The rest of the summer had passed happily, blackout notwithstanding. Scarlet's parents had swung by with the rest of her things, and Alan enjoyed meeting them and her brother. A few days later Alan's folks and Mrs. Van Devanter drove the three of them and their stuff back to campus; Mr. Van Devanter was still in Cambridge with Pauline, getting her settled into her dorm and attending some parent orientation and welcoming events. He was on cloud nine, one of his offspring at last following in his Crimson footsteps.
Alan was rooming with Soren again, this year in Shapiro Hall, a dorm on the opposite side of Broadway from the center of campus. They liked it because it was quiet; a great many of the buildings on campus were undergoing renovation due to the upcoming 250th anniversary of the founding of the college.
Kate had a single in Brooks, a dorm right on Barnard's campus. Scarlet was in another single just across the hall.
A week into classes Alan met Jack at the office. Jack updated him on his last month of progress with the female assassin. He hadn't fully exploded her mental shields, but he was getting close. Most of what he learned concerned her last mission, and he was viewing tantalizing memories concerning some kind of crystal artifact, the details of which the ninja (ninjess?) was trying desperately to conceal. Wilkins, Karick, and Anne-Marie joined them after a scant hour, and Alan was updated as to the efforts in securing the Iraq contracts, and on security and business matters in general. Anne-Marie mostly kept out of the conversation, chipping in a comment or two when the talk touched on one of her areas of responsibility. When the trio had left Alan asked why Anne-Marie had been taken notes.
"A promotion, my dear fellow!" Jack enthused.
"What?"
"She is now an ex-officio member of the board, and the corporate secretary, on top of her regular work. She was compiling the corporate minutes."
"So she's working out? I'm glad."
There was a twinkle in Jack's eye, the source of which Alan was knowledgeable.
Harriet, Stan Wilkins's secretary came in with coffee service, and Alan and Jack helped themselves to some brew. Jack asked about his classes, and Alan pulled out his schedule.
"Hmm," Jack said between sips of coffee as he examined the printout. "You're taking both Aramaic, at school, and Classical Hebrew with me; that's ambitious. Well, well, well, I see you in good hands with your other classes as well. Mancini for Literature and Sources of the Ancient Near East."
"Do you know him?" Alan asked.
"Know him? Know him?" he was almost choking. "Why, he trained at my feet! An excellent sort, yes." He scanned the paper again, taking note of who was teaching the Aramaic language class. "S. O'Dwyer? I didn't know Seamus was at Columbia. A very able chap, but be careful, or you'll be speaking Aramaic with an Irish brogue."
"I keep that in mind," Alan answered with a chuckle.
Jack couldn't make out the rest of the classes on Alan's schedule. "What's CC?"
Alan explained that Columbia had a rather extensive core curriculum, the centerpiece being a lit course known as CC, covering stuff from the ancient Greeks to the modern period.
"Well, enough of that. Are you ready?" Jack asked as he made to unlock the heavy door.
"Ready," he responded, steeling himself.
The door swung open slowly. Alan followed the older man in, his eyes adjusting to the dimness of the windowless office. The young woman was wearing a collar around the neck, attached to a heavy bolt in the center of the room. The leash had only five feet of slack, so her movements were quite limited. She was handcuffed with two soft leather cuffs encircling her wrists, connected by a short length of steel chain. Her ankles were bound likewise. She was blindfolded with a black nylon cloth, and she was wearing gym shorts and an I
NY t-shirt.
Alan arched an eyebrow at Jack, and he responded telepathically.
"She is still dangerous. He physical combat skills match her mental acumen, therefore the cuffs and collar," the former professor projected. "As for the clothes, well, what can I say, or in this case, think. The shorts have an elastic waist. I couldn't very well nip her off to the shops to try things on, could I have? A very nice young man from Senegal, proprietor of a small table right outside the train station, sold me the chemises," he added, gesturing to the touristy shirt, "ten tees for forty dollars. I could never pass up a bargain."
She had been asleep when the pair had entered, but she was clearly awake now, her head swiveling around trying to hear the movements of her captors. She could sense them communicating telepathically, but was unable to tune into their mental conversations. Her frustration mounted, a she squeezed her eyes shut under the sash of cloth which blinded her. She had no idea how long she had been imprisoned, and her terror was starting to build.
Dying in battle was one thing, but capture was a far worse thing. She knew her mission was a dangerous one, but never had she imagined circumstances like the one she now found herself in. The man, the older one, the one who had thwarted her at the last moment of triumph, was getting to her, breaking her down, eroding her mental defenses, and she was coming to realize that it was just a matter of time before she crumbled completely. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this. The arrogance of her training astounded her, overwhelming the sense of shame she knew she should at this instant be rightly feeling. Never in her years of training and mastery of the Art had she been instructed against the possibility of capture. Such a fate had never befallen a member of her noble order.
One of them was touching her, holding her by the shoulders and lifting her into a crouch. She was pushed onto the sofa, on her back. She did not resist, knowing she had no choice. The only saving grace was that she hadn't been raped, but she feared that this would not be the case for long. She trembled. A hand on her head, attempting calm her. Sympathy, just what she needed. With a mighty effort she lashed out with her weakened mind, hoping the physical contact would help transmit her commands more powerfully.
Alan tensed, feeling her mental energy stream forth. His hand hurt as he held it to her forehead. It stung, but was bearable. "What's she doing?" he asked Jack, speaking aloud for the first time since they entered the room.
"Attack," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. Alan withdrew his hand and the sting dissipated.
"She's much weaker," Alan projected, resuming the communication by mind. "It was almost effortless to keep her from my mind. In fact, I didn't even know she was attacking until you said it."
Jack approached the couch and sat her upright. Alan took the left flank, his partner the right.
"I think it's time we double up on her," Jack projected into Alan's mind. "She's been eating of late, a good thing too, because she refused the smallest bite for quite a while. I think the isolation has been trying on her."
"What do you need me to do?" Alan asked, his lips not moving.
"Try to scan her."
Alan tried. He got virtually nowhere. He could see inside her mind, but all was shadowed by the shields protecting her consciousness. Jack was monitoring his progress, and shot him a wry grin as Alan withdrew his ineffectual probe.
"What were you looking for?" the older man asked.
"I was trying to learn why she allowed herself to be set against me. We already know some of it, the part having to do with Lord Thornbow. What we still don't know is why she and her order have allied themselves with him."
"A vexing point, yes. Did you see the crystal, the black crystal on the wooden stand in the center of the chapel?"
"What about it?"
"I believe," Jack said slowly, marshaling his thoughts, "that we have reached the ineffable core of our dilemma, and by 'our' I am referring to all of us, you me AND the girl."
