Beginning, Section II

Posted on Sunday, 11-Oct-98

he rest of the room was sufficiently in shock for Willoughby to be bodily carried out. Sophia persuaded them to allow her to accompany them, and Meg whispered something into Alex's ear as she and Richard left before the uproar began. Alex, after discharging the unpleasant and unenviable task of apologizing to Caroline Bingley about the mess, departed as soon as possible.

"It was not meant to be such a large operation. Somehow, someone down the line got the idea that it was a big Mafia boss we were after, not just the guy in between."

"What?" However badly Alex had thought of John Willoughby, it was not this.

"You know, of course, that his gambling debts are/were stupendous?" somehow, it wasn't a question, coming from Meg.

"Of course. Everyone did."

"And how do you suppose he kept the creditors of his back and the news away from his father?"

"Loan sharks," Alex guessed, and was rewarded with a nod.

"With their rates of interest, it would be no surprise to anyone that his debts were soon out of his control. Even the entire amount left to him by his father was only the smallest part of the debt. And of course, though he wanted Sophia Grey to pay for it…he failed to notice one thing…"

"What?"

"He assumed, because of her age, that Sophia Grey had little knowledge of the outside world, and not going to University, she would be uneducated and insecure enough to leave financial matters in his hands. However…she was ranked first in her year in Economics and Accounting - she's in your year-group, I think. You must have known."

Actually, Alex had forgotten. He had been too busy fuming that he had come second in the country in all his subjects - but not a single first ranking. He had forgotten that Sophia Grey had simply blitzed the rest of the country in her subjects (it made Alex both relieved and a little regretful he hadn't chosen either of them).

"So…"

"She told him that it was post-Stone-Age, and she could handle her money very well indeed, thank you very much. She'd only wanted a nice accessory to hang on to the arm without the Gucci handbag, but got a well…the Communications Decency Act prevents me from saying more. Which meant that Willoughby was in even more trouble. So he accepted a deal with the Underworld to provide a front, if you like. Get their representatives into 'society', help them gain connections, network…then well…whatever they could do." She opened a desk drawer to show it stocked full of CD-ROM's, disks and paper.

"Fraud, blackmail, money laundering, illegal possession of drugs, of firearms…oh…and your friend Chris will like this one… 2 counts of statutory rape."

"What?"

"Willoughby was a sports coach at Beth's school - didn't you know?"

Alex shook his head.

"Coached the girls' rugby team - Beth was scrum halfback - which puts him in a position of authority over her…"

"And Beth was sixteen - two years underage for a relationship with someone in a position like that. The pupil-teacher thing." Alex struck his head "And I've just had an exam on that. How stupid can I get?"

"Of course, the other case is more cut-and-dry. The other girl is fourteen."

Alex's jaw dropped. He didn't think Willoughby was that off.

"She was thirteen at the time. Her name is Lydia Wickham." She looked bemused at Alex's expression, "Niece of that guy who nearly killed you. Even if we don't get anywhere on Beth's case, you can bet that Willoughby will be in hot water over this one. Did I tell you that Sophia's filed for divorce?"

Meg smiled and leaned back in her chair. "Shouldn't you tell Chris?"

Chris did, as predicted, take some malicious pleasure when told. Marianne, much to Alex's relief, seemed to be over Willoughby and saw him as getting his just deserts. Marianne seemed calmer, older now, as Chris was lightening up a little. Alex thought that each of them were gaining a little of the other's personalities, making them both more balanced people. Their romance would go well. He was sure.

One evening, out of sheer boredom, Alex had offered to sort through Meg's things. After a few minutes consideration, she let him sort through what she termed 'stuff that if you see I don't have to kill you'. He found himself in front of a box filled with reports from a geneticist. He studied them curiously as he noted the names on each one - his family's, Lucy Steele's baby's, Edward's, his brother Robert's, Willoughby's, Beth's dead baby. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know how and why Meg had obtained them. He was comparing several of the charts together when he noticed something odd. He was on the phone to his godmother straight away.

"Look." He placed three of the charts in front of Meg, "This bit, this bit, and this. Identical."

"And?"

'Well, they belong to Lucy's baby, Beth's baby…and Willoughby."

Meg drew in a breath.

"But that doesn't say anything. It could be random."

Alex shook his head before producing Edward and Robert's charts. He had circled the relevant parts.

"Here. Similar, but not identical. If you look up here," he pointed to another part in the charts - those for the first three was totally different from the latter two. "Nothing like."

Meg was studying the charts thoughtfully. "It could be accidental…but…" she held up Willoughby's and compared them with those of the Ferrars'. "Similar. Very similar. Well, they are third cousins." She met Alex's eyes with a look of amusement "I'm an aristocrat. I have to know everyone's family trees backwards. I'll get to the lab for more tests." Alex stood to leave.

"Oh…and Alex?" He stopped in the doorway.

"Don't get too excited about picking out ties for the wedding."

"I won't."

It was lonely at Pemberley that summer. Chris and Marianne were getting better acquainted, Georgiana had gone on a music lecturing tour, the Bingleys had decided to go to a seaside resort (not the one Mrs. Bennet lived in, obviously). Meg had been promoted and Alex's imagination cast her as 'M' in a James Bond-like world. Richard had been appointed a military advisor in some simmering conflict overseas, and most had tipped him to soon be promoted to General. Emma stayed with her mother, and Alex had a sudden vision of his godmother in conference with government and military officials while Emma drew smiley faces on the maps when no one was looking. His parents had taken the younger children for what would be most children's dream - a world tour of almost every theme park imaginable. Alex, who had been to most of them, had elected to stay at home.

He spent this holiday much like any other - riding, swimming, playing tennis (he has one of those ball-machines and his own coach, okay?) and basketball, watching movies and wandering around the estate.

It was customary for parts of Pemberley to be open to the public for a few weeks every summer. Not only was it a magnificent house, it represented generations of prominent people. For as long as anyone could remember, the Darcys had managed to have a strong influence on both national and international events. Alex generally tried to stay out of the way, feeling uncomfortable the way people stared at him as if he were part of the furniture. He would stay in the 'private' parts of the house, or outside in the portion of the ground not open to the public.

The outdoor swimming pools were one of these places. They had been landscaped to resemble a rock waterfall, and if one was stupid enough to dive at the wrong place, one got a nasty case of brain damage. The water was crystal clear, and the base was scattered with rocks, like a real rock pool. Of course, the water was heated, the foliage regularly cleared, and there were what appeared to be steps leading into the water, but if one overlooked those small details, one could believe that it was a natural (if rather regular, large and deep) pool of water. Alex personally preferred to swimming in the outdoor to the indoor pool, but even with the heating, it was quiet uncomfortable except in the summer months.

Alex shook the water out of his eyes as he pulled himself up onto the edge of the pool and reached for his towel. Usually he didn't swim outside when it was the visitor season, disliking the inevitable wolf-whistles and requests to join him. It was a weekday, anyway, and no one ever came on weekdays. He stood up to put his T-shirt on, and while struggling with the light cloth, he slipped and fell in.

There was no helping it. The light chamois towel would be useless. He would have to walk back dripping wet. He shrugged. It was hot, and no one was going to see him - he was only going through 'private' areas of the house and grounds anyway.

He rounded a corner, only to run headlong into someone walking in the opposite direction. She was about his age, with hair that was a sort of mixture of red, blonde, and brown and she had blue-green eyes. She was also blushing and the blue-green eyes were fixed on Alex's (rather transparent) shirt.

"Umm…I'm sorry," her voice was clear and musical, even though extremely embarrassed, "I didn't know that this area wasn't open…"

"It's all right…I…umm…just don't usually bump into girls when I'm dripping wet."

"Umm…well…I…"

"Alex Darcy," Alex held out his hand, hoping, for anything that resembled a conversation and to draw her attention away from the fact that he looked like a mess (according to him, anyway…most people's opinion would be rather different).

"Isabella Knightly." She shook his hand, then blushed and excused herself. She departed with such haste that she dropped her wallet.

Alex leaned down to pick it up, before sprinting into the house for some dry clothes.

Part 8

Posted on Thursday, 15-Oct-98

With the speed of one who is almost-but-not-quite-breaking-the-national-under-21-record-for-the-100-metre-sprint, Alex tore up the stairs to his room, trying to wring out his T-shirt without dropping the black leather wallet in his hand. He slammed the door behind him before tearing off his T-shirt and Speedos, tossing them into the 'dirty laundry' basket before rummaging frantically through several closets before settling for his customary black (a lesson learned from his godmother - it was flattering, easy to accessorize, dramatic and didn't show bloodstains, or in his case, wet patches). He raced down the main stairs to the front door, guessing that as the most likely location of visitors. Alex ran his fingers through his wet hair as he tried to fake some semblance of calm as he saw them. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the family group.

Isabella returned red-faced to her parents and younger brother George. Her parents were waxing lyrical on the beauty of the architecture and the magnificent landscaping of the place. However hard she hinted, they simply did not want to leave just yet, and Isabella was just as anxious to. As much as she appreciated architecture and beauty, having a father who was an architect and a mother who was an artist really wore her down sometimes. As beautiful as these old mansions of the great families were, she did not want to spend an entire summer holiday looking at them. She shifted impatiently, wanting to go, to be as far away from the scene of her most embarrassing moment to date. She had begged her parents not to visit Pemberley. The other houses were all National Trust - no one lived in them, but this was different. It was actually a home. She could never feel entirely comfortable treating someone's home like a museum. Then bumping into Alex Darcy. It wasn't that the experience was unpleasant - she was even more appreciative of a handsome guy than a handsome house, especially if the aforementioned was wearing only Speedos and a very wet white T-shirt, but that she had been caught in what was obviously a private area. What must he think? That she was a stalker or something?

"Issy, why are you all red?" George asked, bringing her back to the real world.

"Nothing…I…" she looked down at her hands, then discovered that she had dropped her wallet. Oh no…I must have dropped it near Alex Darcy…I….

"Ms. Knightly?" the voice was young, male a deep tenor and made not only Isabella, but her parents and brother turn in the direction of one of the majestic stone columns at the front of the house. He walked out from the shadows, a tall, athletic figure in black, with mussed hair and a rather shy smile on a handsome face.

"I believe you dropped this," he walked up to her and held out her wallet. Isabella took it trying not to look at him.

"Thank you." She said softly. Then, noticing that her parents and George were staring at them, wished that the earth would swallow her up. But Alex, used to uncomfortable social situations, introduced himself to her parents and George, and, after asking their opinion on the house, offered a tour through other parts usually closed to the public.

"We were told that the family were overseas for the summer," Isabella tried to fill in the silence as her parents examined the window frame, "otherwise we would not have dreamt of disturbing your privacy."

Alex gave a reassuring smile, while wondering which book she was quoting from - people didn't speak like that now, did they?

"No. My parents have taken my younger brother and sister to Disneyland and Disneyworld. People still have trouble linking me to this family."

"Oh."

Mr. and Mrs. Knightly had stopped to examine the detail of a window, letting Alex and Isabella have a little privacy.

"How old are your little brother and sister?"

"Five. And yours?"

"I'm almost eleven," George declared, as he craned his head to look at the brightly-painted mural on the ceiling.

The afternoon passed in the great house, Alex entertaining them with its history, and telling them stories of the occupants.

Alex issued an invitation for the next day, but as polite as he was, no one could mistake the motive behind it, and Isabella agreed to go horse riding with him, as her parents had to see some friends that Isabella disliked anyway. It was with some regret on both sides that the Knightlys said good-bye and got into their car. Alex stood there for several minutes, just watching the Range Rover disappear down the hill.

"He seems very nice," Mrs. Knightly observed after several minutes. "Though…Issy," she turned around in the seat to look at her daughter seriously, "Don't take this too seriously. I don't want you to fall blindly into the arms of the first handsome young man you see - even if he is Alexander Darcy."

"He's nice." George wanted his share of the conversation, "And he really likes you, Is," he declared, making his sister turn even redder.

"Just so long as it doesn't go further than horse-riding for now," her father told her as they drew up in front of the hotel.

Is it going to go much further than horse riding? Isabella asked herself. He's here, he's bored, and I'm here. Could it go further?

It was all Isabella could do not to stare as Alex showed her the stables and paddocks that housed the horses. She had known that the Darcys were avid horse-breeders, but not anything on this scale. There must have been enough to mount an army. She loved animals, but even she was taken aback when Alex had met her in the drive with the huge wolf-like dog he called 'Gaheris'. She soon learned the wolfhound was gentle and friendly, only its monstrous size made it appear fierce.

She finally settled on a fine grey Arabian and chuckled as the horse nuzzled her hand, obviously pleased at the prospect of the ride. She had ridden for several years previously at the local pony club, before she had outgrown her pony and moved to town. It was a joy to finally be back in the saddle again.

If she had thought the 'public' grounds of Pemberley were impressive, the 'private' grounds were even more magnificent. Careful planning and landscaping made for subtle, natural, yet breathtaking results. The Darcys must have owned half the country, judging from the unspoiled views from nearly every vantage point. They had ridden in silence for several minutes before Isabella began to speak.

"Do you often invite girls here?"

Alex looked up, startled, causing his thoroughbred stallion to paw the ground impatiently. "No…you're the first…It's the first summer break I've spent alone, anyway."

"Oh?" Isabella was surprised.

"Really. My parents used to take me everywhere. The Disneyland/Disneyworld double wears a bit thin after the seventh time."

"Seven!" Isabella's eyes widened.

Alex smiled back, "Really. There are the more mundane advantages to being a spoilt brat." He spat out the last two words with such savagery that Isabella was surprised. He had seemed so gentle. He looked at her again.

"Sorry. It just gets to me after a while. It wasn't until University that people started treating me for who I was, rather than whose son I was. Even those I called my friends at school were only out for what they could get out of it. And the girls…"

"They…" this was getting interesting.

"They only wanted the opportunity to hang off my arm when I started going to all those big parties and facing the paparazzi. And when I made it obvious that I wasn't ready to start taking dates…"

"Oh." They rode in silence for some minutes.

"Which University?"

"-University. Law, but I'm doing some business and language studies as well."

"That's where I'm going!"

"Really?" Alex was surprised. Was this fate?

"I got into medicine."

"Congratulations. It's tough."

The rest of the day was spent in this way, getting to know one another. It was with the deepest regrets on both sides that Isabella's parents arrived to pick her up.

"How was it?"

"Fantastic. The horses here are magnificent - even better than the ones at the riding school - and the views…"

"Of course, your escort had nothing to do with it, did it, Issy?" her father teased. "I don't disapprove - don't think that. Personally speaking, he's very nice. From what I've heard of him, he's very honourable, and wouldn't try anything that would get the family into the papers for the wrong reasons. Just…Is…you're seventeen. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't rush into this. It may just be a summer romance."

Isabella sat back in the car, trying to stop the tears. She had felt something - it couldn't just be hormones and chance, could it?

The incessant ringing of the phone woke Alex up from a sound sleep. He picked it up, blurry, to hear the clear commanding voice of his godmother.

"Alex, read the paper and get into town as soon as you can." She hung up before he could get a word in.

Perplexed, he hurriedly dressed and went downstairs. The headlines said it all.

"Aid Workers Taken Hostage" and "Jail Computer Glitch Two Escape"

Edward and Elinor, together with several of their colleagues working in Outer-Woop-Woop had been kidnapped by a bunch of raving lunatics. John Willoughby and…and…George Wickham had escaped. Alex sat down heavily. His worst nightmare had just come to life. Two of the very few people he called friends in captivity. Two people who had caused him pain were free (Wickham had nearly shot him several years ago). Alex silently raged at the injustice.

Remembering that he had asked Isabella rockclimbing, he rang her, and the phone was answered by George, with the background noise indicating there was packing going on in the background.

"Hello Alex," Isabella was breathless as she relieved her younger brother of the phone, "I was just about to call you. I won't be able to make it today because of some trouble.."

"I won't be making it either. Just as well," they both shared a rather mirthless chuckle.

"Well, thanks for yesterday. I'll see you at Uni, I suppose. I have to go now. Bye." She was very obviously in a rush.

"Good-bye."

And that was it.

Alex packed hurriedly, and after a call to the mansion in town, was soon driving very near the speed limit. After several hours he arrived at his godmother's 'official' office - though he knew very well that she had others. He was ushered through the tight security and paced impatiently in the waiting room when he heard a familiar voice.

"I understand." It couldn't be, could it?

Brushing aside the protestations of Meg's secretary, he pushed into his godmother's office. She was sitting in her customary seat behind the desk, but it was the occupant of one of the seats facing her who caught Alex's attention.

Isabella.

Part 9

Posted on Wednesday, 21-Oct-98

"Alex. You made better time than I had anticipated," his godmother observed, and then nodded to the empty seat.

Alex sat down numbly.

"Isabella, I would like you to met Alexander Darcy. Alex, this is Isabella Knightly." Isabella looked almost embarrassed as she shook hands with him and sat down again.

Alex shook his head, bewildered.

"Umm…Commander…we've already met." Isabella was saying.

"Oh?" Meg almost-purred. She did not look at all surprised. "How interesting." She smiled and leaned back into the chair.

"As pleasant as this may seem, I did drag both of you here for a reason," Meg snapped forward and addressed both of them. "You are aware, of course, of the rather inconvenient incidents which have occurred in the last twenty-four hours? Most irregular. No regard for precedent at all." Here Alex grinned slightly. Since when had his godmother become concerned with precedent? "That is why I invited the two of you here." Meg raised an eyebrow at both their expressions.

"Alex, as you do have a rather personal interest in this, and if I am not very much mistaken, have already begun investigations, and I do not wish for you to become entrenched in what may not be authorized." She was rewarded by her godson's dropped jaw. How did she know that he had been going through every single record he could get his hands on?

"And, of course, Cadet Knightly did graduate first in her year - the best in several years, actually. I, personally, am most distraught that she has decided not to pursue further studies at the Academy." Here she exchanged a smile with Isabella. Alex sensed that they had had many arguments over this issue in the past.

"I am offering…for want of a better term…a rather unique summer job."

Alex offered to drive Isabella back to her family's home. They sat in silence as the BMW purred its way through the streets.

"I…" they both started at once.

"You go." Alex nodded slightly. Isabella took a deep breath.

"Are you mad?"

"Why? We've only known each other for a few days. It isn't as though we are soulmates." But even Isabella could hear the suppressed emotion in his statement. Unwilling to dig into his psyche just yet, she turned the topic to something more neutral.

"Where should we start?"

"Talking to the Dashwoods and the Ferrars, I would expect." An uneasy silence hung between them. "How did you meet Meg?"

"Commander Carter? I once…worked…with her and Colonel Fitzwilliam on an assignment several years ago." She paused. "A little makeup on all of us, and we passed as a vacationing couple with a spoilt child. Apparently it's the best cover, as no one expects a couple with as much trouble with a child as I was pretending to be would have even dreamt of being a threat to anyone." She looked at him "They usually select Academy Cadets for the child parts. Emma does a bit, now." She smiled at Alex's shocked expression. "You didn't think that the trip to the Middle East was a holiday, did you?" Isabella sobered and then looked at her lap "You are hurt. I never denied that this was what I had been doing."

"No. I have nothing against it. Why should I? It is your life."

"But at the cost of how many others? Commander Carter and Colonel Fitzwilliam have one of the lowest death/assignment figures in history, yet I know that they will always carry the memory of the people they have killed." She glared at him. "And don't start on the 'they deserved it' speech. I've heard it often enough. I know sometimes one does not have a choice, but I realized that I could never just kill someone, as casually as though I were filing my nails. That is why I've left the Academy. I couldn't do that. In a way, that's why I tried for medicine - that I could feel that I was giving something back to others, instead of taking it away." Here she stopped, as thought embarrassed. "I've rattled on again, haven't I? We're here." She announced as they drew in front of a neat house in a fashionable part of town. "I'll see you later." She hastily got out of the car and almost ran into the house.

Mrs. Dashwood, Marianne and Margaret had come to town and were staying at Mrs. Jennings's townhouse in order to be nearer to any news they received about Elinor. Chris had decided to accompany them and spent any time away from the Dashwoods either with Alex and Isabella or in his own penthouse apartment, 'compensation' from his father for the trauma of the divorce, or 'guilt money' according to Chris. In the several days since the news had come there was no sign of either of the fugitives or demands from whoever had taken the hostages. It was nerve raking. Finally, a demand from the captors - if Wickham and Willoughby were not delivered to them within thirteen days, they would begin executing hostages - one for each day overdue. The note, copies of which had appeared in embassies and newspaper offices around the world, was signed either with a dragon or a phoenix.

"So who are they? I think Commander Carter gave us the hardest job" Isabella grumbled as she leafed through a pile of papers in Alex's study. So far, they had few leads on the who, where and why of both problems. It was, as Meg had promised, a most interesting summer job, watching the various methods and ingenious devices as well as some of the greatest minds in the world. But, nevertheless, it was much more serious now. They had thirteen days, and still no more leads. Aside from the demands, there had been no further word from the captors, or any clue as to their identity. What did these people want with Wickham and Willoughby anyway? Were they trying to help them? Or were they intending to be far more unpleasant?

Alex's parents had returned shortly after the word had broken out, and Alex had never seen his father more incensed. He raged that he should have ensured that Wickham was in maximum security, or solitary confinement, or even executed. Alex thought the last one was going a little far, though it would have been far more convenient, given the circumstances.

Everyone was jittery. Why aid workers? And why only the group with Edward and Elinor? What were these people after?

"Alex," Isabella beckoned him. Looking over her shoulder, he saw that she had been comparing three photographs. Two mug shots of Wickham and Willoughby, the other…the other a group photo of some tough-looking men in combat fatigues, holding machine guns. In the background was a jagged mountain range, and tattooed on the forearm of one of the men was a stylized dragon and phoenix design.

Isabella moved both mug shots closer. It was obvious now. Two of the men, just like all the others, dirty, threatening - were Wickham and Willoughby.

Isabella studied them for a little longer before looking at him.

"Let's go."

A computer match-up in one of the laboratories adjacent to Meg's office confirmed their identity. A terrorist group that had been known to be active in several developing countries. No one was quiet sure what they were up to. They were too busy blowing things up to offer an explanation.

"Well," Meg sat back as she studied the computer match-up, and then zoomed in on the mountain range. "Interesting. Very interesting." She stood up and snapped at one of the other people in the room "Run a check on those mountains." She seemed to be in deep thought as she typed into her computer. She turned back to Alex and Isabella "Can I interest you two in a study tour?"

After a very long three-way screaming match between Meg, Alex and his parents, Alex was given permission to go. He was not quite sure why Meg had asked him. He was not really trained for the part, as Isabella was, even if he was quite capable by anyone's standards. He didn't really know what to do. Isabella met him, Meg and Richard at the military airfield and they boarded the plane. Emma was staying with Alex's parents and was playing with Tom and Megan as though nothing was wrong. Not for the first time, Alex wondered just how much Emma knew about her parents' careers. And why did Meg and Rich choose to have a child anyway? Was it simply accidental that it coincided with their 'deaths'? Or was Emma planned for such a purpose? After all, Meg's supposed cause of death had been a botched Caesarian, and a baby was required for that. After a moment's reflection, Alex remembered something that had been brewing in his mind for some time.

"What about Wickham and Willoughby?" Alex shouted the plane prepared to take off (it was rather loud).

"What?" Richard shouted back, then shook his head "Can't here you."

"Don't worry Alex," Meg was on his other side. Strangely, she didn't have to shout, yet she was perfectly audible "Everything's been taken care of."

The others on the plane resembled nothing so much as extras in a James Bond movie. Fit and athletic, of indeterminable age they moved with a grace that Alex felt was slightly eerily (never mind that he had gone through a stage where he had cultivated that effect). They were mostly silent, only offering the bare necessities of conversation before going back to whatever they were doing - reading, drawing, or typing away at small palmtop computers. The plane's interior was oddly incongruous to its rather battered, functional exterior, painted with some rather mucky coloured paint. Alex thought that the interior resembled First Class on a commercial aeroplane, except it was smaller and the seating was different, with lots of room in front of the doors. There was gallery and a bar ("Help yourself," Meg told him and Isabella, "It's so hard getting flight attendants these days."), and even small television screens and computers everywhere. After the initial noise of take-off the plane was almost silent, though Alex had a sneaking suspicion that they could manage a silent take-off if it was really necessary.

The food was considerably better than most airline food (though that really isn't saying much), and except for the urgency of their mission, Alex considered it one of the most enjoyable. After several hours, the other occupants began to loosen up and talk more - there was a doctor, a negotiator, engineer, and several Meg introduced as 'experts'.

They touched down in a dry, rather unwelcoming place surrounded by high, jagged mountains. Alex had never seen this place before, not on his travels, nor in books (that's really saying something). They had just disembarked and were sorting out their luggage to load into several Jeeps when Alex remembered his question.

"What are we going to do about Wickham and Willoughby?" he asked Richard again, "I mean, we're someplace no-one's ever heard of, trying to save some people, but isn't it going to be a tad more difficult without bargaining chips as tools?"

"Well, it would be," Richard admitted, before heading back to the plane. "But we haven't finished unloading the luggage yet." He nodded to several of the burlier men who were seemingly effortless in their removal of bags and equipment. It was not these that caught Alex's attention (though he winced at the treatment his bag was getting), but two vaguely human-shaped forms.

The unconscious, drugged forms of Wickham and Willoughby.

"I told you it had all been taken care of." Meg came up behind them and picked up her bag as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

The End Of It All

Posted on Saturday, 24-Oct-98

If anyone other than Alex and Isabella was surprised, they made a very good show of concealing it.

"Just when were you planning to tell us?" he grumbled "And you had us tracking them…"

"Please, Alex, accuracy. I assigned you to help find the identities of the captors. Anything else you did was of your own free will." Meg chuckled as she stirred her coffee.

Grizzling, Alex fumed over his own drink. Trust Meg to be able to antagonize people without actually doing anything.

Dusk was different here. It hovered on the edges of the horizon for seemingly endless hours, before the dark cloak of night seemed to spread her voluminous folds almost instantaneously, taking them almost by surprise. They had not chosen to draw attention to themselves by lighting the fire (though Alex seriously doubted if anyone was here, anyway) and were now quietly preparing for sleep. If one ignored the high-tech weaponry, the camouflage gear, the serious expressions and the tightly guarded tent that held two unconscious figures, it could have passed for any normal camp. Almost.

After bidding Isabella goodnight, Alex sat up awake. He couldn't go to sleep, not yet. He was too keyed up. He saw Meg rise and walk a little way beyond the camp. He followed.

His godmother was sitting on a little rise some distance away, staring at the sky. As he approached, she suddenly stood up and whipped around, producing an automatic pistol as a reflex action. She relaxed slightly when she recognized him.

"Oh. It's you Alex? Why are you still up?"

"Same reason as you, I suppose?"

"To question the point of your life? You surprise me, Alex. You shouldn't be going through a mid-life crisis just yet."

Alex moved beside her as she sat again.

"Why did I ever chose to do this? I could have done a normal load at school, University and become a lawyer or a politician or whatever I was going to be. But no. I had to prove I was better than anyone else by double-loading with time at the Academy as well." She turned to look at her godson, her green eyes, for the first time Alex had ever seen them, full of pain and doubt.

"I was young and proud and arrogant. I had to be better than someone at something. Your father outshone me in sports, your mother in the arts. Cathryn Morland wrote better stories, Natasha Rostova could sing better, Atticus Finch was a better public speaker. I was always up there, but I was never the best. That was why I joined, I think. To prove that I could be the best." She sighed. "Funny, isn't it? Now that I'm at the top, I'm looking down and wondering whether it was all worth it. Once I though that this would be my whole life. I've placed prudence ahead of my morals, my thoughts against my emotions. I've killed people before - and I've done it from behind, in the dark, without even a pretense of fair play - all in the name of security and efficiency. Because of that, I missed my daughter's first five years, and I'll never get that back, not ever. Emma will never have a younger sibling to tease or play with because of that either." She raised an eyebrow at Alex's look, "Richard and I have both sustained some…damage…in the last few years." She turned away, talking to no one in particular. "It's funny. I was always the strong one, the logical one. I always knew exactly what to do. I never really cared about the philosophies and morals behind it. I just knew I had to do it. But…if I could start all over again…what would I do differently? Nothing. I know, that as much as it has hurt me, I know that many less people will be hurt now. What I would like to tell you now Alex, is that it is better to regret what has been done than what has not been. I know that if I had turned down that offer from the Academy more than twenty years ago, I would be far more dissatisfied than I am now." She stopped suddenly and stood up, brushing her dark pants to get rid to the dust "Get some sleep Alex. It'll be a long day tomorrow."

They spent the next few days travelling through a monotonous background of bare ground and rocky outcrops. There were hardly any people, and those that they met were fleeing some indescribable danger. Even their translator had trouble making it out. Wickham and Willoughby remained in a state of unconsciousness, kept drugged with a daily dose of a clear liquid that Alex didn't want to know about.

It was, by Alex's reckoning, the evening before they were set to start executing the hostages that the small column of Jeeps drew up on a hilltop overlooking a fortress.

The sophistication of the construction and design seemed strangely at odds with the barren landscape. Alex wondered how much it must have cost to build it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Meg conferring with Richard and several of the other members of the group. She had not mentioned her monologue on the hill since that night. Isabella, binoculars in hand, studied the fortress with avid interest.

"What do you see?"

"Look." She handed him the binoculars. Through them, he saw the gates open, and a car speed out. He alerted the others, and his godmother nodded a command to one of the 'experts' telling him to 'delay' the car.

After several minutes' conversation and protests from the rest of the group, Meg selected some rope and oddly shaped implements from one the Jeeps.

"Does anyone like rock climbing?"

It was easier than Alex had thought. Almost too easy. It scared him. Why did no one come? It was no time to ask questions as Meg led them silently down a passageway. It was dark, and, dressed in charcoal grey, they blended into the shadows (charcoal grey is better than black, which is too dark).

A light ahead drew their attention, and through a crack in the door, they saw several people - a little weary, stained, but otherwise heavy. Alex gave a gasp as he recognized Edward and Elinor.

"What to do?" he spoke as quietly as he could. Meg crept up, and examined the room through their small vantage point. "No one else in there." She held up a sensor. "Just the ones we can see."

Alex nodded and slowly slipped inside.

Luckily for him, Edward and Elinor did not have too many companions, and as far as they could gather, they were the only ones. If they were quiet, it would be relatively easy to sneak out.

They made their way back the way they had come, now even more cautious as they were a larger group. They made it all the way to the rope, and all of the hostages including Edward and Elinor had made their way down with a minimum of difficulty. Isabella was just preparing to descend when a noise caught their attention.

Meg seemed rather resigned. "They've raised the alarm." She looked worried. "Quickly, down." She all but pushed Alex, and then Richard down the rope.

"The green eyed witch has returned." Alex could hear the man's voice even most of the way down. Richard stiffened, but then ordered Alex to keep climbing down. The man's voice was rather slimy, yet dangerous. His accent was unplaceable.

"To their last breath my brethren cursed you. Now vengeance is mine." Over the battlement Alex saw the gleam of a knife.

It was quick.

Richard screamed, "Meg!" just as she did a backward flip over the wall, then threw a small, irregularly shaped object over it before catching hold of the rope and sliding down to the ground.

"Run!" she screamed at them as soon as her feet hit the ground. Behind them, a good section of the fortress wall exploded, scattering debris near them. As they returned to the Jeeps, Alex was astounded to see more people there. Within seconds the sky was filled with the lights and hum of helicopters, as load after load of soldiers arrived, then followed by a series of Jeeps and trucks.

He turned away to see Edward and Elinor looking on in shock. Below them, soldiers swarmed like ants, storming the remains of the fortress and dragging out several more people. Isabella watched in shock as several people rushed onto the soldiers, often brandishing weapons, preferring to be gunned down than to surrender. Alex watched as Isabella took out her revolver and examined it, looking at the carnage below and then at the revolver. She let it slip through her fingers.

Alex picked it up.

"No," her voice was distant, "I don't need it anymore."

The return home was quiet, a marked contrast to their reception. Alex was even pleasantly surprised, after his parents let him go, that Edward's mother and sister were there to greet him, as was Elinor's half-brother (but since he was married to Edward's sister he would have had to come anyway). Emma was all over her parents. Alex noted that Meg's hands were bandaged - even her strong gloves had not been enough to ward off rope-burn. Chris gave in to his emotions and was as giddy as Marianne, completely overjoyed that none of his friends had been killed.

As for Wickham and Willoughby, they were returned to prison. Sophia Grey had been successful in obtaining a divorce.

Lucy and Robert Ferrars were conspicuously absent. Fanny explained that they had decided to move the date of the wedding up and they were now on their honeymoon. Of course! Alex had read about that just before Edward had left. It had been a quiet affair, with only family present. Alex wondered why. Neither of them was the type to be subtle. Then it hit him. The charts. There must be some truth to his theory. He wondered if he should tell anyone of his suspicions.

It was almost as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened when they returned to University. Everything was almost as it had always been. Almost. It was as though the events of the past few weeks had never happened.

Elinor had taken a job at a large stockbroking firm, more boring but much safer than her previous one. Edward had decided to return to University to complete his degree in Education.

Marianne had won a scholarship to study fine arts and Chris was working on his Masters degree. Alex was mentally tallying odds as to when they would move in together.

Wickham was still serving his term for attempted murder, extortion and various other charges. Willoughby would be eligible for parole in a few years, though when he did get out, he was likely to have nothing left to go back to. Most of his inheritance had already gone to pay his debts, and now that Sophia Grey had not only divorced him but had her story emblazoned on every self-respecting media article, he would not find life as easy as it had been before.

After extensive tests and legal battles, Lucy Steele was unceremoniously dumped by Robert Ferrars. The child was not Robert's either, but the identity of the biological father was not released to the public. Alex had his suspicions, though.

Isabella began her medical studies that year, and excelled to the point that even Meg grudgingly admitted that she had made the right decision. She and Alex, while not yet as intimate as perhaps his godmother would have liked to be, remained close. Whether anything more came from it remained to be seen.

But that is another story, for another time.