
next few days. *Nobody* is going to want to take 
responsibility for this because those who did it are 
walking dead men."

     "I sure hope so," Joe said.

     Methos grinned mirthlessly. "See? You want them 
dead, too, already."

     "I just want to know that my daughter is safe," Joe 
said, hitting Redial. Now, the phone didn't even ring. 
Joe held the mobile out in front of him as a steady tone 
emitted from it. He began to cry. It didn't last long.

     Very gently, Methos took the mobile out of his hand 
and disconnected it. "Joe, it might be better if you keep 
the phone clear in case she tries to call you."

     Wiping his eyes, Joe said, "Actually, I gave her 
your landline number in case of emergency."

     Methos looked disgusted. "Of course you did. You 
didn't, by any chance, give her any of my journals while 
you were at it?"

     "Relax, Methos. She already knows you're an 
Immortal; she just doesn't know you were a Watcher. You 
think she'll call?"

     Methos let the volatile issue go with obvious 
reluctance. "Absolutely," he reassured Joe. "I'm sure 
she's fine." He picked his coat up off the chair and 
pulled it on. Joe noted that it hung with a few more 
pieces of lethal hardware than usual.

    "Where the hell do you think you're going dressed 
like that?" Joe demanded. "Gonna go do a little vigilante 
action or something?"

     Methos snorted. "Much as I would love to personally 
take care of whoever did this, I'd like to wait until we 
actually find out who those people are before I pull out 
my skinning knife and branding iron." Joe had no doubt 
that Methos still owned such implements. "This is just my 
'I'm having a paranoid day' wardrobe. I'm gonna go get 
some Chinese takeaway for dinner. You want anything in 
particular?"

    "Uh, just the usual. General Tsao's chicken, pork 
fried rice, spring rolls," Joe said distractedly. On the 
tv, they were conducting an audio interview with a 
survivor who had been in the lower part of the building 
that had been first hit, the North Tower. He tried 
scanning the street scene in the background for Amy. No 
luck.

     "Good. I've got that memorized." Methos set Joe's 
mobile down on the counter in front of him, then shoved 
his own mobile into an outside pocket of his coat. 
"Here's your mobile," he said. "I've got mine. The 
landline phone is on the wall over there." He jerked his 
head toward the door going into the living room. "If you 
hear from her--or anybody--call me. The Chinese place is 
just down the road. I should be back within an hour."

     "Okay," Joe replied, still scanning the street scene 
on the tv for Amy. He didn't even notice Methos leave. 
Forty minutes later, the Old Man returned with the 
takeaway. They ate in silence. Methos insisted that Joe 
drink a beer. By now, BBC One had settled into a round of 
repeated images and reports. At six o'clock, Methos' wall 
phone rang. Methos, who was coming through from the 
living room, picked it up.

     "Hullo?" Methos said.  Joe saw the Old Man's 
shoulders slump. For a terrible second, Joe was certain 
that Amy was dead. Suddenly, Methos smiled in obvious 
relief.  "Oh, thank God. Joe's been calling you all 
afternoon. We've...he's been very concerned." Joe stared 
at his friend, bewildered.

     "Is that Amy?" he asked weakly.

     Methos looked Joe in the eye and nodded. 
"Yeah...yeah. He's right here." Joe shoved himself off 
his chair and stumbled over to the phone, reaching out 
for it.  "Hang on. He's breathing down my neck." Methos 
chuckled in black humor. "I'll put him on."

     Joe grabbed the phone out of Methos' hand. "Amy? 
Amy, is that you?"

     "It's me, Joe. I'm fine! I'm all right." Amy sounded 
breathless and teary.

     "Oh, Jesus. Oh, thank God. I thought...." Joe 
sagged, but Methos grabbed him and pulled a chair over to 
him. Joe sank onto it. "I was calling you, but then the 
phone went dead. Oh, God."

     "My mobile is probably still up on the 36th floor," 
Amy replied, almost laughing in what sounded like sheer 
relief. She didn't say which building she'd been in and 
Joe didn't bother to ask. "Nguyen was with me and we're 
both fine. We got out about five minutes before the 
building went. But Aguilera and Haas--they were up top. I 
don't--I don't think they made it, Joe." She started to 
cry, her sobs sounding tinny over the phone.

     "Mike Haas was there?" Joe asked stupidly, and saw 
Methos turn white. With a stab of guilt, he remembered 
that Mike had been Methos' roommate at Watcher Academy. 

     "Yeah." Amy confirmed the name. "Joe, I can't talk 
long. I'm using a phone in a butcher's shop and there's a 
line of people waiting. Don't worry about me. I'll be 
fine. You're with Ben right now, yes?"

    *Shit*. So, she'd recognized Methos' voice, after 
all. 'Ben Adams' was the name by which she knew him. 

     "Um, yeah," Joe admitted. "I'm visiting him for the 
week."

     "I should be lecturing you about hanging out with 
the likes of him," Amy scolded him, but was clearly too 
shaken up to make it sound sincere. "I'm glad you're with 
him, though. He's a good friend." Well, Methos had saved 
her life once, against his better judgment, just for Joe. 
So, she should know what kind of friend he was to her 
father. "Look, I'll call you again later on, when I've 
got settled in somewhere."

     "Okay, honey. Take care of yourself. *Please*."

     "Don't worry, I will. I'll call you.... I love you, 
Dad."

     Joe felt his eyes burn. "I love you, too, Amy."

     It wasn't until after he hung up the phone that it 
hit him. "Methos, do you have internet access?"

     Methos gave him a strange look. "Ye-es, of course. 
Why?"

     "I need to check the Watcher database."

     Methos looked horrified. "You want to check it from 
*here*? Are you mad?" Then, his expression went blank. 
"You want to check for casualties." Mike Haas' name hung 
in the air, unspoken, between them. Joe was distantly 
relieved to hear the Old Man still identify himself with 
the Watchers, despite having burned off his own tattoo 
years ago.

     "Yeah," Joe said. "I think we've lost more Watchers 
than just the guys with Amy, maybe a lot of Watchers. 
Immortals, too."

     "Fine. I just hope no bright boy in Watcher 
Headquarters decides to take advantage of this and trace 
it back to me." Methos led Joe through the living room 
into his small office, which contained a Macintosh G3 
desktop, a laser printer and a scanner. Methos booted up 
the Mac and got onto Netscape. Joe pulled up a chair and 
sat down next to the him.


     "It's--" Joe began.

     "I know how to hack into the Watcher database," 
Methos replied waspishly. "I designed the damned thing, 
you know." Sure enough, within a few minutes, he had 
called up the Watcher homepage.

     The homepage had changed. A new link, just under the 
Watcher logo, read, "For latest casualties, click here." 
Methos clicked on it. At the top of the new page, the 
message blinked in red letters: "THIS LIST IS 
INCOMPLETE." Underneath it, the names of the Watchers who 
had been working in the World Trade Center and at the 
Pentagon were listed, according to which building they 
had been assigned. A few were confirmed as safe, but 
after most entries came the words, "Missing, presumed 
dead". Amy and her three colleagues were still listed as 
missing, so she must have called Methos's house first.

     Four of the names were of passengers on the hijacked 
planes. Most of the Watchers had probably not even been 
following Immortals, but had been working their day jobs. 
A job at the World Trade Center or the Pentagon could be 
used to mask a great deal of travel, and provided access 
to all sorts of useful databases.

     There were a lot of names--more than Joe had feared. 
He recognized many of them as Watchers with whom both he 
and Methos had either worked or had attended Academy. 
Some of them were good friends. The beer Methos had 
pressed on him turned sour in his stomach. He glanced at 
Methos; the Old Man's normally expressive face seemed 
turned to stone.

     "Ohh," Death breathed. "They are dead. Whoever they 
are, they are dead. They just haven't realized it yet." 
Knowing that Methos was not talking about the Watchers on 
the list, Joe shivered.

     "Sherrie Lindquist, Marcel Bonaventure, Abdullah el 
Muhammad, Yevgeny Ivanovitch Grishnov, Carl Bingham...." 
As Joe recited the names that he recognized, it all 
finally began to sink in.

     After the list passed two hundred names, Methos 
rebooted the computer.

END