Disclaimers in Part 1 When Connor was nowhere to be found on opening night, Joe worried. He arranged a meeting with Connor's Watcher and was relieved to learn Bjorn was in Vegas. It meant Connor probably hadn't gone anywhere. They met for lunch amid the clatter of the Caesars Palace buffet. Bjorn was a large, taciturn Swede with, Joe remembered, a straight-faced way of joking which sometimes only struck you days later. Joe was glad to see him again, but Bjorn looked uneasy. "Joe," he greeted, placing his tray on the table and his bulk on the chair. "'Lo Bjorn. Good to see you." At least they could speak in English. French was the official language of the Watchers, and Joe was fluent enough at it, but he knew Bjorn's English was unaccented and even idiomatic. Ability with languages was something Joe envied. How he'd struggled with French! "You too," the man replied. They shook hands. "What is it?" Well, nothing like getting right to business. Joe had spent enough time in France that he almost felt affronted to have Bjorn bring up business before they'd finished eating. "I just want to know, is Nash in town?" "Why?" Ah, the automatic Watcher caution. Joe grinned, despite his worry. "I saw him the other day, and I might have said something to ... make him leave. You don't have to tell me where he is. Just, is he in town?" "You had a Sighting and you didn't report it?" Now Joe was growing grouchy. He didn't need a lecture about procedures. And Bjorn was almost the last person he would have expected it from. "I put in a 'Request to Meet', didn't I? So, I'm telling you now. And you're avoiding the question." Bjorn looked away, his gaze passing over the crowds at the buffet line, before returning to Joe. "Tell me the truth about something, Joe." Joe tried not to fidget with impatience. "Do you think your guy has told my guy about the Watchers?" Joe sighed inwardly. He knew it was a sticky subject with many Watchers, particularly those of the old guard who had remained in the Watchers after Joe's trial and the mess which had followed, instead of pursuing the General Release which had been offered to just about anyone who wanted out. Everyone knew the unusual exposure the Watchers now had among immortals was largely due to Joe's friendship with his own immortal assignment, but, since, in the aftermath of the "war" between Watchers and immortals it became clear that Galati's slaughters had had nothing to do with Joe, after all, few of the remaining field agents or administration felt inclined to point accusing fingers at him for much of anything. Particularly since that misconception had led, not only to Joe's attempted execution, but to a worldwide Watcher manhunt for the head of Duncan MacLeod - the wrong man. The Watchers could easily have been responsible for the unjustified killing of another innocent - even virtuous - immortal. The second in as many years. Watchers with any conscience felt a collective guilt over the incident, a guilt which had bought Joe a lot of leeway in subsequent months. But Bjorn had a right to know. In fact, Joe felt a slight pang that he hadn't told him earlier. "Yeah, I'm sure he knows. Why?" Bjorn shook his head and looked mournful. "Because he shakes me too easily." Joe felt a horrible suspicion. "You've lost him." Bjorn nodded. "Couple days ago. I haven't reported it yet, but I've had his home and usual haunts checked. Nothing." Joe leaned back on the unyielding booth seat and studied the elaborate ceiling of Caesars Palace. Faux Roman columns with triumphal arches curved gracefully overhead. Toga-clad statues adorned arched niches just below the ceiling. Joe sighed. "I think he's in Bora Bora." "Bora Bora!?" Bjorn's normally stoic features were comical in astonishment. He looked as if Joe had suggested that Connor might have left for Mars. "He's looking for Duncan, and he must be really scraping the bottom of the barrel." Joe felt a sudden flash of sympathy for the elder Highlander. *He must be sick with worry, too*. And he didn't even know the half of it. "You told him MacLeod's in Bora Bora?!" "No." Joe shook his head, almost amused. "But he must figure I know something. Where would you like him, Bjorn? If I see him again, should I hint that Duncan might be in Cancun? The Bahamas?" Bjorn's expression was grave. "Don't mess with him, Joe. If he really thinks you know something he wants, it could get ugly." Joe rubbed his throat, ruefully. "I know. At least, this time, he only tried tricking it out of me." Now Bjorn looked confused. "You mean Duncan MacLeod *is* in Bora Bora?" "No!" Joe was exasperated. "It's just that ..." *it's just that someone else could be there.* "...anyway, I think Nash has gone there, okay?" "Okay," Bjorn replied. "I'll check it out." Joe nodded, and considered the food on his tray. He had lost his appetite. All-you-can-eat buffets, he reflected, are only money savers for very hungry people. Bjorn pulled a newspaper out of a shopping bag. "Have you seen this?" he asked. He had the paper folded to show the second page. "Cult Leader to Die, Live Again" claimed a moderately sized headline near the top. A blurry photo showed a stocky man with a microphone on an outdoor stage. He looked familiar, but, rather than try to place him, Joe read on: "John Kirin, the charismatic leader of the Love Now movement, announced today in Las Vegas that he will have himself publicly executed in one week, and then will return to life before a live audience, in order to inspire faith and demonstrate his own special favor with God." Joe looked up at Bjorn. "Oh, my Lord," he breathed. "Keep reading," Bjorn advised. "'The Millenium is upon us,' Kirin warned a crowd of a few hundred, Tuesday, speaking from in front of Love Now's revival tent at the Convention Center. 'Mankind will be tested, and if we fail, the world will be plunged into a thousand years of darkness.' Kirin went on to claim to be the Chosen Champion of mankind, a fact he intends to demonstrate by dying and returning to life, onstage, next Sunday night, in the Treasure Island showroom." Joe looked up again, wide-eyed. "Isn't that something like what your guy was saying?" Bjorn ventured. Joe assented with a reluctant nod, and continued reading. "Officials for Wynn Properties, Inc., the parent organization of Treasure Island, said the means of Mr. Kirin's demise has not been decided. The firing squad which Kirin reportedly intended was vetoed as too potentially dangerous to the audience. 'Besides,' said spokeswoman Rose Kuhlman, 'we probably can't get the necessary permits in time, even if it can be made safe.' Negotiations are still underway." "Kirin's death will be documented by a team of physicians, all volunteers. A team of lawyers for Treasure Island and Wynn Properties, Inc., are reportedly drawing up waivers exempting the resort from liability." "Local clergy are responding with skepticism and even anger ..." Joe stopped reading. "I can't believe it. He's going to go public," Joe said. "Well," Bjorn replied, working industriously on a mound of mashed potatos, "he isn't saying anything about immortals in general. What I can't believe is that it's such a small story." "It won't be after he pulls it off," Joe commented. The tickle of an idea was in the back of his head, and he chased it mentally for a few silent moments as he watched his fellow Watcher dispatch his food. Bjorn pushed away his tray, now bare of any speck of comestibles, and leaned back. "You'll never guess who I saw on the way in." "Who?" Joe had returned to studying the paper. "Adam Pierson. You knew him, didn't you? The Methos researcher?" The paper forgotten, Joe nodded, dumb. He didn't trust himself to speak. "I heard he took the General Release. I saw him over there playing blackjack. Never figured him for a Vegas kind of guy, but he's looking very natty."