Author: Adelheide

My point (and yes, there is one) is to write fun, entertaining, and good fiction. I like dark characters. I like violence. I like profanity. You know, grown up stuff. Not too much of that is in here, but there is a wee bit, so be warned. But mostly, enjoy yourself. If you want to Mary Sue yourself into this story, fine. I just don't want to hear about it. If you disagree with character development or premise, that's fine, too. And that I don't mind hearing about. Viva la different opinions. Dialog is good. But I mainly write this stuff to be read and enjoyed. So have fun

me-nis-cus (me-nis'-kes) n. , 1) a lens 2) a curved reflective surface

"The optimist sees opportunity in every danger; the pessimist sees danger in every opportunity."

- Winston Churchill

"Ow. "Darien Fawkes said, as much to make a point as out of actual discomfort.

Claire, the Keeper, smiled indulgently at him and withdrew the syringe. As she broke the needle in the sharps container, Fawkes watched a tiny bead of blood well up in the crook of his elbow. "I swear you do that on purpose," he grumbled.

Claire feigned shock and dropped the empty syringe in the prep tray. "Why on Earth would I do that on purpose?" she asked innocently.

Fawkes grabbed a cotton ball off the cart and grumpily applied it to the wound. He shot her a disgusted glance. "I would think with all the practice you've had on me, you'd get a little better with that thing."

He was irritable. He often was as the quick silver had built up to a certain point in his system. Claire took his wrist as watched as the ouroboros tattoo faded, cell by cell, from red to green. She felt Darien relax a bit as the last cell turned. Satisfied that the high level of quicksilver he'd allowed to build up was contained, she released his arm. "You waited too long again," she admonished.

"Sorry", he muttered, for a moment looking for all the world like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I got, you know, busy."

"Hmmm. Darien, we've spoken about this. We need to keep the levels of quicksilver in your body down as low as possible. I think if you keep pushing it, its going to damage your health. "She could tell by his expression that he wasn't convinced. Fawkes was fit and in excellent health. He had the illusion of invulnerability most young people had. It was her turn to be disgusted. She shook her head and left him on the table.

Just as he hopped off, Robert Hobbes poked his head around the glass screen in the Keeper's lab. "You done?" he asked Fawkes.

"Yup. S'up?"

"Boss man."

"Comin'."

Claire grinned ruefully at her computer screen as the two left the lab. They were far more partners than either man would care to admit. They worked well together. They were even developing verbal shorthand. Like an old married couple, Claire thought, as she opened her file and prepared to type.

Fawkes hated the feeling of the quicksilver sneaking up on him. It made him tense, nervous, jittery. While the Keeper told him that those feelings were due to physical changes that the gland was causing, he wondered. How much of it was because he knew that the madness was right around the corner? Quicksilver madness. A lovely side-effect of the stupid gland in his head. A dark part of himself that he wished didn't exist taking over, filling his mind with thoughts-no, need of-violence and murder. He imagined that Hell would be having to feel like that all the time. He rolled his shoulders as he followed Hobbes upstairs. The tension was melting away already. The Keeper and her magic blue elixir. He hated being a slave to her needle, but he always felt so much…who he really was after a shot.

Hobbes knocked on the Official's door and waited for the summons before entering. As always, Eberts was behind the large man's right shoulder, like a nerdy parrot perched by the collar of a corpulent pirate. The Official-Charlie, who knew names in the Agency? -sat and watched his two agents enter. He didn't look happy. Okay, he rarely looked happy.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," he instructed. Fawkes folded his long frame into a tacky office chair and waited. Eberts bent down to whisper something to the Official, who nodded and flipped open a folder on his desk. "I have an assignment for you two."

"Yes, sir?" Hobbes piped up.

"I am putting you on body guard detail. Tomorrow night, Dr. Rajinan Praktuproli from India is going to be spending a couple of days in our city on his way to Washington. He is going to be meeting with a representative from Pakistan and the National Nuclear Safety Council. I want to be sure he has a relaxing layover and that he gets on to his plane in one piece."

That wasn't all of it. Fawkes waited for the big man to finish, but when more of the story wasn't forthcoming, he prompted with, "Okay. How does this fall under the jurisdiction of Fish and Game?"

"Dr. Praktuproli is not only a nuclear physicist in his country, he's also the member of several conservation societies. The plight of the Bengal tiger is his pet concern. That's our in."

That still wasn't all of it. "And. . ?" Fawkes prodded.

Annoyance tugged at the boss' mouth. He looked at Hobbes, who normally got with the program right away. But it was obvious even Hobbes was perplexed. A sigh rumbled out of him. "Needless to say, with the current situation between India and Pakistan, these talks on Washington are very important. There have been several threats against the doctor's life-"

"What about his security people?" Hobbes wanted to know.

"But there is one threat that we are taking very seriously."

"What threat?" Fawkes asked this time.

The Official glared at him. "A threat that a very good source says could actually pan out. Which is why I want you two there."

"I don't' get it. I'm sure Dr. Prol…Pru. ."

Hobbes leaned toward him and offered, "Praktuproli."

"Thank you. I'm sure the doc's going to have half the Indian Army around him, given the situation and especially with death threats. Wouldn't this be a job for our boys in uniform? You know, Army? CIA? Secret Service?"

"I have to agree, sir. "For Hobbes to disagree with the Official meant something was indeed rotten in Denmark. "I can imagine that Dr. Praktuproli is going to have some pretty tight security. I don't see the need for us-"

"Because I want you there!" the Official thundered. The other two blinked in surprise and fell silent. Fawkes didn't think he's ever heard his boss yell like that. After pinning them both with a stare, the Official took a business card from the file and flipped it to Hobbes. In a calmer tone, he said, "There's an Agent Miramontez from the Secret Service. He's in charge of security for the doctor's stay. Meet him this afternoon at the Hotel D'Arcy. Introduce yourselves and make yourselves useful. "His eyes fell to the file before him. Fawkes and Hobbes finally got the hint that they were dismissed and started to exit.

"Boys," the Official said in a gentle tone. They both turned at the door and looked at him. "Keep your eyes open."

Daniel Miramontez was a nice enough guy, but it was clear that he couldn't figure out why Fawkes and Hobbes had been assigned to his detail. Neither did they. The Hotel D'Arcy was one of the ritzier hotels in town. Uniformed doormen, a marble lobby with a fountain, a full time concierge team, the works. The whole place crawling with agents and military. Out of professional courtesy, Miramontez showed them around, highlighting the special steps that had been taken to protect the foreign dignitary. He also included them in the evening briefing. To Fawkes thief-trained eye, Miramontez and his team seemed to have everything covered. Of course, his experience was more about getting in then out without detection. He decided to keep his mouth shut, pay attention, and let Hobbes take the lead on this. Considering his long and checkered career with law enforcement, Hobbes would be the best one to decide if they were wasting their time.

It was standing room only at the evening meeting. The small hotel meeting room could barely hold all the agents and police. Fawkes and Hobbes managed a spot toward the back where they were surrounded by shuffling bodies. "People," Miramontez said, wrapping up the briefing, "the good doctor arrives at the airport at 10:57 am tomorrow. Agent Mitchell and his team will collect the doctor from the airport and bring him directly here via motorcade. They will arrive at the hotel at 11:45am. Once we have Dr. Praktuproli secured here, we never let him out of our sight. On Thursday, the doctor will be lecturing in the Plaza Ballroom to a group of deans and fellows from universities all over the state. On Friday, he will leave for Washington via chartered jet and he will not longer be our responsibility. Let's make it to Friday without any incidents. Thanks for all your hard work and we'll see you here tomorrow at oh eight hundred."

The crowd broke and started to dissolve. Hobbes stood his ground in the milling throng and Fawkes hung beside him. Clusters of agents here and there bent their heads together to discuss last minute details. There were going to be several drills in the morning before the doctor's arrival. Behind him, Fawkes heard one agent complain to another that his wife was going to "have my ass" because he had to work nights on the week of their anniversary. A petite woman with red hair pushed past him, talking on a cell phone, apparently to her child. Soon, the meeting room of the hotel was empty, except for haphazard chairs and pads of paper covered with doodles. Fawkes hopped up on one of the tables and took a load off. He crossed his arm and looked at Hobbes. His partner pursed his lips, deep in thought.

"So?" he finally prompted.

"So what?"

"Why do you think we're here?"

"Because the Official told us to be here."

Darien snorted, exasperated. "Uh-huh. Don't you think these guys have it covered? I mean, you can't flip open your ID without hitting an agent. It's just the two of us. We're a little superfluous, don't you think?"

Hobbes jabbed the air in front of Fawkes' face with his finger. "We're not supposed to think, we're-"

"Come off it, Hobbes! It doesn't bug you that we're probably running another personal errand for the fat man? And that he hasn't told us anything-again? I thought we're supposed to work for The Agency, not be a pair of field Eberts for him."

That was hitting below the belt. And he knew it. But sometimes Hobbes clung to the company line so hard Fawkes just wanted to slug him. He wanted piss Hobbes off. Because when Hobbes got mad, he did some of his best thinking.

"See, this is why your ass is always in a sling!" Hobbes yelled back. Fawkes rolled his eyes and waited for that brain to work. It was a weird brain, but when all pistons were firing, it was scary how well it worked. "You always gotta question! You always gotta stick your nose in! You can't just do your job and do what your told!"

Hobbes was winding down. The storm before the calm. Fawkes levelly gazed at his partner. "Yeah, well, whatever, man. Why do you think we're really here?"

"I don't know!"

"None of this makes any sense to you?"

"No!"

Hobbes began to pace furiously. The brain was going. Fawkes pulled up his legs to sit cross-legged on the table. His butt was getting sore and this could take a while.

"They got bomb squad and SWAT on standby. They got Feds and military and every spare local they could get their hands on…" Hobbes calculated to himself. Fawkes poured himself a glass of water from one of the nearby plastic pitchers. "Metal detectors, eyes in all the surrounding buildings, dogs…practically got the damn Good Humor man…" After five more minutes of mumbling and pacing, Hobbes whirled to face his partner. "Okay, we go back and ask. Not because you want to. Because I think we could be given another assignment where we could actually get something done."

Fawkes grinned and jumped from the table. "What ever you say. You're the senior agent."

"Shut up, Fawkes," Hobbes growled as he stalked to the door.

The next morning, bright and early (far too early, as far as Fawkes was concerned), he and Hobbes were rapping on the Official's door. They had enough time for a quick third degree before they had to be at the hotel. Eberts opened the door, a bit startled to see the two of them. "Yes?"

"We need to see the Man," Hobbes huffed and made to push past the aid.

"The Official is not in just yet. "Eberts held his ground.

"Okay. We'll wait. "Fawkes added his larger frame to the effort of entrance.

With some effort, Eberts kept the door mostly closed. "You gentlemen can wait in the hall. He has meetings all morning. He won't be in until early this afternoon."

Hobbes glared at his watch for emphasis. "We have to be somewhere in an hour and we need information right now!"

Eberts looked pained. "If it is about your current assignment, I was told to tell you to make yourselves available to Agent Miramontez and report back here when the assignment has concluded."

"What assignment?" Fawkes marveled at how angry Hobbes could get this early. He could barely think, let alone get upset. "They don't need us down there. The fat man says there's a threat again Dr. Prake…Prok…"

Fawkes helped with, "Praktuproli."

"Thank you. There's a threat this guy. But there are a million agents and cops down there and I don't see where the two of us are going to make any difference."

"The Official thought the two of you would be specially qualified for this task."

Now it was clear. Eberts was hiding something. The guy was such a bad liar, it was amazing he got a job with a top-secret government agency. Hobbes and Fawkes exchanged glances and knew the plan. Together, they pushed against Eberts and entered the office. Hobbes shut the door behind them. He got right up Eberts' nose and demanded, "Why?"

"Because…you two have…experience…with this particular threat," the aid stammered. Hobbes and Fawkes looked at each other again. How pathetic can you get?

"Nice try, but try again," Fawkes insisted. He was tall and very aware of it. He tried not to be a bully. But now wasn't the time to play nicey nice. He loomed over the aid and stared down at him. Eberts tried to back away and they followed him in unison until they had him pinned against the desk.

"Really. I can't tell you. It could be my job," Eberts squeaked.

"It's gonna be your skull in a minute if you don't cough it up," Hobbes growled.

"Agent Hobbes, there is no reason to threaten,"the slight man tried to sound indignant.

"Hey," Fawkes said in a soothing tone. "The big guy doesn't have to know. We just want to know what's going on so we can do our job. "They were playing good cop/bad cop. Whatever worked.

"I don't have all the details. Just that the Official got a tip from a good source that an attempt was going to be made on Dr. Praktuproli's life and that the assassin might be able to evade law enforcement."

"A tip?" Fawkes asked Hobbes.

"From who?" Hobbes returned.

"'From whom. '"

"Whatever. "He refocused on Eberts. "Whom did he get this tip from?"

"Actually, in that case, it would be 'who'-" Eberts told him.

"Whatever. Don't change the subject."

Eberts held up his hands. "I don't know. Honestly. I've already violated several rules just telling you this much. Please."

They relented and backed off, giving him some precious breathing room. Eberts straightened his tie and tried to regain his composure. Since they both knew that was all they were going to get today, the duo turned for the door. Eberts was enormously relieved that they were leaving

"'An assassin who can evade law enforcement', huh?"

"A pro?" Fawkes threw out.

"Naw. The guys downtown are ready for that."

"Maybe I should borrow one of your guns."

Hobbes snorted. "You don't do too well with guns, my friend. "He opened the door and left.

"Yeah, but I'd feel a whole lot better…" Fawkes called after him before pulling the door shut.

The meeting for the security detail that morning was more of the same of the previous night. The drills went smoothly. Everyone knew what they needed to do and were ready for every contingency. While being polite and professional, Miramontez kept Hobbes and Fawkes on the periphery. Which was fine. It gave the two time to talk.

They hashed out everything they had done for the past few months. Every assignment, every bad guy, every outcome. All the missions had been resolved, one way or another. Every bad guy was in prison or dead. Every M. O. taken into consideration. By the time Dr. Praktuproli's escorted limo pulled up to the hotel entrance, they were at a loss. Every cop within a mile became immediately and intensely alert. A Secret Service agent opened the car door and out stepped a small man. He had mahogany skin and a shock of pure white hair. But his dark eyes were sharp and bright as he surveyed the new environment before reaching back into the limo. His hand was taken and he helped a woman out. She was even smaller than the doctor, with the same deep coloring. Her long hair was black with shots of gray and neatly braided into a single plait that ran down her back. She wore a modern version of Indian dress, a long mauve tunic over pants. Hoop earrings and a wedding band were the only jewelry she wore.

Miramontez wasn't tall, but he towered over the old man. "Dr. Praktuproli," he greeted, extending a hand. The doctor regarded the offering for a moment, then seized the agents hand in his small gnarled one. "I am Daniel Miramontez. Welcome to the United States."

"Yes, yes," Praktuproli said impatiently. "We were greeted at the airport. "His accent was an odd blend of British and classic Indian. He let go of Miramontez and ushered the woman forward. "This is my wife, Siri."

"An honor, ma'am," the agent greeted with a slight bow. Mrs. Praktuproli inclined her head in return.

"We are tired now," the doctor stated bluntly. "It was a long flight and I am an old man. We would like to see our room."

"Of course, sir. Right this way. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, please let me know…"

Hobbes and Fawkes watched the trio walk up the steps and disappear into the lobby, closely followed by five agents who were doing a terrible job of looking nonchalant. Inside they knew were more agents, for every step the doctor and his wife would take between the front door and their suite. At that very moment, more agents on the seventh floor were doing a last-minute sweep of the room.

"Okay, now what do we do?" Fawkes sighed.

Hobbes had that look. That look that said he was very unhappy with the situation. "You heard the fat man. We make ourselves useful. "He hitched up his belt and climbed the steps. Fawkes really wanted some more coffee. He followed his partner into the hotel instead.

It was time to make their token appearance. As, ostensibly, agents of the Department of Fish and Game, Hobbes and Fawkes were to present themselves to Dr. Praktuproli. Hobbes dressed for the occasion, wearing his good wool-blend jacket and tan slacks. Even Fawkes managed to look presentable. They went to suite 704, where their ID's were checked at the door. Soon, they were shown in.

Dr. Praktuproli was at a table by the far bank of windows, pouring over papers and files before him. Hobbes looked at Fawkes and tilted his head, indicating for the junior agent to follow him. He approached the physicist and stood quietly, waiting for the older man to notice him. They waited for a few long minutes. Fawkes began to rock on the balls of his feet and Hobbes jabbed him with an elbow. Finally, Hobbes quietly cleared his throat.

"Hm? What?" Dr. Praktuproli snapped, peering up at them through thick glasses.

"Yes, Dr. Praktuproli," Hobbes pronounced carefully. "I am Agent Robert Hobbes. This is Agent Darien Fawkes. We're with the Department of Fish and Game, sir."

"Hm? Fish and game?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

"Sir?"

"What do you want?" the doctor demanded tersely.

The old man's abruptness threw Hobbes for a second. "Uh, well, sir, we…um…"

"We understand you're interested in the conservation of the Bengal tiger, sir," Fawkes jumped in.

Praktuproli looked at each of them as though they were insane. "I have no time for tigers right now," he said crossly. "I have a lecture tomorrow night that I must prepare for. Go now. " "He waved them away and went back to his papers.

The pair exchanged a look that said O-kay. They turned to go and nearly collided with Mrs. Praktuproli. She had changed into a pretty floral outfit with a flowing pink scarf. "Gentleman, with me please. "Her accent was more British than Indian. Her smile was dazzling white. She crooked a finger and they followed her to a small table by a kitchenette. She laid out a graceful hand, indicating that they should sit. The two settled into their seats and the woman set two china teacups before each of them. Then she joined them at the table.

"You must forgive my husband. He is a brilliant man. But, when he works, he forgets his manners."

"That's okay," Fawkes said, peering into his cup. It was filled with a milky tan fluid. The steam brought the scent of spices to his nose.

"Yes, ma'am," Hobbes said, gingerly picking up his porcelain. "Don't worry about it."

"I know your government is taking great pains to secure my husband's safety. I want you to know that I am very appreciative."

Fawkes tasted the hot liquid carefully. It had cinnamon, cloves, and other spices. It was also sweeter and lighter than he usually took, but the combination was very good. He took a bigger sip.

"But, I don't understand," Mrs. Praktuproli continued. "Does the Department of Fish and Game do security work? I thought you were more of an interior environmental department."

"Well, ma'am, we also have an interest in your husband's safety," Hobbes not-quite lied. "He is a conservationist."

"Bengal tigers," Fawkes put in, polishing off his tea. Mrs. Praktuproli retrieved a large red teapot from the counter and held it up to him. He nodded eagerly and she poured more of the brew into his cup.

"Yes, I'm afraid the plight of the tigers is not popular everywhere in my country," the doctor's wife said, taking her chair again. "There are villages in the mountains that have lost lives to these animals. They would just sooner see the tigers killed than saved. What would you do, Agent…Hobbes, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I would…well, I would, um…"

Fawkes sat back in his chair and grinned. He drank his tea and enjoyed the show as Hobbes tried to stammer around a subject he knew nothing about. Not that had ever stopped Hobbes before. Hobbes had an amazing skill for speaking in convoluted ways until you forgot what he had originally said. Mrs. Praktuproli listened intently, but it was clear from her expression that she was getting lost in the maze of illogic. When Hobbes finally sputtered to the end, she turned to Fawkes. "What do you think?"

"Me? Well, uh…"It was Hobbes turn to look smug. "Well…I know that the Bengal is one of five subspecies of tigers left in the world. And it's the largest. One of the reasons for its approach to extinction has been the loss of its habitant. Bengals need a lot of space. "He continued on, mostly information culled from shows on the Discovery Channel and nature articles. But at least he made sense and Mrs. Praktuproli's dark eyes danced as she listened to him. Apparently the doctor wasn't the only conservationist.

An hour and five cups of tea later, Hobbes made noises that they should "get back to our stations". Fawkes was reluctant but knew he was right. He liked Mrs. Praktuproli. She was sort of grandmotherly-if he'd had a grandmother who was poised, sophisticated, and British. He thanked her for the tea and the two left the suite. As they walked down the hallway, their footfalls muffled by the thick carpet, Hobbes snorted.

"What?" Fawkes asked.

" 'Because India is one of the most populated countries in the world, and the population is growing faster than the Bengal's can adapt…'," he quoted nasally and huffed again.

"Hey, that beats 'killing the tigers would be bad, right? '"

"Where did you come up with that stuff?"

They stopped at the elevator and Fawkes pushed the button. "They're called 'books', Hobbes. You should try 'em some time."

"When did you become the professor?"

"Since I got this thing jammed into my brain and I want to get it out," Fawkes retorted, pointing to his head.

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