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Survivor Part 2 (4/8)
Kay Kelly (wilusa@EARTHLINK.NET)Mon, 2 Apr 2001 00:18:07 -0400
*** Our stakeout of the ruined loft wasn't set to begin till the next day, Sunday. Jacob said that if Duncan went there from the airport he'd arrive after nightfall; the place was without electricity, and it would make no sense for the MacLeods to stumble around in the dark. I thought privately that if they really were meeting, they would have chosen Duncan's hotel--it wouldn't have been that hard for him to let Connor know where he'd be staying. But Duncan was undoubtedly going to the loft, and he'd walk right into Jacob's trap. I had a lot of time to worry. I'd promised Carlos I wouldn't rat on him. I didn't want to see Duncan dead any more than he did. But I made it clear he couldn't count on me for help. In fact, I wished I'd never learned about his double life. I was afraid of Jacob--and not only because I now harbored a guilty secret. I couldn't forget that he'd endangered all of us by killing on holy ground. Sure, he'd done it once before. But he admitted he hadn't known there was never a penalty. Beheading nine men was a hell of a way to find out. That wasnąt all. I was disturbed by his having suddenly decided to reveal his identity to Connor MacLeod. What was behind it? Jacob boasted that he'd torment his victim for centuries to come. But in the space of fifteen years, MacLeod had lost a wife and an adopted child, and been made to feel responsible for a large-scale slaughter. Now Jacob planned to murder the one remaining person he loved. After that burst of atrocities, it would be understandable if the Highlander lived for the next *five hundred* years without letting anyone close to him, even in the sense of physical proximity. He wouldn't be happy--far from it--but Jacob wouldn't be able to deal him any more devastating blows. What satisfaction could Jacob find in that? I had a feeling the game was rushing to its end--and that Jacob, deep down, knew it too. But if he killed MacLeod, what would he have left to live for? More and more, I wondered if frustration would drive him to make some nightmarish use of those new "powers" he talked about. *** I tried to stop fretting and concentrate as Jacob outlined his plan for Duncan. But that wasn't exactly conducive to good cheer. Assuming the younger Highlander arrived at the antique shop before Connor--who, I knew, was unlikely to show at all--Jacob wanted Faith to wait till he was in that smashed-up loft, then walk in on him and air her grievances. He'd probably try to smooth things over. But her presence would mask the approach of other Immortals and help us fighters get the drop on him. Bob, Carlos, Winston and I were to be stationed on the roof next door, on motorcycles--by then Jacob would have replaced the ones we'd lost. Construction was going on nearby, but on a Sunday we'd have the area to ourselves. At the appropriate time, we'd come crashing into the loft through what had once been a picture window. If a gang of four couldn't outfight Duncan-- which seemed highly unlikely--Jin Ke would do his "secret weapon" bit. Then Jacob would run him through, and we'd handcuff, shackle and gag him. When Connor showed up, we'd overpower and restrain him in much the same way--the main difference being that he'd be out of shape and easier to handle. Then we'd take our captives to a more suitable place for a Quickening, and make Connor watch while Jacob tortured Duncan and finally beheaded him. If Connor *didn't* appear, Duncan would meet the same fate. Jacob would take his head before his injuries from the torture had time to heal. We'd dump the head and body--still bearing his passport and other identification --where they'd be found soon, and Connor would be sure to hear all the gory details. I watched Faith throughout Jacob's spiel. She never breathed a word of objection--how could she, after the things she'd said about Duncan MacLeod over the years? But her face was whiter than I'd ever seen it. I recalled that she hadn't been able to bring herself to kill Duncan's woman. Or had she simply lacked opportunity? Tessa Noel had lived less than a year after Faith learned of her existence; then she'd been shot and killed by a mugger. She and Duncan had spent most of that year in Paris, while we'd been in the States. I lost myself in the enigma that was Faith, and never let my eyes stray toward Carlos. *** Next day, the first part of the plan unfolded as Jacob had intended. Faith distracted Duncan, and he wasn't prepared for our assault. But nothing after that went according to script. None of us had ever seen Duncan MacLeod in person. And the photo and description in the Watcher database didn't do him justice. We knew about his dark good looks. But we weren't expecting the sculpted, perfectly proportioned physique, the lightning-swift reflexes and catlike coordination. We ditched the bikes and attacked him, using an inventive mix of weapons. Bob, who had a fondness for clubs, swung a baseball bat studded with spikes. Winston had two sharpened metal stakes. Carlos wielded a sword in his right hand, and had metal claws fastened to his left. I carried my blade of choice, a cutlass, in my left hand; in the right, I held a doubled length of chain for use as a whip. Duncan was annoyed but not intimidated. He defended himself with the fastest sword moves I'd ever seen, and I knew we had a battle on our hands. To me, at least, it seemed glaringly obvious that Carlos was holding back. I reacted in panic--threw myself into the fight more furiously than anyone else, lest Jacob associate me with him. But even as I slashed at Duncan, I loathed myself. It didn't matter; he was hurting me way more than I was him. Then he neutralized Bob by conking him with his own bat, driving the spikes into his forehead! Bob-- tough as they come--never lost consciousness, and stepped aside to work the stupid thing out of his head. But with Carlos limiting himself to smart-ass remarks and cuts that never went much beyond Duncan's clothes, Winston and I wore ourselves out--while Duncan held his own against both of us. I found myself rooting for him. I was idiotically grateful that I could, very obviously, do my best--in case Jacob was watching--and still fail to take him down. *** In light of our less than stellar performance, it was inevitable that Jin Ke would take the field. He made his usual dramatic entrance, and Winston proudly introduced him. Duncan MacLeod had heard of him, and was surprised to find him in this company. He said carefully, "Some people say you're a man of honor." Jin shot back, "What do *you* know of honor?" My first thought was that he was reviling MacLeod for what he'd done to Faith. My second was that he felt no Westerner could comprehend the sense of honor that compelled *him* to serve a cause he loathed. Maybe it was a little of both. Jin brandished a menacing steel pike. That gave him a longer reach and more striking--if not cutting--surface than Duncan's ivory-hilted katana. But the two men flew into action. And it soon became clear that despite the disparity of weapons, despite the toll the earlier combat should have taken on Duncan, they were-- incredibly--evenly matched. At last Jin paused and said very distinctly, "Honor's not in the weapon, it's in the man." He laid the pike aside. I gasped. I saw the risk he was taking. Duncan MacLeod was dealing with a bunch of rule- breakers, and had every reason to believe Jin was our leader. With one lunge, he could...not take Jin's head, no. Only a madman would want a Quickening in that situation. But he could *hack one of Jin's arms off and maim him forever*. Our shock would give him a chance to get away. That was what Jacob would have done. Was it what Jin *wanted?* Instead, Duncan replied courteously, "Then perhaps you are what they say." He thrust the blade of his sword into the floor and left it standing upright. They resumed combat using only their hands, their feet--and in one way or another, every part of those leaping, twirling, magnificent bodies. Watching them, I could almost revel in their artistry and forget that this was a dance of life and death. Until I noticed Carlos's fidgeting. *** The struggle went on, a seemingly unresolvable draw, till a stern voice from overhead called out, "Enough!" The combatants stopped at once. Jin Ke gave Duncan a little bow that seemed to say, "I apologize for this rude interruption." Duncan gave him a somewhat bemused bow in return. Jacob slowly descended a staircase from wherever he'd been. He greeted Duncan, and put the blame on us for what we'd done--claimed we "lacked discipline." But I don't think Duncan doubted for a second that we'd been following orders when we attacked him. By now Duncan was nowhere near the katana lodged in the floor; Jacob was very near it. Every man stiffened when his hand brushed suggestively against that carved ivory hilt. I knew instinctively that the last thing Jin had intended, when he suggested they fight hand to hand, was to leave Duncan weaponless against Jacob. I knew too that when Jacob raised his other hand, it would be a signal for us to pounce on Duncan and restrain him...for the moment it would take Jacob to gut him with his own sword. *** But suddenly a shot rang out. And another, and another. Whirling around in confusion, I finally located the gun-- in Carlos's hand. He emptied it into Duncan MacLeod. It looked like the gesture of a young Immortal who was still a thug at heart. Just wanting to get one more lick in before this unequal fight was over. But the impact of so many bullets flung Duncan backward. Sent him crashing through a boarded-up second-floor window and hurtling down onto Hudson Street. Out of Jacob's reach. Exactly as Carlos had planned. Brilliant.