Toxin

'

Disclaimer:  I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein.  I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.  🙂

 

Summary:  The team takes on an international quest to stop a bioterrorist attack on the United States.  A mission story.

*****

Chapter 1

Prologue

The man in the white pinstriped suit sat cross-legged in the plush brown recliner and glanced at his wristwatch.  His partner better be on time.  Punctuality was of the utmost importance; the man couldn't stand being even a moment late.  He took a long draw of his imported cigar, blew out a large puff of pale smoke, and waited.

When he heard the distinctive beep, he acknowledged it instantly.  "Go," came the curt greeting.

"Your people are amazing," the caller began, his voice shaky and uncertain.

"I take it everything has been arranged," responded the man, his lack of vocal inflection indicating that the words were more of an assumption than a question.

"I begin work as a research scientist at the university on Monday."

"Good," the man smiled.  "The package will be shipped out today.  It should arrive on Monday.  Call me in exactly twenty-four hours and I will give you instructions on how to retrieve the merchandise.  You know what to do from there."

"I won't let you down, Mister Fraser," his partner assured him.

"Of course you won't," Fraser replied, a cunning expression on his face.  "You know what will happen if you do."

And with that, the man in the white suit broke the connection, extinguished what was left of his cigar, and promptly lit up another one.  Then he stood up and walked over to a corner of his study, stopping to gaze at a small figurine of a screech owl, with a candle burning on either side.

"It has begun, Marinette," he whispered to the figurine.  "Very soon now, you will have your sacrifice."

Chapter 2

Jim Phelps parked his black Escalade, got out, and stared for a moment at the stately hundred-year-old brick church in front of him.  Then he slowly walked inside, removing his sunglasses as he entered the dimly lit building.

Immediately, he became aware of beautiful music drifting through the emptiness of the high ceilings.  A man dressed in a black suit was sitting at an ivory-colored grand piano at the right front corner of the pulpit.  A blond-haired woman sat four pews back, watching him.

Jim made his way toward the front of the church and sat down beside the woman.

"It's amazing how he does that, without printed music," Jim remarked.

The woman smiled, recognizing the code phrase she'd been told to expect.  "He doesn't need printed music," she answered.  "He plays by ear.  He can hear a song and know exactly how to replicate it on the ivories."

"Can someone learn how to do that?" Jim asked.

The woman shrugged.  "I suppose it's possible," she responded, "but most musicians would say it's a gift.  You either have it, or you don't."

The pianist stopped playing at the sound of the second code phrase and walked back to join the woman.  "Why don't you give it a try?" he grinned, as the woman stood up and took his hand.  "Who knows - maybe you have the gift."

Jim nodded at the couple as they walked to the back of the church and out the door.  Then he got to his feet, walked to the piano, lifted the lid on the piano bench, and retrieved the familiar black box.

After one more glance around him to make sure he wasn't being watched, Jim scanned his thumbprint, entered the numeric code, removed the tiny silver disc, and inserted it into the slot.

"Good morning, Jim," began the familiar voice.  "La Bianca is a small island nation off the Caribbean coast. In recent years it has become a harbor for terrorists, including this man, Leon Fraser, a native of Haiti."

Jim studied the image of the man on the screen as the voice continued.  "He is an outspoken critic of the United States and has been linked to a number of known and suspected terroristic activities; therefore, he is being kept under strict surveillance on the island."

The video screen split, leaving Fraser's image on the left as a photograph of a middle-aged, balding, bespectacled man appeared on the right.

"Lately he's been in communication with U.S. research biologist Oscar Wilson," said the voice, "and it is suspected that the two of them may be on the verge of developing biological weapons.  Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it, is to uncover and neutralize Fraser's plans before they can be put into action."

Jim's mind was already racing ahead as the familiar drone rambled on.  "As always, should you or any of your IM force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.  This disc will self-destruct in five seconds.  Good luck, Jim."

Jim closed the disc player and was walking toward the church doors as the black box erupted in a puff of smoke.

Chapter 3

"This is La Bianca," Jim began, as he punched some buttons on his keyboard.  A large photograph of a tiny irregularly-shaped island in the Caribbean popped up on the large screen.

"You could call it the terrorist capital of the Western world, without much exaggeration.  More than fifty suspects in various terroristic activities make their homes here."

"Why so many in that one little spot?"  Max wanted to know.  "And why don't the authorities do something about it if they know where they are?"

"The authorities are powerless there," Grant answered.  "It's anarchy - basically a sanctuary for any bad guy who decides to take up residence."

"And since there's no government, there's no safety net in place to protect authorities from other countries trying to bring a suspect to justice," Shannon mused.

Jim nodded.  "It's a safe bet that everyone there is heavily armed and poised to eliminate anyone they see as a threat," he advised.  "It goes without saying that we must be extremely cautious."

"Who exactly are we going after?"  asked Max.

"Leon Fraser," responded Nicholas, and the rest of the team watched as Jim played a video clip of a tall man in a white pinstriped suit, smoking a cigar.  "In one capacity or another, his fingerprints are on almost every known or suspected act of terrorism in the West during the past ten years."

"He's as evil as they come, all right," affirmed Jim, "but he's good at finding others to do his dirty work for him, and so far has managed to evade capture.  The best that U.S. authorities have been able to do is keep him under fairly consistent surveillance."

"About a month ago, at a conference on the island, Fraser met Oscar Wilson, a research biologist from the Washington, D.C. area," Grant informed the team, as Jim displayed a photograph.  "The two apparently struck up a friendship."

"And since Wilson has a reputation for using his scientific expertise for questionable purposes," Jim continued, "we believe that the alliance between him and Fraser is going to be a dangerous one."

"Bioterrorism?"

"Nicholas, that's exactly what we're afraid of," responded Jim.  "At first, Fraser and Wilson were communicating by phone several times a day.  But last week, all communication between them abruptly stopped."

"Stopped?"  questioned Max incredulously.

"Well, we don't actually believe it stopped, Max," Jim amended, a slight smile crossing his lips.  "We believe they are using a secured line that hasn't been picked up by surveillance yet."

"Yet being the operative word," Shannon said knowingly, shooting a smile at Grant.

Grant smiled back at his teammate. "Well, I'll have to figure out what form of communication they're using first," he answered, "but hopefully Nicholas will be able to help me out."

As he finished his sentence, Grant winked at his friend.  Nicholas raised an eyebrow.  "Me?  I don't follow."

The printer attached to Grant's computer churned out a document, which Grant then handed to his dark-haired teammate.  "Apparently, Oscar Wilson has just received private sector grant funding to do research at Cavanaugh University."

Nicholas scanned the document, and it took a moment for him to realize that Grant was referring to the same university where he worked as a drama professor when not involved in a mission.  “Cavanaugh?”  he asked in disbelief.

Jim nodded.  "Nicholas, you are our obvious inside man at the University, because you will be able to come and go as you please without raising suspicion.  We need you to find out everything you can about Wilson and what he's up to."

At Nicholas' nod, Grant chimed in.  "I've just been hired in the IT department, so I'll be close by to analyze anything you find."

"Including whatever Wilson is working on in the lab," Shannon reasoned.

"Especially that," Grant agreed.

"Unfortunately, Wilson is only part of the equation," Jim stated.  "We also need to put Leon Fraser out of business."

"So the rest of us are going to La Bianca?"  Shannon asked.

Jim nodded, as Grant handed Max a large red file.  "La Bianca is about to become home to one more ruthless terrorist," Grant smirked.  "You've been a very bad boy, Max."

Max allowed a sideways grin to curl across his face as Shannon looked questioningly at Jim.

"Leon Fraser grew up in Haiti," Jim advised the team, "and he's never quite forgotten the old rituals.  He believes that he has his own personal loa, or spirit, and that she talks to him and gives him direction."

Shannon grinned.  "She?"

Jim returned her smile.  "We're going to use modern technology to bring Fraser face to face with his loa - and to make sure she tells him exactly what we want him to hear."

Chapter 4

It was almost noon, and Nicholas' morning drama class had just ended.  After saying goodbye to the last few students leaving the classroom, he also exited the room and began to stroll down the hallway toward the science lab.

The lab was dark.  Nicholas tried the doorknob, just to be sure, but wasn't surprised to find it locked.  He walked out of the science building and down the sidewalk toward the cafeteria, hoping he would spot the new research biologist having lunch.

He was not disappointed.

Nicholas quickly spotted Oscar Wilson across the room despite the crowd of students that was beginning to form.  He recognized the scientist instantly from the photograph he'd seen at the briefing.  Wilson's features were quite distinctive, particularly his dark rimmed glasses and badly receding hairline.  He had apparently just gotten his food and was getting ready to sit down.

Nicholas stood in an inconspicuous corner of the cafeteria and placed his lips close to the communicator as he pressed the button.

"Grant," he said in a heavy whisper, "Wilson's in the cafeteria.  He's just gotten lunch.  I'm going to say hello."

"Right, Nicholas," came the response.

Nicholas shoved the communicator back into his pocket, quickly grabbed a tray, and walked to the table where Wilson sat alone.

"Excuse me," Nicholas began, flashing his trademark grin, "is this seat taken?"

Wilson looked up in surprise.  "Why, uh, no, not at all," he stammered.

"Thank you," Nicholas said warmly.  "This place can get pretty crazy at lunchtime."

Nicholas looked quizzically at Wilson and furrowed his brow.  "I don't think I've seen you before," he remarked, as he held out his right hand.  "Nicholas Black," he smiled.  "I teach drama here at Cavanaugh."

"Oscar Wilson," he replied, accepting Nicholas' outstretched hand.  "It's nice to meet you."

"Ah," Nicholas smiled, as if the realization had slowly dawned on him.  "You must be the new research biologist."

"The same," Wilson affirmed, and to Nicholas' delight he smiled broadly.  "Today's my first day."

"Welcome to our little university," Nicholas said casually.  "How'd you find us?"

Wilson's smile faded for a millisecond and then returned.  "The underwriters of my research grant sent me here."

Nicholas, picking up on this nonverbal cue, sensed that he needed to be cautious about his questioning and not raise suspicion.  Trying to sound nonchalant, he shrugged.  "Scientific research was never my thing.  Too much of a thespian, I suppose.  What's your topic?"

"Neurotoxins," Wilson replied, almost instantly.  "Specifically, how environmental factors affect the onset of symptoms after exposure."

Nicholas wrinkled his nose.  "Bacteria are even less of my thing," he remarked, and Wilson chuckled at his companion's apparent lack of understanding - or interest - in the topic.

Wilson let his guard down and made small talk with Nicholas for a few more minutes, but didn't really give him any information he could use.  Finally, Wilson glanced at his watch and stood up.  "I'd better head back to the lab," he advised.  "The powers that be have their deadlines, you know."

"Don't I know it," Nicholas said in empathy.

"It was nice to meet you, Professor Black," Wilson smiled, as he extended his hand once more.

"You, too, Doctor Wilson.  Oh, listen." Nicholas reached out his right hand as his left went into the inside pocket of his jacket, pausing to press a button before extracting a business card.  He handed the card to Wilson with a wide grin.

"I still remember what it's like, being the new person and not knowing who to talk to or ask questions.  If there's anything I can do to help, please give me a call."

Wilson accepted the card gratefully.  "Thank you, Professor," he said, returning the smile.  Then he rose up from his seat and started toward the front of the room with his now-empty tray.

Nicholas glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then he pulled out the communicator and again placed it close to his lips.

"Grant," he whispered.  "He's headed back.  Ten minutes.”

Chapter 5

After getting the signal from Nicholas, Grant exited his office and walked casually down the hallway toward the biology lab.  There was nobody in the hallway - Grant guessed everybody was gone to lunch - so he aroused no suspicion as he skillfully used his lockpicks to open the door and slip inside.

A quick glance around the lab showed nothing remarkable:  a laptop computer, a few standard issue flasks and Petri dishes, and various pieces of safety equipment.  There was a small refrigerator in one corner, presumably to store cultures.  Grant walked over and opened it gingerly - but, to his surprise, it was empty.

Grant quickly planted the surveillance cameras and listening devices in the corners of the office and the remote access flash drive on the back of the laptop.  He fired up his own laptop, expertly punched a few keys, and then watched as his program began to copy all of the files from the hard drive on Wilson's computer.

While the hard drive was copying, Grant looked around the lab in search of some sort of unconventional communications device.  Finding none, he surmised that however Wilson and Fraser were communicating, the device was likely portable and Wilson probably had it with him.

Grant had just finished testing the connections on the surveillance equipment when he heard the signal from Nicholas' communicator.  He hastily finished his project and was moving toward the door when he heard his teammate's voice.

"Grant," Nicholas whispered.  "He's headed back.  Ten minutes."

"I got your signal, Nicholas, and I'm leaving now," Grant responded.  "Meet you at the car in fifteen."

"Right," came the curt acknowledgment, as Grant exited the lab, closing and locking the door behind him.

*******

Fifteen minutes later, the two men were sitting in the backseat of the Land Rover, the tinted windows concealing them from view, comparing notes on what they'd found.

"Wilson didn't give me much to work with," Nicholas sighed dejectedly.  "He didn't seem at all willing to discuss who wrote his research grant or how he ended up at Cavanaugh." 

Nicholas paused and smiled.  "I do think I scored a couple of points, though.  He told me that his research interest was neurotoxins."

"Giving credence to our theory about bioterrorism," chimed in Grant.

Nicholas nodded.  "My theory is he's researching how to shorten the incubation period."

Grant cursed under his breath.  "Which probably means he and Fraser are trying to take a relatively mild agent and make it more volatile.  This could get very ugly, very quickly."

Nicholas nodded again.  "I pretended not to care, so I don't think he's suspicious.  And he certainly took my business card without hesitation."

"Well, that's good," Grant said wryly. "If he makes contact with Fraser, we'll be able to hear what he says through the listening device I implanted there, and hopefully find out what kind of communication device they're using."

Grant continued to punch buttons on his laptop.  "I came up empty in the lab, and there's no trace of anything remotely interesting on this hard drive.  There aren't even any cultures in the fridge."  Grant turned his eyes from the screen and looked at Nicholas. "Whatever he's going to be working on isn't here yet."

"Do you think Fraser's planning to send something to him?"  Nicholas asked, following Grant's logic.

"That would be my guess," he replied.  "Our best bet would be to wait until he makes a move.  And if time is of the essence, that may happen tonight."

"Sounds like a stakeout," Nicholas groaned, barely stifling an eye roll.

Grant grinned and cuffed his friend's shoulder.  "It could be a long evening, buddy."

Nicholas sighed.  "I hope the others are faring better than we are."

*******

Five hours away, in La Bianca, Max walked into the Salon Dominica.  Snappily dressed in a black silk suit, his blonde hair slicked down with gel and a couple shades darker than normal, he quickly scanned the crowd for any sign of Fraser.

It was the third lounge he had been to on this night.  From the information they'd obtained from the IMF, the team knew that Fraser frequented a lounge on the tiny island.  They just had not realized there were so many of them.  And they had not been able to find out which one was Fraser's favorite.

Max, never one for being patient anyway, was quickly tiring of the game.  "Jim," he growled into the tiny two-way microphone hidden in his navy blue tie, "I don't see Fraser anywhere.

Jim read clearly the exasperation in Max's voice.  "Take it easy, Max," he soothed.  "We'll find him."

"There's got to be an easier way to do this," Max muttered.

Suddenly, the front door opened and a cloud of cigar smoke blew in.  Following the cloud was a tall man wearing a white pinstriped suit.  

"Check that, Jim," Max growled.  "He just walked in."

Jim nodded.  "Time to grab his attention."

Max grinned and walked up to the bar.  "I wanna buy a round for every SOB in this place," he told the bartender, plunking a handful of hundred dollar bills on the bar.  "You wanna let everyone know?"

The bartender smiled.  "Hey, everyone!" he called.  "Drinks are on the house thanks to the gentleman!"

A chorus of cheers erupted from the bar patrons, causing Fraser's eyes to rivet toward Max.  He winked at Fraser and raised a glass in his direction in a one-sided toast.

Fraser glared at Max without smiling and began walking in his direction.

"Haven't seen you around before, Mister....?"

"Johnson," Max smiled, extending his hand and forcing Fraser into a somewhat reluctant handshake.  “Butch Johnson.  And I haven't been here before."

"Leon Fraser," the terrorist introduced himself.  "What brings you to La Bianca?"

Max took his time draining his glass and clunked it down on the bar before answering.  "Couple of business acquaintances said this was a sweet place to hang my hat," he replied, leaving little doubt as to what "business" he was referring to. "Quiet.  Discreet.  Good place to form some new partnerships."

Max thrust a card with his name and telephone number into Fraser's breast pocket.  Then, with a pat, he smirked and walked away without another word, leaving the teasing suggestion hanging in the air behind him.

Fraser grasped his henchman's shirt collar, pulled him close, and put his lips next to his ear.  "I want to know everything there is to know about Butch Johnson.  Now."

Max had witnessed the exchange out of the corner of his eye while pretending to schmooze with a couple of lovely ladies.  As soon as he was out of everyone's earshot, he spoke softly into his microphone.

"Jim, he took the bait."

"Good work, Max," Jim praised.  "Go ahead and get back here.  The next move is up to Fraser.”

Chapter 6

Grant and Nicholas sat in silence in the backseat of the Land Rover, Grant watching his laptop closely while Nicholas read the newspaper and tried to stifle a yawn.  It had been some time since the pair had done a stakeout, and they had both forgotten how boring it could be.

Suddenly, Grant snapped to attention.  "Hey, Nicholas," he said tensely, "Wilson's on the move."

Patched into the surveillance cameras in the lab, Grant had observed Oscar Wilson picking up his briefcase and headed for the door.  As he and Nicholas watched the front entrance to the science building, Wilson exited, walked across the parking lot, and got into a navy blue Volvo.

Nicholas got into the driver's seat while Grant slid into the seat beside him.  "Don't get too close, pal," Grant cautioned. "We don't want to tip him off."

The black Land Rover followed the Volvo until it pulled into the parking lot at the local bus station.

"What could he be doing here?"  Nicholas wondered aloud as Wilson went inside.  A few moments later, he emerged carrying a medium-sized cardboard box.

"Of course!"  said Grant.  "Fraser must have had a package shipped here for him."

Wilson set the box into the passenger seat, glanced around as if making sure no one was watching him, and then got into the driver's seat.  The men watched as he pushed a button on his wrist.  Through the bug in the business card resting in Wilson's breast pocket, they heard a succinct male voice say, "Go."

Nicholas and Grant exchanged wordless glances, and Grant turned his attention to his laptop as Wilson's voice answered.
"I have the package."

"Good," responded the voice that was unmistakably Fraser's.  "When will the samples be available?"

"Tomorrow, sir."

"Fine.  Wait until tomorrow to open the package.  Everything you need is in there.  Once the application is complete, how long until it's ready to test?"

"Twenty-four hours, sir."

"Good.  Do not contact me again until the test is complete."  And the team heard no further communication from Wilson's car.

Once the conversation was over, Nicholas looked at Grant.   "Anything?"

Grant sighed.  "They seem to be using some sort of wristwatch communicator."

"Like in spy movies?"  Nicholas smirked as he slipped neatly into traffic behind the Volvo once again.

"Exactly," replied Grant, in the same tone.  "I was able to isolate the frequency, and it's much higher than most normal communication devices."

"So it can be used internationally."

"Right," Grant smiled.  "Fraser doesn't know it, but he's given me an idea for some new technology that I can adapt and use if we ever have another international mission."

Nicholas grinned at his friend as he followed Wilson's Volvo into the university parking lot.  Grant watched as he carried the box to the lab and set it down, while Nicholas placed a tracking device on the Volvo.

"Tomorrow should be very revealing," commented Nicholas, as they watched Wilson get into his car and drive away from the school.

"Yeah," replied Grant.  "I can't wait to see what's in that box."  He grinned at his friend.  "Let's go somewhere more comfortable so we can rendezvous with Jim and the others."

*******

Twenty minutes later, Nicholas and Grant were sitting in the former's living room, using Grant's laptop to link up with the rest of the team at their base camp in La Bianca.  After the team exchanged pleasantries, they traded reports about the events of the day.

"It certainly sounds like bioterrorism," Jim said grimly.

"Yeah, and until Wilson brings those samples there's no way of knowing which neurotoxin they're planning to use," observed Grant.  "There are dozens."

"Based on my conversation with Wilson, I'd imagine that box contains some form of accelerant," mused Nicholas.

"Yes, the two of you definitely need to find out what's in that box," Jim agreed.

"Should we go take a look tonight?"  Grant asked.

Jim shook his head.  "No.  There's no way to know what's inside, how it may be sealed, or how volatile it is.  We can't guarantee your safety, or that Wilson wouldn't figure out it had been tampered with.  Just wait till Wilson gets back to the lab tomorrow."

"Hopefully we'll also find out the mechanism Fraser is planning to use to spread the neurotoxin," Nicholas mused.

"And the target," Grant added.

Jim smiled and glanced at Max.  "Well, regardless of which it is, the background we've given Max should convince Leon Fraser that he's the perfect partner to have on board.  Then hopefully he'll invite Butch Johnson over to talk business.  That'll be our way in."

"And once we're in, we'll be able to plant the technology Grant fixed up, and Fraser can finally communicate with his loa," Max grinned, with a wink at Shannon.

"We'd better rest up," Jim advised.  "Tomorrow's a big day for all of us."

With that, the team members said goodbye and prepared for the day ahead.

Chapter 7

The next morning, both Nicholas and Grant arrived early at the University, anticipating that Wilson would be anxious to get there and open the package he'd received from Fraser.

They both went to their respective offices to wait, so as not to be seen together and raise questions.  But Wilson did not arrive early.  In fact, it was nearly ten a.m. when Nicholas heard from Grant.

"Nicholas," Grant said into his communicator, "I just picked up the signal from the tracking device on the Volvo.  Wilson's on his way."

"Keep an eye on him," Nicholas advised.  "I have a class in ten minutes."

"Roger that."

Grant watched as the tracking device came to a stop, then he looked out the window in time to see Wilson carry a large cooler into the building.  The samples, then, he mused.

A few moments later, Wilson came into view of the surveillance cameras in the lab.  Grant watched as he carefully unpacked the Petri dishes from the cooler and set them inside the refrigerator.  He punched a couple of keys and adjusted the camera angle, so that the words on the label of the Petri dish were clearly visible.

Clostridium botulinum.

"Botulism," Grant cursed aloud.  "He must be growing the spores now."

Once Wilson had all of the Petri dishes in the refrigerator, he carefully opened the box and removed the first compound.  Grant noted the name of the substance and did a quick database search. He frowned, then turned his attention back to the cameras.

Wilson removed the second substance from the box and Grant once again zoomed in on the name.

Another quick search, and his stomach dropped to the floor.

Grant looked at his watch.  It was another twenty minutes before Nicholas would be out of class; he couldn't interrupt him just yet.  But he had to warn Jim and the others.  Quickly, he forged the link that would connect him with Jim's laptop in La Bianca.

******

Shannon had just put the finishing touches on her audio feed when the telephone rang.  Sensing it was Fraser, Max answered the phone.

"Butch Johnson."

"Mister Johnson," smiled Fraser as he reclined in his desk chair, feet propped on his desk, cigar in hand.  "Leon Fraser.  It was such a pleasure meeting you at Salon Dominica last night."

"Something tells me you didn't call just to share pleasantries," Max answered, feigning the impatience of a busy man.  "What's on your mind, Mister Fraser?"

"I thought you might want to discuss that partnership you alluded to," Fraser answered.  "I've done my research, Johnson, and you sound like the kind of man I want on my team.  Come to dinner at my place tonight.  Seven o'clock."

Max pretended to be considering the idea.  "All right," he said finally.  "Where?"

Fraser gave Max his address, and Max wrote it down.  "I'll see you at seven," Fraser said by way of goodbye, and the connection was broken.

Jim nodded his approval.  "Nice job, Max."

"Yeah, well, I hope Grant and Nicholas can give me some information by then," Max answered with a grin.

*******

Two hours later, Jim was sitting at his laptop when he saw the communication link pop up on the screen.  He quickly clicked on it, and Grant's face came into view.

"Jim," he said tensely.

"What is it, Grant?"  Jim answered instantly, his voice reflecting the same tension he heard in his teammate's voice.

"It's botulism," Grant hissed.

Jim cursed under his breath.  "Do we know the mechanism?"

"Most likely airborne.  One of the substances in the shipment is designed to replicate spores within a sample and refine them to a form that's easily transmitted via aerosol.  The actual delivery device may still be in the box.  If so, Wilson hasn't taken it out yet."

"Was there another substance, Grant?"

"Yeah," Grant said softly.  "It's similar in chemical composition to adrenaline.  The normal incubation time for botulism is six hours to ten days.  This substance could reduce that by as much as six hundred percent."

Jim whistled.  "Thanks for the update, Grant.  Where's Nicholas?"

"Still in class, for the next fifteen minutes.  He doesn't know yet."

Jim nodded.  "It goes without saying that you both will have to be extremely careful," he advised in a fatherly tone.  "Even moreso now."  Grant nodded his promise, and Jim continued.  "Max just got a dinner invitation from Fraser," he told Grant.  "With this information, he'll have him eating out of his hand."

"Good luck," Grant murmured, then he said goodbye and broke the connection.

Chapter 8

Max parked in front of Leon Fraser's sprawling mansion.  "Wish me luck," he mumbled into the tiny hidden microphone.  This time, the tie was black, a stark contrast to the pale grey suit Max was wearing.

"Good luck, Max, and be careful," Jim replied, his voice low.
Max knocked at the door, and when it opened he was welcomed by a cloud of cigar smoke.

"Mister Johnson," Fraser greeted, stretching out his hand.  "Thank you for accepting my dinner invitation."

"Curiosity got the better of me," Max quipped, accepting the offered hand.

"Curiosity?"  Fraser asked, raising an eyebrow.

"About this partnership idea of yours," Max elaborated.

Fraser held up a finger.  "First, dinner.  Then, business.  What are you drinking, my friend?  Wine?  Scotch?  Martinis?"

"Coffee," Max replied.  At Fraser's incredulous look, Max shrugged.  "I'm flying tomorrow."  He didn't bother to mention that he wanted to avoid leaving his fingerprints on a clear glass.

This explanation seemed to satisfy Fraser.  "No, I don't suppose you need a lot of booze in your system when you're in the air," he mused as the two of them sat down at the spacious table.  "Where are you headed?"

"It's a business run," Max replied evasively.

"Who's the target?"

Max did not have to feign a look of surprise at the unexpected question.

"Oh, come on, Johnson, don't play dumb with me.  I told you, I've done my research.  I know what you do for a living."

Max took a sip of coffee from the cup Fraser had just handed him.  "First, dinner," he replied, parroting Fraser's words from earlier, "then, business."

"Fair enough," Fraser smiled, then the two men enjoyed a hearty three course dinner in silence.

Afterward, Fraser was the first to break the silence.  "So tell me about your work, Mister Johnson."

Max smirked.  "I help people solve problems," he said evasively.

"You facilitate terrorism," Fraser said bluntly, and his tone caught Max by surprise.  "Does that not bother you?"

Max shrugged again.  "Why should it bother me?"  he asked.  "People die.  It happens.  The people who hire me want certain things done.  And it's my job to do them."

Max looked Fraser dead in the eyes, and his expression was cold.  "It's almost like something is speaking to me, compelling me to do them.  Do you know what I mean?"

Max watched Fraser's eyes carefully, and he saw his expression change.  He knew he'd struck a nerve.  "Johnson," Fraser began, his voice low, "I have something to show you.  Follow me."

Max followed Fraser into a sitting room.  There were overhead lights, but they were off; the only illumination was two candles - one on each side of a figurine of a screech owl.  Max knew he was about to hit pay dirt.

"What's this?" Max asked, as he casually put his right hand in his left breast pocket and pushed a button on top of what looked like an ordinary silver fountain pen, snapping a photograph of the figurine.

"This is what's compelling you to do what you do, Johnson."  Fraser's voice was full of affection, but he did not touch the figure, and Max followed his lead.

"An owl?"  Max asked doubtfully.

"Not just an owl," Fraser shook his head.  "This is Marinette.  She's a loa.  It is her voice that you hear in your heart.  She wants her sacrifice."

Max pretended to think about what Fraser had said.  "That makes sense," Max replied slowly.  "I've never been much of a spiritualist, but my grandparents spent a lot of time in Haiti when he was in the Navy."

Max could tell by the twinkle in Fraser's eye that he had said the right thing.  "Marinette has brought us together," he grinned, laying an arm across Johnson's shoulders.  "We are meant to be partners."

Fraser extinguished the cigar he was smoking and went back into the other room to grab the box.  In a split second, Max ran his hand underneath the table that Marinette was sitting on, quickly mounting the tiny device that Grant had constructed.  Fraser came back into the room and offered a cigar to Max before lighting another one for himself.  Max took it and allowed Fraser to light it for him.  "I've read your file, Mister Johnson," he remarked.  "I know you've been responsible for trafficking all kinds of weapons in all kinds of ways." 

Fraser glared knowingly at Max.  "But I know that, first and foremost, you're a pilot.  And I have a job for you."

Fraser paused to gauge Max's interest, and Max pretended to be noncommittal.  "I'm listening."

"I have a guy in the U.S. who's working on a modification of a bacteria that we're planning to spread across Washington, D.C. in an airplane," he revealed.  "I had a pilot lined up, but he's not of the same caliber as you.  I want you.  I'll supply the plane, the weapon, and the delivery mechanism.  You just have to fly."

"And what's in it for me?"  Max asked.

Fraser laughed out loud.  "Of course, Mister Johnson, it's all about the money, isn't it?"  he asked.  "Two hundred thousand dollars.  Cash.  Half now, half when the job is done."

"You're talking about D.C.," rebuffed Max, not wanting to seem too eager.  "I need at least three fifty."

Fraser thought about this in silence, and for a moment Max was afraid he'd scared Fraser away.  But finally, he conceded.  "Two now, one fifty when it's done."

"Deal," Max agreed, after a pause, and they shook hands.  "So now what?"

Fraser smiled as he sat down in his recliner.  "My associate will be testing the samples tomorrow, and afterward he will call me," he replied.  "Then I'll need you to fly out to the States - I'll let you know where.  Your plane will already be equipped with the mechanism to spread the poison.  All you'll have to do is load the sealed container, take off, and push a button."

"Sounds easy enough," Max muttered.

"And when you're done, we will have a celebration.  For Marinette."

"For Marinette," Max echoed, raising his coffee cup to simulate a toast.

After a few more moments of small talk, Max excused himself, citing an early flight the next morning.

"I'll call you tomorrow evening," Fraser promised.

Max waved his acknowledgement.

"And Johnson?" Fraser added, causing Max to turn around.  Fraser's eyes flashed fire for a moment.

"Don't double-cross me," he warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Max replied with a smile, then he got into his car and drove away from the mansion.

Chapter 9

That evening, after Max returned from his dinner with Fraser - which was actually early afternoon at Cavanaugh - the team linked up to exchange information.  Grant forged the link from his office at the University, and was first to update the rest of the team.

"Wilson worked with those samples all day long, adding various chemicals," Grant advised.  "He's wasting no time getting them ready."

"Fraser said he'd be testing them tomorrow," Max responded.

"Yes, but where?  And how?"  Nicholas wondered out loud.

"He didn't say," Max replied, "but you guys had better be careful.  Once the testing is complete, I should be getting a phone call.  Fraser said the plane was already set up with the necessary equipment to spread the toxin."

"But Wilson would have to have something to carry it in," Grant mused, "something airtight and leakproof.  And it's got to be in that box."

"We at least need to get a look at it," Jim stated.  "If you could replicate it, maybe we could switch them.  If not, we'll stick to the original plan."

Grant and Nicholas exchanged glances.  "I'll distract Wilson, if he hasn't already left for the day," Nicholas offered, and Grant nodded.

"So what can you tell us about Marinette?" Shannon asked Grant.

Grant punched a few buttons on his computer.  "Not a lot," he sighed.  "There's a lot of myth and legend around her but not much concrete from any reliable sources.  I know that her main attribute is a screech owl-"

"Thus the photo that Max took of the figurine in Fraser's house," Shannon interjected.

"Right, Shannon.   I also know that her preferred sacrifice is a black rooster - plucked while still alive..."

Max paled and loosened his collar.

"...and she is feared because she enslaves people, but she also has been known to free them from bondage," Grant finished.

Jim rose to his feet and began pacing, as he tended to do when his mind was racing.  "So Fraser thinks that spreading this toxin...enslaving people, so to speak...is Marinette's desire."  It was a cross between a statement and a question.

"That's certainly the impression I got,"  replied Max.

"Good.  We want to make sure Marinette confirms his opinion...for now."  He turned to Max.  "Were you able to plant the device?"  At Max's nod, Jim winked at Shannon.  "I think it's time for Fraser to hear from his loa."

*******

Once the briefing was finished, Nicholas walked down to the lab.  Wilson was still there.  He knocked softly on the closed door.  After a moment, Wilson opened it.

"Oh, hello, Professor Black," he greeted, managing a wry smile.  "What can I do for you?"

"You look tired," Nicholas observed.  It was not a lie.  Wilson looked mentally and physically spent.  "I figured if your day's been as rough as mine, you could probably use a drink."

Wilson shook his head. "I could definitely use something strong," he agreed, "but I still have a lot of work ahead of me."

"Coffee, then?" persisted Nicholas.

Wilson opened his mouth to refuse politely, but then something appeared to change his mind. "Actually, I would love a cup of coffee," he smiled.

Nicholas returned his smile.  "Shall we, then?" he asked.

Wilson carefully locked the door behind him and accompanied Nicholas to the cafeteria.

"Attaboy, Nicholas," Grant grinned when he heard the signal from Nicholas' communicator.  He had gotten Wilson out of the lab, and Grant knew he had no time to spare.  He grabbed his lockpicks and dashed as quickly as he dared to the biology lab.  Making sure no one was nearby, Grant quickly picked the lock and entered the lab.

He went straight to the box that was sitting in the floor in one corner of the office.  The box tops were folded loosely.  Grant unfolded them carefully, reached in slowly and extracted a slim metal cylinder.

He didn't take the time to inspect the cylinder.  He knew that Wilson still had to test the samples, and he likely wouldn't use the cylinder until after he had tested them and contacted Fraser.  If Grant was going to try to duplicate it, he had to have it in his possession and hope Wilson didn't miss it overnight.

Grant exited the biology lab and locked the door behind him, then he pushed the button on his communicator to let his partner know he was out of the room.

Nicholas heard the tiny beep and his body relaxed, knowing that Grant was safe.

*******

"How's your research coming?" Nicholas asked Wilson, after making small talk for a few moments.

"It's coming along well," Wilson smiled.  "The samples are about ready for the first round of testing."

"What bacteria are you working with?" Nicholas asked, just as he heard the tiny beep on his communicator.

Wilson's smile faltered for a moment, then returned, though not as wide as before.  "I'm afraid that's classified information," he replied quietly.

Wilson looked at his watch.  "I really must get back to the lab now, Professor," he said, standing up, "but I'd love to take you up on your drink offer sometime."

The two men shook hands.  "Good luck on your research, Doctor Wilson," Nicholas said breezily, but the doctor walked away without a reply.

Once he was out of earshot, Nicholas keyed his communicator.

"Grant," he began, "did you get it?"

"Got it, pal," he answered, "and I think I can replicate it, or at least get close enough, but all my materials are back at my place."

"I'm done for the day," Nicholas advised.  "Meet you at the Escalade in ten?"

"Sounds good," Grant agreed, and the connection was broken.

Chapter 10

Max and Shannon parked a few hundred yards from Leon Fraser's mansion, which was now mostly in darkness. Max pulled out the remote control device and glanced at Shannon.  "You ready?"

"Ready," Shannon nodded, her eyes gleaming even in the darkness.

Max clicked the button on the controller and nodded at Shannon.

"Leon."

The soft female voice interrupted Fraser's sleep, and at first he wasn't sure if he really heard anyone.

"Leon," the voice said again.

Fraser opened his eyes.  "Who's there?" he cried sleepily.

"Leon," Shannon repeated a third time.

This time, Fraser sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake.  "Who's in here?" he demanded.

"Where is my sacrifice?" Shannon asked, having heard Fraser's demand through the two-way microphone Max had planted earlier that day.

Fraser got to his feet, spooked by the fact that the voice seemed to be coming from the screech owl on the table in the sitting room.

"What the hell?" he asked, walking heavily toward the statue.

Max and Shannon exchanged nervous glances.  They didn't want Fraser to find the device.  "Stop there, Leon," Shannon said expertly, in a voice that was both firm and gentle.  The footsteps stopped.

"Who are you?"  Fraser demanded, but his voice was softer.

"You know who I am," Shannon said, her voice lightly teasing.  "You call on me all the time."

"Marinette?"  he cried out incredulously, hitting his knees.

"When will our work be finished?"  Shannon whispered.

"Soon," Fraser promised.  "A couple of days at the most.  I have a new partner-"

"Yes, I know him well, and his grandparents, too," Shannon soothed.  "You have done well to find one another.  Rest now, my Leon."

"Marinette!" Fraser cried out, now thoroughly convinced his loa was speaking to him out loud and unwilling to relinquish the contact.  "When will I talk to you again?  Marinette?!"

But the voice was gone.

Max winked at Shannon as he flipped off the remote control.  "That's enough teasing for one night," he grinned.  "Nice job.  You had him eating out of your hand."

Shannon grinned back at him.  "That was kind of fun."

Max laughed heartily as the two of them headed back to headquarters.

*******

Grant and Nicholas waited until they got to Grant's house before inspecting the device more closely.

As Grant rolled it over and over in his hands, curiosity got the best of Nicholas.

"Well?" he demanded.

Grant smiled at his teammate's impatience.  "It looks to be made out of a steel alloy."

He picked up a second piece, with a narrow black nozzle on one end.  "Once the toxin is inserted and this piece is screwed back on, there's a chemical reaction that creates a seal that's airtight and watertight."

Grant fingered the black nozzle thoughtfully.  "This must be the piece that hooks into the delivery mechanism on the plane."  He raised his eyes to meet Nicholas'.  "There's no way I could duplicate this and guarantee the safety of the sample.  I'll let Jim and the others know we're proceeding with the original plan."

Nicholas nodded.  "I just wish I knew who or what he was testing it on."

"Me, too, pal," Grant agreed with a sigh.

*******

The next morning, Nicholas and Grant arrived early in order for Grant to replace the cylinder.  Then they went to their separate rooms.  Nicholas prepared for his ten a.m. class, while Grant kept a lookout for Wilson.

It was only a few moments later when Grant noticed the blip of the tracking device on the Volvo pulling into the university parking lot - uncharacteristically early for Wilson. Grant hastily signaled Nicholas.

"Wilson is already here," he said tensely.  "He's up to something.  Watch your back and stay in touch."

"Will do," Nicholas promised.

"I'll let you know when he gets inside the lab."

But Wilson didn't make it to the lab - at  least, not at first.

Nicholas was writing notes, listening for Grant's signal, when he heard a commotion from outside his room.  He put down his pen and glanced toward the open door just in time to see Oscar Wilson poke his head around the doorjamb.  His face was beet-red and his eyes were wide with panic.

"Professor, quick!" he panted.  "Something is wrong with one of your students!"

Instantly, Nicholas rose from his chair and moved as quickly as he could toward the door.  His students were all very special to him, and he would do whatever he could to help any of them he thought were in trouble.

He started out the door, and felt something hard hit the back of his head.  He was unconscious before he even had time to realize he'd walked straight into a trap.

*******

A few moments later, Grant was watching the surveillance feed as Wilson unlocked the lab door, came inside just long enough to carefully grab a Petri dish from the refrigerator, and then left, locking it again.  Grant grabbed the communicator.

"Nicholas!"  he hissed.  "Wilson just grabbed a sample from the lab.  I'll bet he's getting ready to test it.  Let's try to find out where he's headed."

But there was no answer.

"Nicholas?"  Grant tried again, and still there was no response.
"Nicholas!  Can you hear me?"

Grant let out an audible curse.  Then, in the next instant, alarm turned to sheer terror as he realized the implication.

"Oh, my God," he mumbled. He glanced at the signal for the tracking device.  The Volvo was still here, which meant that if Wilson had Nicholas they were still on campus somewhere.
Quickly Grant got to his feet, determined to search every room on campus until he found his friend.

Chapter 11

Grant knew that he and Nicholas were supposed to find out who Wilson's test subjects were and report back to Jim and the others.  He knew that Jim would be standing by, monitoring his laptop for the signal to link up with Grant.  But Grant didn't contact Jim right away.  If Wilson hadn't taken Nicholas and he were simply incapacitated somewhere, or if his communicator wasn't working, Grant would find him rather quickly.  Grant certainly hoped that was the case.

He began by searching the obvious places where Nicholas might be - his office, his classroom, the men's restroom - but found no sign of his friend.  Trying to ignore the gnawing in his stomach, Grant continued to search all the rooms in the humanities and science buildings.  It was still early, and most of them were deserted, but none of them held any traces of the dark-haired agent.

Grant cursed again.  There had to be at least ten academic buildings on campus.  It was almost certain that Wilson had Nicholas, and more than likely that Nicholas was his test subject.  Grant would never be able to search every building by himself.

And Nicholas might be running out of time.

Grant rushed back to his office and forged the link between his computer and Jim's, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the conversation that was about to happen.

*******

"Professor Black?"

Nicholas emerged from the darkness, aware of a voice talking to him but not sure at first who it was or what it was saying.
"Oh, Professor?  Wakey, wakey!"

Nicholas shook his head slowly, aware of a residual headache and a feeling of fatigue.  He opened his eyes and looked around.

"That's it," the voice continued condescendingly.  "I can't monitor your symptoms if you're asleep.  And then what would I tell Mister Fraser?"

Suddenly, Nicholas recognized the voice, and got a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Wilson!"  Nicholas called.  "Where are you?"  He looked around frantically.  He could hear Wilson's voice, but he couldn't see him.  "What have you done to me?"

"I think you already know, Professor," Wilson sneered.  "I just completed my latest neurotoxin research.  You're my guinea pig."

"Botulism," Nicholas muttered in horror.

Nicholas couldn't see Wilson's smile fade.  "You know a great deal more than you should, Professor," he said soberly.  "But it doesn't matter.  Nobody's going to find you until it's too late."

Nicholas wondered absently where Grant was, but he at least wasn't in the room.  Hopefully, that meant Grant hadn't gotten caught and would get help soon.

Nicholas continued to look around until finally his gaze settled on the one-way mirror on the wall facing him.
"Of course," he mumbled to himself.  "I'm in the interview room in the criminal justice building."

Then, as he continued to stare at the rectangular outline, it suddenly went out of focus and back in, then out of focus and back in again.  Then one frame turned into three.

Nicholas blinked several times, rapidly, trying to clear his vision - an act not missed by Oscar Wilson.

"What's the matter, Professor?" he asked.  "Is your vision all blurry?"

Wilson looked at his watch.  "Twelve minutes since exposure.  Not bad.  Usually it takes four hours for those symptoms to start.  The accelerator is speeding things up twenty-fold."

Nicholas could hear the sneer in Wilson's voice.  "Normally airborne botulism takes thirty-six hours to kill a strong man like yourself.  At this rate, you'll be dead in less than two.  What a shame, too.  I really did like you, Professor.  You were just too damned convenient."

From his vantage point on the other side of the glass, Wilson cut the audio link to the interview room and pushed a button on his wristwatch.

*******

"Grant," came the familiar greeting.  "How's it going?"

"Jim, I can't find Nicholas," Grant answered, his voice tense.  "I think Wilson grabbed him."

Jim's heart came up in his throat.  Shannon sucked in her breath audibly as Max cursed out loud and began to pace.

"I let him down, Jim," Grant mumbled.  "I was supposed to keep him safe, and I let him down."

"Grant."  Jim's voice was fatherly but firm.  "I know you're worried about Nicholas.  We all are.  But you have to focus now.  You're the only one who can find him.  The rest of us are five hours away.  Its up to you."

Grant took a deep breath and forced his stomach to settle.  Jim was right.  "I looked everywhere in this building and he's not here.  Wilson's car is still here, so I believe he's somewhere on this campus.  But I can't search ten buildings by myself."

"Grant," Jim said gently, "I think it's time to call the police.  Have them look in Wilson's lab; it should be all they need to take you seriously.  If Nicholas has been exposed, he's going to need medical attention.  And if the spores are airborne somewhere in that university, it's going to need to be decontaminated."

Jim paused.  "Keep us updated as you can, all right?"

"Will do," Grant said tersely, then broke the connection and dialed the campus police.

Chapter 12

Grant foresaw a bit of a challenge convincing the campus police that there was a bioterrorism threat at Cavanaugh, so instead he just told them that one of the professors was missing and presumed abducted.  Once they were on their way, Grant made another call.

"Phil, it's Grant," he greeted his friend, a scientist who had his own laboratory across town.

"Grant, how are you?"  Phil answered fondly.

"I need a favor," Grant said hastily, dismissing with the pleasantries altogether.

"Name it, pal," Phil responded, instantly serious.

"I have reason to believe that someone at Cavanaugh University is preparing for an airborne bioterrorism attack using botulism." Grant stated succinctly.

Phil whistled.  "Hey, don't you have a buddy who teaches there?"

"Yeah," Grant answered grimly.  "I have reason to believe he's been exposed."

"Oh, man," Phil said soberly.  He'd known Grant since their days at MIT and had helped him with scientific tasks from time to time.  He knew enough about Grant's work to not ask too many questions.

"I'll call my buddy over at the CDC and he'll roll his D-con team that way," Phil promised, "but your friend should be okay if he can get the antitoxin within 36 hours or so."

"That's another thing," Grant muttered.  "The botulism spores have been manipulated with some sort of accelerator compound."  Grant named the chemical, and Phil cursed out loud as he recognized it.  "I don't know how long he's got."

"I can get hold of an antitoxin, but it's going to take me an hour to get it and meet you at the hospital," Phil said sadly.

"Let's hope that's enough time," Grant replied in the same tone.  "Thanks, buddy.  I owe you several."

Not willing to waste any more time, Phil broke the connection without saying goodbye, and immediately got on the phone with the CDC.

*******

Twenty minutes later, Phil's friend at the CDC had assembled his D-con team and they were on their way to Cavanaugh.  Meanwhile, the campus policeman arrived and met Grant outside the humanities building.

"What's going on?"  the portly officer demanded.

"The missing professor's name is Nicholas Black.  He's a friend of mine, and he was last seen with Oscar Wilson, our new research biologist.  I've searched this building and the science building and they're not there, but I know they are somewhere on campus because both their vehicles are still here."

"What makes you think this Wilson guy would hurt your friend?"  the officer questioned skeptically.

Grant sighed in frustration.  They were running out of time. 

"Look, I didn't get into this on the phone, but my friend told me he thought Wilson was messing with biological weapons.  I'm afraid he found out that Nicholas knew about his plan, abducted him, and possibly exposed him to certain toxic substances."  Grant looked the officer dead in the eyes.  "The CDC is on its way.  I need to hang back so I can let them know where to go."

The officer turned pale.  "I'll start searching immediately."  He handed Grant a walkie-talkie.  "If you hear anything, let me know right away."

"Will do," promised Grant, and then he returned to his laptop.
No sooner had he sat back down than he heard a high-pitched whistle.  Could it be?  He pushed a button.  Sure enough, it was the wristwatch communicator.  Wilson was talking to Fraser!

Grant quickly isolated the frequency, cross-referenced it with a campus map, and zeroed in on its location.  Then he grabbed the walkie as he leaped from his chair and began to run.

"Officer," he panted into the walkie, "I've just gotten a tip.  He's in the criminal justice building.  The observation room."

"On it," came the tight reply.

As Grant left the humanities building, he saw the CDC personnel arriving on campus in their protective gear.  Quickly he signaled them.

"He's in the criminal justice building."

"We need to evacuate the rest of campus," one of the CDC personnel stated.  "I'll sound the alarm and meet you there."

*******

"Go," came Fraser's familiar response.

"The test is successful, sir," Wilson reported.  "The accelerator is operating at twenty times the normal incubation period.  At this speed, your targets in Washington, D.C. will be eradicated within two hours of exposure."

"Too soon to prepare or deliver the antitoxin," Fraser finished.  "Good work, Wilson."

"What now, sir?"

"Lay low until my pilot arrives, then I'll get in touch with you and tell you where to meet him with the sample.  He'll have your money."

Just as the connection was broken, a loud siren went off across campus.

"What the hell?"  Wilson murmured, as he opened the door to see what was going on - and came face to face with a sawed-off shotgun.

"Doctor Oscar Wilson," growled the campus police officer.  "You're under arrest.”

Chapter 13

After Wilson's taunting voice had subsided, Nicholas sat in silence for an untold amount of time.  His vision, once blurry, was now gone altogether, and he could tell that his eyelids were droopy.  His mouth was dry, so painfully dry, and he felt as if his whole body were made of lead.

Nicholas' mind, however, was unaffected - and racing.  He knew that Wilson had exposed him to an accelerated form of the neurotoxin while he'd been unconscious, and he cursed himself for falling into Wilson's trap.  His stomach churned when he thought of Grant, who was almost certainly looking for him right now, and almost certainly blaming himself for what had happened. 

But Nicholas did not blame Grant at all.

He knew that this form of botulism was quick and deadly.  He had read the symptom progression and recognized the ones he was already experiencing.  He could feel his hands and feet tingling but he couldn't lift them.  He knew that soon the paralysis would spread to his respiratory system and, without some medical intervention, it would kill him.  He just didn't know how long he had left.

Nicholas' heart ached as he thought of Jim, Shannon, and Max.  Barring some sort of miracle, he would probably never see them again.  He hoped they knew how much they'd each meant to him, and that they'd forgive him for his stupidity.  He prayed, unselfishly, that somehow they would be still able to complete the mission and save the country from the bioterror attack.

Suddenly, Nicholas heard what sounded like a major commotion outside.  He could neither see it nor rise up from his sitting position, but he turned his head in the direction and listened.

After a few moments, he heard a familiar voice.

"Nicholas!"

In spite of his condition, Nicholas tried to smile, though his mouth didn't quite work, and turned his head in the direction of the one-way mirror.

"Grant?" he tried to say, though it didn't come out exactly right.

Grant looked at his friend, and his stomach fell to the floor.  "Oh, my God," he whispered.  Nicholas was unrecognizable.  His face was horribly swollen, and both eyelids were closed.
"How are you doing, partner?" Grant said softly.

Nicholas said something garbled that Grant understood to be, "Not so good."

"Just sit tight, pal.  The CDC is here and in just a moment they're going to get you out of here."

Nicholas said nothing.  It was too much work to try to talk.  Instead, he just nodded wordlessly, wondering - as Grant was - if it was already too late.

A few seconds later, there was a loud commotion as the personnel from the CDC began their protocol.  Grant knew that he wouldn't be able to ride with Nicholas to the hospital because of the precautions, so he let his teammate know that he would meet him there.  Then he rushed back to his office and quickly linked up to Jim's computer.

Jim sat in silence, staring at his laptop.  Max stood staring out the window, Shannon beside him with her hand on his shoulder.  They were all waiting for news about Nicholas.
All three of them jumped when the telephone rang.  Jim looked at the phone.

"Max," he said tensely, "it's Fraser."

Max answered the phone reluctantly.  His heart wasn't in it, as his mind was on his friend, but he knew he had a part to play.  "Johnson here."

"Mister Johnson," Fraser greeted.  "I was calling to tell you that the test was a success and our package is ready to be delivered."

"Excellent," Max replied, with considerably more enthusiasm than he actually felt.  "What happens now?"

"Come to my mansion," Fraser directed.  "The plane is waiting for you here, along with your deposit.  I'll give you instructions as to where to meet my associate to obtain the neurotoxin."

Max looked at Jim, who was holding up one finger.

"I'll be there in one hour," Max replied, taking note of Jim's wordless signal.

"Fine," replied Fraser.  "I'll see you then."

As soon as the connection was broken, Max turned to Jim. "What's the plan?" he asked.

"I wanted to stall until I heard from Grant, to find out if Wilson is in custody or not," he answered.

As if on cue, the computer beeped, indicating someone was attempting to link.  Jim hastily punched the button.

"Grant, how's Nicholas?"

"It's bad, Jim," Grant sighed heavily.  "He's conscious and alert, but the facial swelling and limb paralysis have already started.  This thing is moving faster than any of us imagined.  The good news is, the CDC is here.  They've evacuated the school, isolated and decontaminated the room where Wilson was holding Nicholas, and they're prepping him for transport to the hospital."

"What about the antitoxin?"  Max demanded, his stomach tying in knots.

"It's on its way," Grant replied.  "I just hope it comes soon enough.  As soon as I'm done with this call, I'm going to meet them at the hospital.  I'll keep you posted."

"Max just got a call from Fraser," Jim advised, not much wishing to change the subject but needing the information he knew Grant had.

"Wilson called him, and I'm glad he did, or else we wouldn't have found Nicholas.  He's in police custody now," Grant informed them, "and all of the botulism samples have been safely contained, including the one that had been prepped for dispersal."

"All right, Grant," Jim said fondly.  "You've done good work.  Now go take care of Nicholas.  We'll take it from here."

"Right," Grant replied, and then he broke the connection, all the while thinking Jim was wrong.  He hadn't done good work.  He hadn't been able to protect his friend.  And he wasn't even sure yet whether he had been able to save his life.

Chapter 14

"Shannon."

The sound of her name jolted both Jim's companions out of their silent preoccupation.  Jim got up from his chair and walked over to Max and Shannon, resting a hand lightly on each of their shoulders.

"We are all scared," he admitted.  "But you both know that Nicholas would want us to finish this."

Shannon turned to face her leader, her eyes misty.  "I know, Jim," she whispered.  "So what do we do?"

"Max, give us a ten-minute head start and then head to Fraser's mansion.  Shannon and I will proceed to step three, with you as a witness." Jim smiled wryly.  "With any luck at all, Marinette will make Fraser want to fly to the States.  Then, we'll nail him."

*******

A half hour later, Jim and Shannon parked a few hundred yards away from Fraser's mansion as they prepared to test out one of Grant's newest gadgets.

"Are you ready for this?"  Jim asked gently.  Shannon had been very quiet on the way over, and Jim knew she was thinking of Nicholas.

"I just want to get this over with and get back home," she answered quietly.  But as she was trained to do, she forced herself back into mission mode as she got out of the car and stood along the blue sky background.

Jim aimed the projector - which looked very much like a video camera - at Shannon.  The gadget that Max had planted in Fraser's home earlier would allow Shannon's image to appear as a holographic image inside Fraser's home.

Wordlessly, Jim nodded to Shannon that it was time to begin, even as they saw Max coming up the long driveway toward the mansion.

*******

"Leon."

The soft female voice caught Fraser's ear, and he recognized it right away.  Immediately, he got to his feet and rushed to the sitting room.

"Marinette?" he said, peering around the corner.

Then, his breath shut off in his throat, for there in front of him was the translucent image of a dark-haired woman - a figure Fraser recognized from the old legends as one of the manifestations of his loa.

Fraser dropped to his knees.  "You're here," he breathed in disbelief.  "You're really here."

"I am not pleased, Leon," Shannon said angrily.

"What has happened, Marinette?"  Fraser questioned, a twinge of fear gripping his stomach.

"Your accomplice has turned against you," Shannon answered.  "He has created the toxin but does not plan to deliver it.  He is a traitor."

Just then came the sound of knocking at the front door.  Fraser knew it was time for Butch Johnson.  Wanting to answer the door but fearing his loa would disappear when he turned away, Fraser finally yelled at Max to come in.

"Fraser?"  Max called when he opened the door.  "It's Johnson.  Where are you?"

Max rounded the corner and pretended to be shocked by the sight in front of him.  "What the..?"

Fraser was incredulous, nearly grabbing Max in an expression of joy.  "You see her, too?"  he asked.

"Of course I see her," Max answered.  "Who is...?"

Max pretended to realize for the first time who the figure was.  "Marinette," he breathed, dropping to his knees in a repeat of Fraser's earlier reaction.

"Robert," Shannon smiled.

Fraser shot Max a surprised glance, and Max smiled.  "That's why I go by Butch," he quipped.

"I must have my sacrifice," Shannon stated flatly.  "The two of you must go make things right."

Leon's face paled.  "But, Marinette, I can't leave this island," he protested.

"I will protect you," she promised.  "You must fix this, or you will be my sacrifice."

From outside the mansion, Jim pushed a special button on the remote, which created the illusion of fire that appeared to engulf the holographic image.  Then she was gone.

Max looked at Fraser, and it was clear that he was terrified.
"What's going on?"  Max asked, feigning ignorance since he hadn't heard the first part of what Marinette had said.

"Wilson double-crossed me," Fraser growled.  "We have to find the toxin and make sure it gets delivered.  Let's go!" he urged.  "There's no time to waste!"

Grabbing his cigar box but nothing else, Fraser sprinted toward the waiting airplane, Max at his heels.

From their vantage point, Jim and Shannon watched until Max lifted the plane off the ground, then Jim turned to his friend.
"Let's get out of here," he muttered.  "You drive; I'll listen for Grant."

Shannon nodded wordlessly as the two of them got into the car and headed towards the airport.

Chapter 15

Grant pulled into the parking lot at the local hospital emergency room and exited his vehicle just as hospital staff were rolling Nicholas inside.  Grant was devastated to see that his friend had to have assistance with his airway.

He stopped one of the CDC officials at the door.  "How is he?" he demanded.

The official looked sad.  "It doesn't look good," he replied honestly.  "His body is swollen, there's paralysis, he can't see or swallow, and on the way here we lost his airway and had some trouble getting it back."

As Grant was processing this, he heard a familiar voice.
"Grant!  Tommy!"

"Phil!" the CDC official replied.  Grant turned toward the voice and saw his friend the scientist sprinting to them with a blue cooler in one hand.

"The antitoxin," Phil said simply.

"There's no time to spare," urged Tommy.  "Let's go!"

*******

Nicholas, still enveloped in darkness, was vaguely aware of voices he didn't recognize, as he slowly came back to consciousness.  His chest was about the only part of his body that he could still feel...and it felt funny.  He knew that he wouldn't be conscious long.  He was probably going to die.  Even though this sounded and smelled like a hospital, it was probably too late.

He realized he was having great difficulty taking a breath.  Then he heard a female voice very close to his ear.

"Mister Black," she said softly, "we're going to give you something to make you sleep now, so that we can help you breathe.  Don't be scared."

As Nicholas drifted off to sleep, he was certain he would never wake up again.  His last conscious thoughts were of his four teammates - his four best friends.  He said a prayer for their safety, then he said goodbye to each of them in his own way...

*******

Inside the hospital, Tommy bolted into the emergency room, where a doctor had just hooked Nicholas, now unconscious, to a ventilator and started his examination.

"Here's the botulism antitoxin," he said hastily.  "It takes twenty minutes to administer.  We have no time to lose."

The doctor hesitated.  "This is hardly protocol-"

"I don't give a damn about protocol!" yelled Grant, who had just entered the room.  "This is my friend!"

"But I'm not even sure that's what this is," the doctor continued his protest.

"I'm from the Centers for Disease Control, Doctor," said Tommy flatly,  "and I can assure you this is what's wrong with Mister Black, and this antitoxin is the appropriate solution. Now, unless you want your hospital to blame for perpetuating this illness, or worse, be involved in a huge lawsuit, I suggest you start the antitoxin.  Now."

Reluctantly, the doctor nodded to his nurses to proceed with the administration.  "Honestly, he's so ill that I'm not even sure it will have any effect," the doctor sighed.

"We have to give him a chance," retorted Grant, badly shaken, who could only watch helplessly as the antitoxin dripped into Nicholas' veins.

******

The beep of Jim's computer jolted him out of his worried reverie.

"Talk to me, Grant."

"He's getting the antitoxin now," Grant replied, and Jim winced at the terror in his voice, "but I'm afraid it might be too late.  He's already in respiratory failure.  They have him in a medically induced coma and on a ventilator.  The antitoxin won't reverse the damage, just stop its progression.  The rest is up to Nicholas."

Grant paused for a moment, but before Jim could respond, he continued.  "This is all my fault, Jim.  If he dies-"

"Stop it, Grant," Jim interrupted, his voice gentle but firm.  "The only people responsible for this are Wilson and Fraser.  Wilson's already in custody and Fraser will be soon; Max is in the air with him right now.  Grant, Nicholas is a fighter.  He always has been.  And now he has a chance, thanks to you."

Jim paused, took a deep breath, and then continued.  "As soon as Max is in range, he will contact you on the communicator.  Have the FBI ready and let Max know where to land."

"Will do, Jim," Grant replied softly.

"Hang in there, son.  We'll be there in a few hours."

Grant broke the connection and felt as if he was about to lose all composure.  It was the first time since his father's death that Jim had called him "son."

*******

By the time Grant returned to the emergency room, the antitoxin was finished and there had been a shift change.  The unpleasant doctor from earlier was gone, and the physician treating Nicholas now greeted Grant with a soft smile.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Pierson," he said, reaching out his right hand and catching Grant's in a firm shake.  He watched as Grant gazed at Nicholas, all hooked up to tubes and wires, his face a mixture of sadness and fear.

"He's holding his own," the doctor said reassuringly.  "It's still too soon to tell if the antitoxin has stopped the damage, and he'll remain in a coma and on a ventilator for a good while longer to give his lungs time to heal.  But his heartbeat is strong, and that's an encouraging sign."

Doctor Pierson laid a hand on Grant's shoulder.  "Your friend's quite a fighter," he added, echoing Jim's words from a few moments earlier.

As he started to leave the room, he turned back to smile at Grant. 

"It's all right to talk to him, to touch his hand if you want," the doctor assured him.  "In fact, we encourage it.  Buzz me if you need anything.  We'll be moving him up to a private room soon."

Grant nodded, and then the doctor was gone.

Grant pulled a chair up next to his friend.  He could barely breathe for the lump in his throat.  In the silence of the room, the gentle hiss of the ventilator and steady beeping of Nicholas' heartbeat were uncannily loud.

Tentatively, uncertainly, Grant reached out a trembling hand and laid it gently on Nicholas' fingers.

"Hey, pal," he whispered, feeling the moisture fill his eyes but unable to stop it.  He swallowed hard.  "I don't know if you can hear me, but I need you to fight this, okay?  I need you to wake up soon, so I can tell you I'm sorry."

Then what little composure Grant had left was lost completely, and he burst into tears.

Chapter 16

Some time later, Grant was interrupted by the telltale beep of his communicator.  Guessing it was Max, and that Fraser was with him, Grant quickly left Nicholas' side and acknowledged the transmission.

"Go ahead."

"This is Butch Johnson, requesting permission to land."  Max rattled off the airplane's call letters for effect.

Grant had already contacted the FBI to let them know that Fraser would be arriving to the U.S. soon via private plane, and they were standing by at the airstrip only a few miles from Cavanaugh.

Grant gave Max instructions to the airstrip, and then broke the connection without another word, heading to his car.  He'd be picking up Max once he landed the plane and Fraser was in custody.

*******

"We're cleared to land."

Max's discreet use of the communicator had gone unnoticed by Fraser, who was sitting in the co-pilot's chair.  He simply nodded, assuming the instruction had come from a control tower.

Fraser watched as Max expertly guided the plane into landing position.  "Why are we landing here?" he asked.

"We're only a few miles from the University where Wilson was assigned," Max replied truthfully.  "If he left behind a clue as to where the sample is, it should be there."

Fraser nodded again, then paled as he saw three black vehicles parked along the airstrip. Even though the FBI had heeded Grant's instructions to not exit their vehicles until the plane actually landed, they hadn't hidden their vehicles well.  Fraser's keen, experienced eye had figured them out.

"No!  You're the traitor!"  he yelled at Max, in one movement unbuckling his seat belt and striking Max's temple with his metal cigar box.  Max was addled for a moment, and the plane lurched violently to one side.

Grant was watching from the ground and saw the unnatural movement of the plane.  "What in the hell is going on up there?" he wondered anxiously.

Max quickly shook off the cobwebs and righted the plane, then he cast a glance at Fraser.  The shifting of the plane had thrown him against the side. stunning him for a moment, but he instantly got to his feet and went after Max again.

Keeping his left hand on the controls, Max threw out his right fist, which made a crunching sound as it landed on Fraser's cheek.  He slumped to the cockpit floor.

Max couldn't help but smirk to himself about how good it had felt to hit him, as he held him partially responsible for what had happened to Nicholas.

"FBI!  You're under arrest!" came the shouts as Max brought the plane to a stop and cut the engine.  In the melee that ensued as the agents realized that Fraser was both unbuckled and unconscious, Max was able to slip out the cockpit door and into the Escalade waiting on the other side of the plane.

The mission was finally over.

*******

As Max slid into the passenger seat, Grant turned toward him, about to ask him what had happened that had caused the plane to lurch to one side.  But then he noticed the gash on Max's temple and the tiny red trickle of blood still dripping down Max's face.

"You okay?" he asked his friend.

Max nodded, reaching up to touch the gash, then staring at the dot of blood that was on his finger.  "Fraser saw the FBI vehicles and threw his cigar box at me," he muttered.  "Not real smart to do that to your pilot."  He gazed at Grant intently.  "How's Nicholas?"

Grant shook his head slowly.  "If he survives this one, it'll be a miracle," he replied quietly.

Max could tell that Grant was deeply worried about their teammate, as was he; from Grant's earlier conversation with Jim, Max also inferred that Grant was carrying a lot of guilt about what had happened at the university.  Max had no words of comfort, so he simply reached his left hand over and patted Grant's shoulder.  Then they drove in silence back to the hospital.

*******

Doctor Pierson met them inside the emergency room doors to let them know that Nicholas had been moved to a private room.  He rode up the elevator with them to show them where he was.  After shaking hands with both Grant and Max, the doctor smiled.

"I have to get back to the ER now," He advised them.  "Doctor T will be taking care of Mister Black." Seeing the trepidation on Grant's face, Doctor Pierson hastily added, "Doctor T is a good man.  He and I have been friends since med school.  Your friend is in good hands."

"What does the T stand for?" asked Max curiously.

Doctor Pierson winked at them.  "He grew up in Pakistan.  I can't even pronounce his last name."

Then the doctor was gone, and Max and Grant entered Nicholas' room.

Chapter 17

Grant had tried to prepare Max for what he would see, but in spite of the effort, Max's breath caught in his throat at the sight of his teammate hooked up to all those tubes and wires.

Max ran a hand through his hair nervously and walked over to the side of Nicholas' bed.  He sat down in the nearby chair and stared at Nicholas for several moments.  His stomach lurched as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Hey, partner," he finally managed to say, his voice low.  "It's Max.  Grant and I are here, and Jim and Shannon are on their way.  We finished the mission, and we nailed both of the bastards who did this to you.  Now you've just got to get better."

*******

It was over an hour later, and almost dark outside, when Jim and Shannon finally arrived at the hospital.  As they approached Nicholas' room, Shannon hesitated, clinging to Jim's chest.

"I don't know if I can do this, Jim," she said tearfully.

"Do what, sweetheart?" Jim asked tenderly.

"Look at him...like that."

Jim sighed.  After his last conversation with Grant, he had done his best to explain Nicholas' condition to Shannon.  She was a strong woman...but she and Nicholas were especially close.  Jim knew that this was killing her.

"It'll be tough, Shannon," Jim conceded, "but Nicholas needs to know you're here."

After a few moments, Shannon wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands and tried to smile at Jim.  "I think I'm ready," she said bravely.

They walked into the hospital room, Shannon still clinging tightly to Jim's arm.  She gave a slight smile in greeting to Grant and Max, but kept her gaze averted until she reached Nicholas' bedside.

When she finally did look at him, her friend was unrecognizable.

"Oh, Nicholas!" she sobbed.

Shannon felt her face get very hot, and the room began to spin around.  The next thing she knew, she was aware of Jim and Max gently lowering her into the chair.

"Shannon," Jim was saying softly.  "Can you hear me?"

Shannon took a deep breath, and the world came back into focus, along with the two worried faces that were looking back at her.

"I'm sorry, guys," she mumbled, realizing what had happened.

"None of that," Max clucked.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay now," she assured them.

She looked at Nicholas again, this time reaching out to take his hand. His fingers were cold and swollen - not at all the warm touch she remembered.

"I just-" Shannon felt her eyes sting once again, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying.  "I didn't expect..."

"I know," soothed Jim, himself stoic but with worry shining behind his bright blue eyes, as he rubbed her other arm gently.

From across the room, Grant suddenly tugged at his shirt collar.  "I need some air," he said gruffly, and he bolted out of the room.

Max glanced at Jim, who nodded his unspoken permission, then he squeezed Shannon's shoulder and started after his friend.

*******

Max found Grant standing outside the front doors of the hospital.  Wordlessly, Max walked up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, pal?" he asked.

Grant shook off Max's touch and took a couple of steps forward.  "How could I let this happen?" he asked, aloud but to no one in particular.

"Grant," Max said patiently, matching his steps, "this isn't your fault."

"The hell it isn't!" Grant replied, louder than he'd meant to, as he whirled around to face Max.  "We all knew Wilson was testing the toxin.  I should have been with him. I never should have left him alone."

"Grant," Max tried again, "it's easy to second guess yourself now, but there's no way you could have predicted what would happen."

"I should have figured it out!"  Grant persisted.

Max didn't know what to say to that, so he tried a different approach.  "Nobody's blaming you, Grant," he assured him, his voice gentle.  "Nobody but yourself."

"Nicholas will," Grant whispered, refusing to meet Max's eyes.  "If he wakes up."

"When he wakes up," Max countered, placing a slight emphasis on the first word, "he will thank you for saving his life."

Max tentatively laid an arm across Grant's shoulders, and this time Grant didn't resist the touch.

"Come on, buddy," he coaxed.  "Let's go."

Grant hesitated for a moment, then reached up to give Max's arm a friendly slap.  "Thanks, partner."

Max grinned and squeezed Grant's shoulders in response as the two of them walked back inside.

 

Chapter 18

A little while later, the team had met Doctor T, a small, wiry man of about thirty, with a smile almost as big as he was.  He was just as cordial as Doctor Pierson had promised, and confirmed that despite his appearance, Nicholas was doing as well as could be expected.  The antitoxin had apparently stopped any further damage, and now it would just take time for his body to heal.

It had taken a great deal of effort, but Doctor T had finally convinced the team to go home and get some rest. Nicholas was still being kept in the medically-induced coma for now, until his lungs healed enough to come off the ventilator.  Doctor T would make sure that they were there with him before they removed the sedative.

Jim insisted that they all stay at his condo for a few days.  After spending nearly the entire mission in separate countries, and now having one of their own still separated from them, Jim knew that the best thing for the remaining four was to be together.

*******

Three days later, when the four teammates went to visit Nicholas, as was their daily ritual, Doctor T met them with some good news.

"We did some testing on his lungs last night," he informed them, "and there has been some remarkable healing. We even tried removing the vent for a couple of hours to see how he would do, and not only was he able to breathe on his own, but his oxygen levels remained quite high."  He smiled broadly.  "Later today, we're going to try removing it altogether, and if he does well, maybe even bringing him out of the coma."

The four teammates smiled their thanks.  "Do you think he's going to be all right, Doctor?" Shannon asked hesitantly.

The doctor's smile faded a bit.  "He's not out of the woods yet, but I do think he will survive.  As far as the rest of it, I won't mince words with you.  Recovery is going to be a long, hard process.  The physical therapy he will have to endure while his nerves figure out how to build new pathways will be excruciating.  And he will probably always have some residual weakness and may even need some respiratory therapy for a good while.  But if your friend continues to demonstrate the fighting spirit we've already seen in him, I expect him to make an unprecedented recovery."

A couple of hours later, Doctor T and his team successfully removed Nicholas from the ventilator and removed the sedative that was keeping him unconscious.  The four teammates stayed close by, hardly daring to leave the room even long enough to take care of basic needs.  Each of them wanted to be there when Nicholas woke up.

*******

Shannon was sitting in the chair next to Nicholas when he suddenly made a sound like a cross between a whine and a shriek, and the steady beeping of his heart monitor became rapid and irregular.  Shannon reacted instantly. 

Remembering what the doctor had said about his condition, she laid a hand gently on his shoulder - so he'd be more likely to feel her touch - and placed her lips close to his ear.

"Nicholas," she began, her voice so soft that the others could barely hear it, as Max rushed to find Doctor T and the others came closer to his bed.

"Honey, it's Shannon.  Don't be scared.  You're in a hospital.  Right now, it's hard for you to see or move or talk, but you're getting better.  It's just going to take a little while."

Shannon looked up and smiled briefly at Grant and Jim.  "We're all here, baby.  Just relax."

Max returned with the doctor, who was carrying a cup of ice chips.  He glanced up at the monitor, and the others followed his gaze.  Nicholas' heart rate was returning to normal.  Doctor T smiled at Shannon.

"Nice job," he praised.

Shannon smiled back at him, then turned her attention back to Nicholas, who was moving his lips slightly and making a sound like "wa."

"His mouth is probably dry," Doctor T explained, handing her the ice chips.  "Give him some of these.  Carefully; we don't know yet if he's able to swallow."

Shannon carefully spooned a couple of ice cubes into her friend's mouth.  After a moment, the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly, as if he were trying to smile.

"Well, look at that," Shannon grinned, her voice full of affection.  "Doctor T is here to check you out, but I'll be right back when he's done, okay?"  She squeezed his shoulder gently, then moved out of the way so the doctor could examine Nicholas.

When he was finished, he lowered his stethoscope and smiled at the four teammates.

"Nicholas is making remarkable progress," he reported, as Shannon made her way back to the chair at his bedside.  "The pulse points in his neck and extremities are stronger, the facial swelling is going down nicely, and his lungs sound magnificent for someone who just came off a vent.

"I think it's safe to say that your friend is going to survive.  Healing will be slow - he'll probably regain his speech first, then his sight.  The paralysis will take more time to heal as the nerves have to travel farther to get to his extremities.  But in time, I expect that he will be able to go back to his normal life."

"How long do you think his recovery will be, Doctor?" Jim asked.  He didn't verbalize it, but everyone knew he was wondering when - or if - Nicholas would be able to return to the IMF.

"It's hard to say, exactly," Doctor T replied, sitting down in a nearby chair, "but I can give you a frame of reference.  I haven't seen many people exposed to this level of botulism toxin and survive.  The fact that he's still here is remarkable in itself.  Of the few that have survived, most spend weeks on the ventilator, and he was off in four days.

"We'll start the physical therapy on his extremities as soon as he regains enough speech to communicate.  It's grueling, and for most people it's months before they can even do the most basic self-care.  But if your friend approaches his therapy with the same spirit he's shown thus far, he'll be walking in a matter of weeks."

Jim nodded in satisfaction as the doctor bid the team goodbye and resumed his rounds.

Chapter 19

In the coming days, Shannon settled comfortably into her role as nursemaid.  The teammates took turns staying with Nicholas as he gradually regained his speech, but it was Shannon who was most attentive and quickest to identify what his needs were.

Finally, one week to the day after he'd been admitted to the hospital, Shannon was helping Nicholas take a sip of water when she heard, "Thank you, Shannon."

It wasn't his normal voice, exactly; his speech was slower, more deliberate, and some of the consonants still didn't sound quite right.  But to Shannon, it was absolutely beautiful.

"You're welcome, Nicholas," she beamed, as the others rushed over to his bedside.

"How are you feeling, pal?" Max asked anxiously.

"A lot better than I was," he answered slowly, for his lips still didn't quite work exactly right.  "Thank you all for taking care of me."

The four teammates smiled at one another, although Nicholas couldn't yet see them, then Shannon turned her attention back to their ailing friend.  As Jim and Max resumed their small talk, no one noticed how quickly Grant's smile faded as he turned to face the window.

*******

When Doctor T came to make his rounds that afternoon, he was very pleased at Nicholas' progress, especially when he took the time to carefully thank the doctor for his role in saving his life.

"You are quite welcome, my friend," he replied, patting Nicholas' shoulder gently.  "So, are you ready to start some physical therapy so we can get those arms and legs moving again?"

"I'm ready," responded Nicholas.

"I'm not going to lie," the doctor advised.  "It's going to hurt like hell."

"Let it hurt," Nicholas replied, and the doctor could see the corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile.  "No offense, Doctor, but I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Patience isn't his strong suit, huh?" Doctor T smirked, and Shannon cackled.

*******

Later that evening, a young physical therapist named Katie came into the room for Nicholas' first physical therapy session.  As the four teammates started to leave, Katie quickly insisted that they stay.

"As he gets stronger," she explained, "we will be taking him down to our therapy room.  But since he's just getting started, we'll be having it right here where he is."  She took a few steps toward the team and lowered her voice a bit.  "The first few times are always tough.  When he's done, he'll be glad you all are here."

Then the team watched as Katie began her work.  They marveled as she carefully maneuvered Nicholas' extremities, and smiled in appreciation as she softly explained to the still-sightless patient everything she was doing and stopped to gauge his well-being after every series of exercises.

By the time she was finished, as predicted, Nicholas was exhausted.  Katie patted his shoulder gently.  "You rest now, Mister Black.  I'll see you tomorrow."

By the time Katie left the room, Nicholas was already asleep.  It was Grant's turn to stay with him, so the other three said their goodbyes and left without waking their sleeping friend.
Then Grant was alone with his thoughts.

He began to pace the floor restlessly, his mind racing.  Yes, Nicholas was going to live.  Yes, eventually, he would be all right.  But at what cost?  Would the feeling in his extremities ever completely return?  Would he have to leave the IMF completely because of lingering fatigue, or weakness, or respiratory issues?

And, perhaps scariest of all, did Nicholas blame him for what had happened?

Nicholas hadn't said anything yet, but he probably wouldn't in front of the.others.  Grant hadn't been alone with Nicholas since his speech had improved to its current level of coherence.  If he was going to confront him, it would be tonight.

Chapter 20

By the time Nicholas woke up ninety minutes later, Grant had worked himself into a nervous frenzy.

"Who's here?" he asked, knowing it would be one of the team but not sure whose turn it was tonight.

"It's me, pal," Grant replied softly, reaching out to pat Nicholas' shoulder.

"Grant," Nicholas sighed, his body visibly relaxing and the corners of his mouth turning up into what Grant would swear was a wider smile than earlier. "I was hoping it was you."

"That so?" Grant said anxiously, anticipating what was coming and wishing he could just bolt out of the room.

"It sure is," Nicholas answered slowly.  "I never have thanked you properly for saving my life."

"Yeah," Grant responded in a whisper, not expecting Nicholas to hear him.  But Nicholas' hearing had sharpened considerably in recent days, and Grant's whisper did not go unheard.

"Grant," Nicholas said softly, "what's bothering you?"

"Nothing, Nicholas," he answered.

"Don't lie to me," he pleaded, his voice gentle.  "Ever since I woke up, you've been unusually quiet - you've hardly said a dozen words to me.  Have I done something wrong?"

Grant's heart came up in his throat. How could he have let Nicholas think he had done something wrong?

"No, buddy," he answered.  "I have.  And it's all right if you're angry with me.  I deserve it."

"Grant," Nicholas whispered, "could you please tell me what you're talking about?  I really don't understand."

Grant sighed heavily, and it was a few moments before he responded.  Nicholas waited patiently.  Finally, Grant spoke.
"What happened to you is my fault," he mumbled, and once he started speaking the words tumbled out.  "I knew that Wilson was looking for a test subject, and I let him grab you.  I should have figured out his plan, should have never left you alone.  You almost died because of me, Nicholas.  You have weeks and months of recovery ahead of you, and you may never fully heal.  You may never be able to run another mission, and it's all my fault.  I'm so sorry, Nicholas."

When he was done speaking, Nicholas sighed deeply and waited a long, anxious moment before responding.

"Are you finished?" he finally asked, his voice so quiet that Grant could barely hear him.

"Yeah, I'm finished," Grant replied, wiping unbidden tears from his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Good," Nicholas stated, "because I have some questions for you."

Grant braced himself.  "All right."

"Who used Wilson's wristwatch frequency to pinpoint our location?" he asked.  He had been listening earlier as Grant explained what had happened at the end of the mission; the team had thought he was asleep.

"That was a lucky break," Grant said dismissively, without thinking to ask how Nicholas knew about that.

Nicholas ignored him. 

"Who got hold of the antitoxin?" he persisted.

"My friend Phil-"

"But you made the call, Grant," he interrupted.  "And who convinced the emergency room doctor to even give me the treatment?"

"Phil's friend Tommy at the CDC."

"Like hell, Grant!"  Nicholas protested angrily, his voice louder than it had been since he'd gotten it back.  Grant heard the monitor beeping erratically and cast an uneasy eye upward.  Nicholas' heartbeat was all over the place.

Instantly sorry for upsetting his friend, Grant laid a hand on his shoulder.  "Easy, Nicholas," he soothed quietly.  "You've got to calm down, man. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack or something."

Nicholas took a deep breath and waited until the frenetic beeping settled down again.  Then he continued.

"You weren't the only one who knew Wilson's plans, Grant," he said quietly.   "I knew them, too, and I still let him trick me.  What happened is nobody's fault but mine.

"Grant," he continued, his words reflecting his desperation to absolve his friend of blame, "even without modifications, this toxin is deadly.  By all rights, I should never have survived.  But I'm here, because you saved me.  You saved me, you saved Cavanaugh, you put Wilson behind bars, and you stopped a bioterror attack.  When I needed you the most, you were there.  Can't you see that?"

Grant could not hold back the tears that coursed down his cheeks.  He'd been terrified that his friend would never forgive him.  But not only did Nicholas not blame him, he'd thanked him for saving his life.

"Thanks, pal," he said softly.

"Thank you, pal," Nicholas responded, as Grant squeezed his shoulder gently.

Chapter 21

The next morning, Jim, Max, and Shannon arrived at the hospital early, and Jim could tell that Grant and Nicholas had talked the previous evening.  Jim was pleased.  He'd hated watching Grant beat himself up over what had happened, and he knew that only Nicholas could take away that guilt.

Grant rose from his chair to greet Shannon with a soft hug, then stepped aside as Shannon leaned over to kiss Nicholas on the cheek.

"Good morning, honey," she said endearingly, then she smiled. "Your face doesn't look as swollen this morning."

Nicholas smiled.  "That's a beautiful shade of lavender you're wearing, Shannon," he said softly.

It took a moment for his words to sink in.  When they did, she shot a look at Grant, who winked at her, a wide grin on his face.

"You can see?" she cried incredulously, looking closer, and for the first time she noticed that the swelling in his eyelids had lessened to the point that his pupils were visible.

"My vision is still blurry at times, but, yes, it's coming back," he affirmed.

"That's wonderful, Nicholas!"  Shannon said joyfully, and the others broke into wide grins.

"Now if I can just get my arms and legs back," he mumbled.

"Patience, partner," grinned Grant.

"Yeah, besides, your sexy physical therapist will be here soon to put you through your paces," Max quipped.

"She's way too young for you, Max," chided Nicholas.

"How do you know?" teased Max.

"She sounds young," Nicholas answered with feigned authority.  After a pause, he chuckled playfully, having missed the friendly banter.  "Besides, she told me she's twenty-four."

"One date and you already know how old she is?" Max smiled.  "Impressive.  Wait till you see her, pal.  She's a beauty."

Jim smiled quietly at his four friends from across the room.  They were beginning to act like a team once again.

*******

As Nicholas' health continued to improve, he'd gently reminded his friends that it wasn't necessary for all of them to spend so much time at the hospital.  He still was not able to move his arms or legs, so he needed someone there to help him with basic tasks, but for the most part his friends came one, sometimes two, at a time.   Grant had even come with his friend Phil and Tommy from the CDC, both of whom were blown away at Nicholas' progress and modestly accepted his words of thanks.

One particular day, it was Shannon's turn to visit.  As she and Nicholas made small talk, he said something that made her laugh and she absently laid her hand on his hand.

Suddenly, Shannon felt a whisper of movement across her fingers.  She gasped and looked down at her hand.  To her delight, she could see Nicholas' fingers twitching against her own.

No words were necessary.  She looked into Nicholas' eyes, which now held almost no trace of the swelling that had blinded him, and the tears that shone there mirrored her own. The final stage of his recovery had begun.  Nicholas was going to be all right, after all.

*******

After thirty-four days in the hospital, Doctor T and the team felt that Nicholas' recovery was complete enough to move him to a rehabilitation facility to continue physical therapy on his extremities.  He would remain there until enough feeling had returned for him to function independently.  It would be a long, difficult process, but Nicholas approached each session with gutsy determination.

At Nicholas' insistence, his four teammates had returned to IMF business, though not as a team.  They did not feel like a complete unit without him and would not operate that way, but occasionally a member or two would be called up to lend their particular skills to another mission.  They continued to visit regularly when they were able to do so.

One day, about two months into his stay at the rehab center, all four of his friends came to see him.  Instinctively, Nicholas knew that  something important was going on; they hadn't visited him all together in weeks.

"What's going on, Jim?"  he asked.  "Not that I'm not thrilled to see all of you, but I know there's a reason you're all here together."

Jim sighed.  "The district attorney cut a deal with Oscar Wilson on the treason and terrorism charges, in exchange for his testimony against Fraser," he began.  "But the grand jury also indicted him for attempted murder, and it's going to trial."

"Which means I have to testify," Nicholas reasoned.  "That's unprecedented."

"It is," conceded Jim, "but so was his attack on you.  And, of course, you'll be testifying from your role as professor at Cavanaugh and not as an IMF agent."  He paused.  "So you'll do it?"

Nicholas hesitated.  On one hand, he almost felt sorry for Wilson.  In many ways,  he'd merely been Fraser's puppet.  On the other hand, the lack of remorse for what he'd put Nicholas through, and how he'd taken advantage of their fledgling friendship - even though that friendship had been part of his assignment - shook Nicholas to the core.  This was not a man he ever wanted to see back in society again.

When Nicholas looked back at Jim, his eyes flashed fire.  "When's the trial?"

"Mid-September."  Two months away.

"I'll not only testify," Nicholas vowed, "but I'll walk to the witness stand."

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Over the next two months, the spirit of determination that had spurred Nicholas onward in his therapy only intensified, and a week before Wilson's trial was set to begin, he was released from the rehabilitation center.

On the first day of the trial, the district attorney gave a brief summary of Nicholas' ordeal in his opening arguments, piquing the curiosity of the spectators who had gathered to watch.  Then, there was silence in the courtroom as Nicholas made his way to the witness stand.

Everyone watched as he walked slowly down the aisle, his steps deliberate, leaning on the cane he clutched in his right hand.  The audience was riveted as Nicholas recounted his five-month journey - how he'd befriended Oscar Wilson and then been tricked by him; how he'd felt each symptom take hold of his body and been convinced he was going to die; his long, painful struggle to regain his senses; the grueling hours of physical therapy he needed to walk again; and the fatigue and weakness that remained with him even now.

The district attorney masterfully guided Nicholas' testimony, which took two full days - days in which the judge mercifully ordered extended lunch periods and early dismissals out of respect for Nicholas' condition.

When it was over, and Nicholas slowly made his way back to where his four friends were sitting in quiet support, he took one last, lingering look at Oscar Wilson.  Nicholas smirked in satisfaction.  He could tell from the look on Wilson's face that he'd never expected Nicholas to survive.  That in itself felt like a victory.

The second victory came two days later, when the jury took less than two hours to convict Oscar Wilson of premeditated attempted murder.  The judge, moved by Nicholas' ordeal, wasted no time handing down the maximum sentence he was allowed to - life in prison, with no chance of parole.  The five teammates celebrated with hugs all around.

*******

Another month went by.  Nicholas continued his physical therapy on an outpatient basis, and he was finally able to throw down his cane.  He wasn't completely back to where he'd been before, but anyone who didn't know him then would have had a tough time noticing what was different.

One Saturday morning, Jim was fixing coffee at his condo when he heard a knock at the door.

"Nicholas!  What a nice surprise!" he greeted, stepping back to let his friend enter.  "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, Jim," he responded.  "Really good."

"Coffee?"  Jim offered.  "I just perked some."

"Sounds great.  Thank you."

As Nicholas prepared his drink, Jim took a long look at his friend.   Nicholas did, indeed, look well.  He no longer looked gaunt, having returned to his previous weight.  His brown eyes sparkled, and his features held no trace of the swelling that the neurotoxin had caused.  His speech was back to normal speed and pitch.  He now walked without the use of a cane, and even though his gait was a bit slower than it had been before, there was no trace of a limp.

As Nicholas sat down in a chair facing his mentor, Jim set down his coffee and gazed at the younger man.  "Something tells me you aren't just here for the coffee," he began.

Nicholas smiled briefly, then he turned serious.  "I want to come back to the IMF, Jim," he said quietly, "to rejoin my team."

Jim's brow furrowed.  "Nicholas, you know how demanding this job is.  The doctor said your weakness and fatigue may never go away.  I'm not sure you can handle it."

"It's been six months, Jim," he protested, his voice elevated slightly though he wasn't angry.  "For six months I've worked like hell, because all I could think about was coming back to running missions with you guys.  With my friends."

Nicholas locked eyes with his teammate.  "I can handle it, Jim.  I push myself farther and farther each day, and I hardly even get weak or tired anymore.  Tell me what I have to do to prove that to you.  See a doctor, take a test, do a physical challenge... whatever it takes.  I'll do it."

Jim paused before answering, and then the stern look on his face faded into a warm smile.  "Actually, Nicholas, you don't have to do anything.  I've already talked to your doctor and your physical therapist.  Both of them have been amazed by your progress, and have already told me that physically you have no more limitations.

"But, Nicholas, the emotional experience you went through was probably just as intense as the physical, if not moreso.  They asked me to hold back, to not push you into anything, that you'd let me know when you were ready to come back.  That's why I haven't mentioned it; I was just waiting for you."

Jim held out his right hand, and Nicholas grasped it instantly.  His handshake was nice and firm, and Jim smiled in satisfaction.

"It's good to have you back, partner."

The End

(c) 2016

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