Calen nodded.      

     Mac shuddered as a sharp memory of his own experience with the heinous devices surfaced. He had a flash of the Caster room again. He heard himself scream. His muscles convulsed. He put his fingers to his temples.

     A hand touched his wrist and he nearly jumped. Mark's hand was on his and he looked up into the Chorister's gentle face. "Put it aside. Just put it aside. Relax. Calm down."

     The Adept nodded. Calm down. He's right – it's not you. Just put it aside.

     There was a knock at the door. The door is opened by the same man that led them inside. "Excuse me, but there are three Interpol agents here who wish to speak with you."

     Mark smiled. "Please, show them in."

     Mac sat down as Calen took a solid stance by the back. The Adept hoped the VE had put his 'gun' away. They didn't need trouble, not with whatever it was the others were fighting outside.

     The employee stepped aside and three suited gentlemen stepped in. Mac felt his nervousness rise. I wish they didn't look so much like Technocracy agents. A quick optic scan of their persons revealed they weren't armed like Technocracy – but he was still nervous and crossed his arms over his chest.

     Mark gestured for the men to sit down. Two of them sat beside Mark as the third stood by the door. Kyle moved away from the wall and stood behind Mac.

     "You have been identified as being associated with three individuals we are trying to locate." The man reached inside his jacket and pulled out two photos – one of Derrick and one of Oz and hazy photo that could be that of Johnny. He lay them on the table.

     "You fit descriptions given to us of three individuals seen accompanying these men at the Paris airport. We would like to know if you have any information for us on these fugitives."

     Mark shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid we don't know anything."

     The first man nodded. "I see." The man looked sharply at the bank employee.

     Picking up on the look, Mark said, "I had inherited a key and was not informed by my benefactor that there was a password that went with it. So there was a bit of confusion that might have alerted this man." He nodded to the employee who looked a bit embarrassed. "But we solved that –and we didn't mean to cause any confusion."

     The second man nodded. "Well, if you receive any information as to the whereabouts of these men, we'd appreciate a call." The man reached inside his jacket and retrieved a card. He handed it to Mark. "Understand we may have agents following you while you remain in Europe."

     "Of course," Mark smiled.

     "We apologize for the inconvenience." The men stood and left the room.

     Mark handed the card to Mac. "Scan this. Find this name the Interpol database."

     Mac raised an eyebrow at the Chorister. I've never hacked into that system. He shrugged and seamlessly taped in. The man was what he seemed – an Interpol agent, making upward of thirty grand a year, with two kids and a mortgage.

     Calen stepped toward them. "Nothing about this came up on my monitors, which means either they're working outside Union channels," he looked directly at Mac. "Or my access has been completely cut off."

     The VA understood the implication. They knew who he was now. The marine wasn't going to have the smooth access to information he once had. He nodded at Calen, who returned the gesture. Two Union associates who understood.

     "Well, at least they were kind enough to warn us they were going to follow us. Which means, we can't hook up with the others."

     Calen nodded. "He's right. It's better if we split up again."

     Mac nodded. He called up Derrick's cell phone and let him know what had happened. The Akashic agreed as well, and Mac sent him an encrypted email, containing the coordinates found in the safe deposit box. "We're going to find a way to ditch the Interpol guys. Can you let Johnny and Arden know?"

     Derrick agreed.

     Mac disconnected and rubbed his forehead. "Done. Now what do we do?"

     "I've called a limo to pick us up."

     Kyle spoke up. "But I have my limo – it's right outside."

     "As Nicholas said, I think we should split up." Mark said.

     "Well, I'm going to go in mine," the Hollow One left the room.

     A few minutes later their limo arrived. Calen, Mark and Mac got inside. Calen began scanning the perimeter. "Two cars – Interpol license plates."

     "What are we going to do?" Mark asked.

     Mac sighed. He pulled at his goatee as the limo pulled up to their B&B. They got out and packed quickly. Calen then called them into the main room. "Our best tactic is to redirect the agents away from us. Our leaving Europe will do that."

     "You're suggesting we leave? What about the others? The mission?" Mark asked.

     The VE shook his head. "We lead them to believe we've gone. We charter a private plane – I have some very…shady..contacts that have done some work for us in the past. There are a few pilots I know who'll take us where we need to go, and repeat any story we tell them to. For a price." He pursed his lips. "We'll have a flight plan that takes us over Venice, but will continue on to New York."

     "Uhm…" Mac frowned from his position on the sofa. "But won't they know we're not on board? If they're watching us?"

     "We do get on board," the marine gave a cold grin. "But we parachute out over Venice."

     Mark shrugged. "Well…"

     "No," Mac said. "I'm not parachuting out of a plane."

"It's a perfect idea." Calen had either not heard Mac's protestation or was ignoring him. "They'll think we left the country." He gave a short sigh. "Look, I'm open to suggestions at this point. Either way, there are two cars parked outside, and they're taking turns watching us."

     Mark looked skeptical. "Well…"

     "The idea has merit." The Adept pursed his lips. "But I'm not going to parachute, like I said. I'll just Correspond out."

     Calen flinched. "Mark?"

     The Chorister shrugged. "Oh, I'll try anything once. If it means my end, then I know I'll be in the arms of my Lord."

     Mac smiled. "I think that was a yes."

     "I'll go make the plans. We probably won't be leaving till sometime in the morning. So my suggestion is to get a good night's rest. Mac, can you contact Derrick and tell him what we're doing?"

     The Adept nodded. Sure. I'm secretary boy. I can google anything – and I have a handy-dandy internal cell-phone. Upon seeing the marine's retreating back, Mac remembered the puckered, angry scars that resided beneath the black tee.

     Go me.

That night Mac pulled the communicator from his bag and layed back on the bed. He began accessing available data-streams, careful not to let his IR tap into the machine's hard drive. It would be so easy to bring the small piece of equipment into his Virtual Reality - but there was the chance of being detected. And right now, we don't need anymore fuckups.

     There was the usual traffic - that which the Union allowed the VA and SOE to see. There was also a Tac-Net, which scrambled now and then. He caught bulletins and a few intercepts.

     How can I be tapping these lines of communication? There has to be an ID set on this thing. And a pretty good one from the quality and amount of information running through.

     He called up Calen's data on a whim. His designation had been changed from deceased to Rogue. Chewing on his lower lip, Mac tapped a few subfolders, and was suprised to find he held access to the very boards he remembered Huang and Calen discussing on the plane. There were several of Nicholas' journals posted, and there were responses as well. One subheading, SPHINX, held several comments - close to 17 listed.

     I didn't know Calen had actually been contacted by the Sphinx. The Adept arched an eyebrow.

     He saw NWO's comment about Calen's death - which Mac knew was faked by Huang and Avalon. The reply by Amanda Calen opened the doors for more questions, such as what The Plan was. He read Laura's comment as well.

     He scrolled through comments, and communiques made by various friends and ....

     The Adept swallowed. "Family," he said aloud in a quiet voice. He sat up in the bed and rereaed the post again. "Sir and Madam, I ..... " posted by Richard W. Cooper, Adminstrator of the Io Deep Space Observatory. "Well I'll be damned..." he gave a slight laugh. "IO. I always knew the fucker was a space head."

     Mac continued to read. Again he came across a post from Richard, following up on his offer to aid Calen's father. Suck-up.

     But the post by David Landeis caught his attention.

     The Traitor Adepts had an operative in Vegas at the right time that syncs with this 'Mac' he mentioned. One Kyle 'Mac' McGyver. Some sort of info finder, it seems. Records on him have been sealed with a pretty high classification, though.

     Okay, now that's got me interested. I'm classified - what's up with that? He continued reading and found Richard's quick response.

     Mr. Landeis, please contact me at my office in regards to this Kyle McGyver. My number is listed within the VE directory. It is of the utmost urgency that I speak with you.

     Hack it, his subconscious suggested. When was the last time you've actually hacked into a system? Been more than just a walking google? Mac winced at the effort it took not to tap into the information flow.

     Here it was - the proof he needed for himself that Richard had been pursuing him. But for what end? Surely not recruitment. That was just stupid. It didn't prove his older brother had anything to do with the inhibitor or the tracking device - though that seemed like a no-brainer.

     Then what was with the asshole? Richard never did anything without a reason, and always that reason included something cherry for himself. Was he in league with Sterling?

     Mac blinked. Sterling. What was happening on that front? The Adept tapped out of the Calen subfolders and rerouted back to nationwide news. With a sigh he shut the communicator and tossed it on the bed. Better to just google with your own head - the Union traffic was just too inviting.

     It didn't take long to discover any information. Apparently Sterling had recieved permission to continue his excavations of Oak Island, but now he was having trouble finding funding. To Sleepers the man's plight seemed trival - another archeologist digging up the past.

     But to us... Mac pursed his lips, clasped his hands together behind his head, and leaned back against the headboard. To us, there is something to fear beneath that Island. I only hope we can find the Library and discover what.

     As promised, Calen delivered an ACJ and pilot for us the next morning. One Matthieu Haverlen. Mac checked on his references - charter pilot who had done some useful work for the VE in the past. Based out of Florence. The marine booked each of them tickets – legitimate – in a fashion.

     If any Interpol agent checked, it would appear the three of them had planned to return to New York.

     Once in the air, Mark and Calen donned their parachutes. Calen tossed one to Mac, who abruptly tossed it back. The marine turned and sighed. The Adept smiled at Mark then closed his eyes. His Navigator tapped the nearest satellite GPS system and he pinpointed a location – a farmer's field just outside of Venice.

     Mac downloaded a few jpeg images and sent them to Calen's communicator. "This where you want to target?"

     The marine viewed the images and nodded. Mark peered over the VE's shoulder. "Let's hope the farmer's out of town."

     Hrm… Mac pursed his lips. I plan on corresponding to that point – if I don't want to get a Paradox smack, I'd sure better hope the farmer wasn't around either. As a precaution, the VA reconnected with the satellite and found a group of woods in the back of the property. Certainly there shouldn't be anyone back there.

     As the plan neared the jump point, Calen opened the door. His goggles were in place, as were Mark's. They both had their parachutes strapped on.

     "Get…your…parachute…on!" Calen yelled above the roar of the wind and engines.

     Mac shook his head. "No – I'm going to corres – "

     The marine held his hand up. Though the goggles were tinted, Mac could still see the man's scowl. "Humor me."
     Mac called up the coordinates for Corresponding – felt and saw the interior of the plane fade as the forest and trees overlaid upon Mark and the marine. He gave the VE a slow smirk. "Sure," then faded away.

     His last image of the plane was Calen's scowling face. The last poignant sound as the roar of the engines abruptly vanished was the high alarm of Calen's beeper.

     As he materialized, the Adept did a quick scan of the – no one was around – in his immediate location. He ducked down as he heard the snap and crackle of twigs and the voices of men. He also heard the plane overhead. Using correspondence, he saw where he was in relation to the farmhouse – just due south. Venice was north east.

     I sure hope Calen managed to have a car waiting – that's one hell of a walk. He listened to the moving voices – a hunting group? – then moved toward the farmhouse itself, careful to keep himself low. To his surprise his left leg throbbed a bit – an echo of the past few days.

     He got to the wood's edge and looked up in time to see Calen's parachute coming ever closer to the field. Mark was also airborne – but he appeared to be floating more so than falling. In fact, Mac was almost certain the Chorister might not have really needed the parachute at all.

     Calen's landing was flawless. He avoided Mac's gaze as Mark landed and the two of them started wrapping up their parachutes. Mac took the packs and got rid of them.

     The beeper went off again and Calen cursed under his breath as he slammed his hand on the thing to shut it off.

     "Where did you put them?" Mark asked as they began walking toward what appeared to be a road.

     Mac nodded to the other side of the field. "There's a well back there. Sealed. No one'll know they're there."

     To Mac's surprise, there was a car waiting – another BMW, only a smaller model than the M5. Calen produced a key and the three of them were on their way into Venice.

     Once inside of Venice, Calen hailed a water taxi and gave directions for an area close to where the cistern coordinates would take them. If we weren't being chased half the time, I think I could enjoy the scenery a lot more.

     Tall, decaying buildings formed claustrophobic waterways along the city's main thorough fares. Gondolas slipped by – their red and white stripped flags fluttered in the cool breeze. Some ferried tourists while others held business men and couples.

     The sun was high as it was approaching one in the afternoon. Calen spoke, interrupting the trio's silence. "Derrick and the others have made it here." He removed the Nokia link in his left ear and put it back inside his shoulder bag.

     As the taxi docked at a rather busy side area, Mac's audio, optics and Navigator all went on alarm. He'd never gotten any signals like this before and he paused while getting out of the water taxi. "Uhm…Calen…"

     "I see them," the VE was out and onto the side dock, his communicator open.

     Mark was the last out and nodded. "I sense something…and it's not Interpol."

     The Adept scanned through his readings, compared them with the VA database but came up with nothing. "I've never seen anything like this before. What the hell are they?"

     The trio began moving down the side of the waterway. Mac shifted his bag and looked around. He could sense them – they – whatever they were – all around. "They're close."

     "And they're radaring us," Mark said, his own expression intent as his gaze scanned the passing faces.

     "They're not Agents," Calen said in a low voice. "Shit," he spat and stopped walking.

     Mac and Mark stopped beside him. The marine stared at his communicator. "Nothing. I'm getting nothing."

     Mac took a step closer. "Nothing as in no Union traffic?"

     The marine looked up into Mac's eyes. "I've definately been cut off."

     The VA swore under his breath. It was my fault – all mine – that Calen's identity had been compromised. Damnit. We needed what he could tell us. Mac pulled his own Nokia from his bag and began pressing through the channels given to him by the Avalon group. "I'm not picking up anything with…"

     The marine stepped around to stand beside Mac. "Where…"

     "Huang," Mac said. "I can't hack it or it's bad news. But I'm on a channel that works – though I'm not sure on whose identity I'm tapping."

     Calen opened his palm to Mac and arched his eyebrows. With a shrug, the VA handed the Engineer his communicator. Calen began keying through feeds. "Well it's definately not your ID - though the signature is very similar to..." the VE closed his mouth quickly and glanced at Mac.

     "What?" the Adept took a step closer to Calen. "What is it? Did you see whose identity I'm using?"

     But the Adept's attention was distracted as Mark said softly. "We're in bigger trouble…"

     The Chorister was looking around the trio.

     "What.." Mac looked away from Calen. Mark narrowed his gaze at the VA. "Look around us – use those mechanical peepers. They're everywhere."

     Mac looked at the faces of the tourists around them on the waterway. His optics whirled, focused – paused – whirled again. Abruptly every third person he saw was surrounded by a strange, red halo – an aura of pulsing, angry energy.

     "What the fuck…" Mac blinked as he began looking around their position, turning in a three-hundred and sixty degree arc. "We…had better move." A breeze blew cool against his skin as he licked his lips. This is bad.

     "I…" Calen was saying slowly, his head still bent over the Nokia. "I've never seen any readings like this at all."

     Mac turned around to see the VE's eyes widen. Calen glanced up quickly at mac, then looked back down. He quickly shut the communicator's lid and handed it back to Mac as if the thing had shocked him. The VA looked down at the piece of equipment. "What…" he narrowed his eyes. "What did you see?"

     "Nothing," Calen frowned as he looked around them. He obviously saw what Mark and Mac did.

     "I think we'd better get out of here," Mark said. The three of them had formed a small circle, each facing out from the center.

     Like zombies the non-humans began to break from the passing tourists. They each in turn zeroed in on the trio.

     "Can we see if they can be shot?" Calen whispered in Mac's ear.

     The Adept shook his head. "No – not with all these innocent bystanders. I do agree with the shooting part though."

     "They're not vampires, they're not lupines…" the marine muttered.

     "What the hell are they?" Mac said. There seemed to be more as one by one what appeared to be passing tourists lit afire with an angry pulse and turned a steady pace toward them.

     "I think running would be good right now," Mark said.

     "I vote for shooting," Calen said.

     "There are too many sleepers." Mac looked around. He pointed to an alleyway. It might be a dead end, but if the three of them were forced to use magic – and again Mac thought of Calen fixing the bimmer – then in private would be better.

     "Come on," Mac tugged at Calen's shirt.

     The three of them ran through the crowd, with Mark giving 'excuse me' along the way. The alley was dark and surprisingly clean, save for the occasional trash can. It was narrow though, and the three of them found that as they reached the alley's end, they could not take up a regiment line to stand their ground.

     Instead, Calen stepped out in front and dropped his bag. He knelt down, unzipped it and pulled out a suprisingly large –

     Mac groaned. He recognized the piece of equipment from the VA database on Union weapons. The idiot really has a plasma cannon. Holy shit.

     The marine hoisted the weapon's strap over his shoulder and held it ready, though pointed to the ground.

     Mac took a position behind Calen as Mark stepped in behind him. The Chorister's hands glowed a softly calming blue and Mac's optics recognized Prime – the magic of all living things.

     Around the corner they came. Mac counted close to thirty. But what nearly stopped his heart a second time were the five out in front. Dressed in priests robes with red and white crosses.

     Calen reached out and twisted a dial on his cannon. Mac looked at the setting and zeroed in. Wide spread.

     Oh hell.

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