Fic: Raiders of the Lost ARC (Primeval/Sherlock/Torchwood, PG-13) (3/3)
Title: Raiders of the Lost ARC.
Author: Prochytes.
Fandom: Primeval/Sherlock/Torchwood.
Rating: PG-13. Angst and violence.
Characters/Pairing: James Lester, Jess Parker (Primeval); John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes (Sherlock); Gwen Cooper (Torchwood).
Disclaimer: Not mine, any of it.
Summary: How a king won back his kingdom, with two temps, one techie, and a package.
Word Count: 11 459.
A/N: Spoilers for Primeval to 4x01, Sherlock to 2x03 “The Reichenbach Fall”, and Torchwood to the end of S4. For the purposes of this fic, S4 and subsequent seasons of Primeval happen in the near future. Thanks to arachnekallisti for some valuable suggestions.
Interlude - The Empty Cradle.
On the eighth day, God discovered that He had over-budgeted on mud. He saw the surplus, that it was good, and He called it: “Wales”.
Good Welsh mud caked Lester’s trousers. Through the window he could hear the sea grumbling in that passive-aggressive way that Nature does when you aren’t keeping an active eye on her. He leaned forward in his chair, taking care not to look to his right.
“Your house is nice.”
“Thank you. I used to have one further up the coast, but it exploded.”
“Explosions. You have my sympathies. I bet that the insurers kicked up a fuss.”
“Why are you here, James Lester?”
“Hasn’t our mutual friend already told you?”
At least one other person was in the house. Lester could track the deft but heavy tread by the creaks above. There was also, of course, the evidence at his right elbow, which he was still scrupulously failing to notice.
“I don’t know what he said to you about my... consultancy. I’ve done a lot for him to keep me and mine invisible. But I’m not his creature. I retain the right of veto on what I do. Did he mention that?”
“He mentioned a lot of things,” said Lester, recalling some of them to mind (“Don’t let the Under Milk Wood ambience guile you: she won’t be more than three feet from a weapon. You should also be aware, James, that the woman you are meeting has had some unfortunate experiences involving representatives of Her Majesty’s Government and children. She will undoubtedly set you some kind of test. It won’t be hard to spot; she isn’t subtle. But if you fail.... well... she lives on the coast, and the sea’s not scheduled to yield up its dead before Judgment Day.”).
“So, then. Why should I help you?” The big eyes looked shuttered and hostile.
(“But I’m still quite confident about your chances, James. She suffers from much the same affliction as yourself.”)
Lester took a breath. “I’m reaching into my pocket. Is that acceptable?”
“Go ahead.”
Lester fished out a sheaf of photos. He began to lay them out on the coffee table. “This one,” he pointed, “shows the aftermath of a velociraptor attack. This one here was down to things from the future. They don’t have names. But, as you can see from the wounds on the bodies, they do have claws. The people in this one fell foul of a Smilodon. Huge thing: looks a bit like the tiger in those commercials for Frosties. Not exactly sparkling conversationalists. But when it comes to killing and maiming, they’re grrrrrrrrrreat.”
Her head was bowed over the images. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that if you don’t help me take back what I’ve lost, the world will be seeing a lot more cradles as empty as this one.” He reached out to his right and gave the cradle a nudge.
The person moving about upstairs had stopped. Lester thought he heard a contented gurgle.
“You’re a bastard,” she said.
“Yes. A bastard trying to save the world on a budget. I haven’t been told much about your past, but I seriously doubt I’m the first one of those you’ve met. Are you in?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m in.”
“Thank you, Ms....?
“Pallister. Yvonne Pallister.”
“That’s clearly a lie. But I’m sure I’ll think of something else to call you.”
5. The Lion in Winter.
“James? Can you hear me? James?”
Ms. Wales was hissing at him with unnecessary venom. Of course he could hear her. It wasn’t as though she had any trouble projecting. That was probably a Welsh thing, like.... like whatshisname. The one in the Goons, who did Songs of Praise. Bentine? No - the other one. Not short of a pair of lungs, whoever he was. Lester tried to stand up. The endeavour proved obscurely hard.
He looked down, and saw the dart protruding from his side. Ms. Wales wasn’t the only one toting unnecessary venom. Lester sighed.
“This,” he told the ceiling, “is why heroism is best left to the non-suit-wearing classes.”
And then he collapsed back on the floor.
John Watson in his ear: “What’s happening?”
Ms. Wales: “There was some kind of bloody crossbow trap in the room. Entirely mechanical - that’s why Jess’s gizmo didn’t pick it up. We tripped it before we saw it. James put himself between the bolt and me. You stupid, stupid bastard, James. You’re paying me to take the bullets.”
He found his voice again. “As we’ve established, Ms. Wales, I ‘m not really paying you very much. Oh my word...”
“James?”
“It’s like I’m burning...”
“How does he look?” John again. “Describe the visible symptoms. Now.”
“Loss of muscle control, disorientation. There’s a net of dark red lines starting across his skin.”
“This happened almost as soon as the dart hit?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ. They really do have everything here. What you’re seeing is called the Lion’s Mane. It’s a synthetic toxin, derived from the venoms of about three different species of jellyfish. From your description, James is in Stage One.”
“How many stages are there?”
“Not enough for me to get there in time. What do we have?”
“I’m sorry?”
“In the room. What do we have?”
“Umm.... I see a desk, a wardrobe, a drinks cabinet...”
“A drinks cabinet? Thank God.”
“Time and a place for a swift one, John. This isn’t it.”
“Find the biggest bottle of spirits you can, and get him to neck it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve encountered this toxin before. Strong drink’s the only thing that kills it.”
“John, if you’d seen what happened the last time I delivered first aid like Bernie the Bolt, you wouldn’t sound so confident...”
“Did anyone die?”
“No, but...”
“Well, then. You know my methods. Apply them.”
Some movement at the corners of Lester’s swimming vision, then the cold ring of a bottle neck against his lips.
“You heard the doctor, James. Get this down you.”
He swallowed, and almost gagged.
“Dear God, woman, this is neat vodka.”
“And there I was thinking you worked in Whitehall. You’re a senior civil servant, James. No one gets to be that without a liver the size of Kent. Swallow.”
“How does he look now?” asked John.
“Much better. The network of red lines is already fading.”
“Good. Make him drink as much as he can without throwing up or poisoning himself, but he should be OK. We’ll head over once we’ve finished here.”
“Understood.”
Lester had managed to prop his back against a wall. The Welshwoman handed him the bottle. “That was very brave, James. Stupid, but brave. What got into you? I thought that ‘stupid, but brave’ was what you hired me for.”
He closed his eyes. This was not a subject he had ever planned to broach. But James Lester was poisoned, and already more than a little drunk, and still couldn’t remember the name of that confounded Goon. The words were out before he could stop them.
“I let them down, Ms. Wales. I let my people down. Abby, Connor, Danny... They’re lost in time, and I can’t reach them. I was supposed to...” his nose wrinkled, “I was supposed to ’have their backs’. Vulgar American idiom. Makes it sound like you’re in a butcher’s. ‘I’ll have some of your best back bacon, please, and throw in a couple of sausages while you’re at it.’” He took another swig from the bottle. “But it’s true. They should have been able to rely on me to protect them. I didn’t. When I tried to get them back, I killed poor Sarah doing it. And now there’s nothing - nothing at all. I lost my team, and the world’s defenceless. Because that’s the thing, you see? The animals don’t come in two-by-two unless you have an ARC where you can keep them.”
“You’ll get it back. You’ll get them back. Thank you for saving me, James.”
“And thank you for saving me, Ms. Wales.”
“John would have done a better job.”
“You made an admirable proxy. Not as good as the doctor, but at least you’re here.”
She smiled. “That’s pretty much my job description. Now, back to business. What’s odd about this room?”
“The fact that it’s entirely devoid of interest?”
“Exactly. No computer, no files... What is there in this room that’s worth a booby-trap?”
“Wardrobe?”
“Wardrobe.”
“Um. Are you the good guys?” said a rather muffled voice. From the wardrobe.
The Welshwoman’s eyebrows lifted. “We do our best.”
“That’s... sort of reassuring, I suppose.”
The door to the wardrobe creaked open. A shortish woman in her mid thirties gingerly emerged. Shoulder-length, curly brown hair framed an oval face, with an ugly-looking gash at the temple. She rubbed her wrists as she advanced. “They tied me up. I’d only just worked myself free when I heard you moving. Are you the police?”
“More what you might call specialists,” Lester said.
“Have they gone?” The woman bit her lip. “Has it started?”
Lester looked at her quizzically “Has what started?”
“The Process. That was why they needed me, you see. Because of what happened in Borneo.”
“Just a moment, love.” The Welshwoman touched her earpiece. “John? We have a hostage.”
The woman blanched. Ms. Wales smiled at her reassuringly. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. We’ve found a hostage. Do you think we should... Oh. Right. Good point.” She turned back to the curly-haired woman. “Do you mind if I take a look at your arms, Ms...?”
“Rann.” The woman held her arms out obediently. “And it’s Dr. Rann, actually.”
The Welshwoman ran her eyes up and down the smooth skin of the other woman’s wrists and forearms before nodding. “You’re clean. No marks of injection. That’s a relief. My friend on the other end is a doctor as well, you see. He pointed out that your captors seem to have a bit of a thing for bio-warfare. Wouldn’t want to discover they’d injected you with something unpleasant. Although you’ll be relieved to hear that, whatever some directors think, chest-bursters are actually quite rare.”
Dr. Rann’s eyes were wide.
“You’re a bit out of practice at this reassuring lark, aren’t you?” said Lester.
The Welshwoman shot him a glare. “Now, Dr. Rann....”
“Call me ’Maureen’, please.”
“... Maureen, what were you saying about Borneo?”
“I’m a travel writer. Maybe you’ve read my stuff? Three Months in the Jungle? I was trekking when I found their other installation. Um. Is your friend in the suit alright?”
“Fighting fit,” said Lester, who prided himself that he was swaying only somewhat.
The Welshwoman sighed. “Let’s get you to a chair, shall we?” She carefully deposited her gun on the carpet, and wrapped her arms around Lester’s midriff until she could manhandle him to the seat behind the desk. “There. Good as...”
John in her ear again: “We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Six men have just walked into the store-room. They’re all armed. It looks as though they’re searching for intruders.”
“Any other exits?”
“None we found. We’re trapped.”
“Jesus Christ.” The Welshwoman sucked her teeth. “We’re in trouble.”
“Yes,” the curly-haired woman said cheerily. She scooped up the Welshwoman’s gun, and raised it to cover its owner and Lester. “I rather think you are.”
6. The Most Dangerous Game.
“Nice piece. Not a make with which I’m familiar. I prefer rifles myself. But beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Give me back my gun,” the Welshwoman said, in a level, quiet voice, “and walk away.”
Rann smiled. “Do you honestly expect that to work?”
“No. But remember later that I said it.”
“I’m going out on a limb,” said Lester, “and guessing that you aren’t, in fact, a travel writer.”
“Actually, I am. Everyone needs a hobby. But before I was a writer, I was a soldier. And I am a very, very good shot.”
Lester cocked his head to one side. “Good enough to shoot two bullets at once?”
Rann snorted. “You can barely stand. The Lion’s Mane takes it out of you, doesn’t it? And even if you could, that isn’t your m. o., James Lester. You wrangle monsters to do your fighting for you. That’s why you brought her.”
“I do believe she’s being defamatory, Ms. Wales.”
“‘Ms. Wales’?” Rann laughed aloud, as she looked at the Welshwoman. “He doesn’t even know who you are, does he?”
“That makes two of you, then.” The Welshwoman’s voice remained quiet and even. “You may know my name, sweetheart. But if you knew who I am, you’d have taken my offer.”
“Spare me. You people were a joke. A wheezing relic of Victoriana that no one could be arsed to put out of its misery. You were about as scary as the Proms. And that was while you were still approximately a someone. Wake up and smell the dog-shit, cariad. This is 2012. The Hub is history; the ARC is theology; and Baker Street is a track which didn’t have Bob Holness on solo sax. No more heroes anymore.”
“And you’re just itching to fill the gap.” The Welshwoman continued to hold her gaze. “So, what’s the deal, Mo? Whose bitch are you? Van Statten’s? No - word is he’s a busted flush. The Three Families’? No. This ridiculous honey-trap you set for us isn’t quite their style.”
“I like to think of this more as a big game hunt.”
“I’m sure you do. Not many big cats, where I come from. Tiger Bay’s a bit of a false lead. But it had to be clever, didn’t it? You had to prove you were smarter than us. And that’s a failing from John’s world, not mine. You used to work for Jim Moriarty, didn’t you? Can’t have been easy, lately. I heard that Lucky Jim ate his gun on the roof of Bart’s. Didn’t you hear that, James?”
“I did. Best thing that’s happened to a London hospital since the royalties from Peter Pan.”
“And now whole cantons of his organization are falling apart. That must be killing you, Mo. Hard to fight a dead man, isn’t it?”
“Easier than you think. Because now I’ve done what your clowns never managed. I’ve caught the doctor.”
Lester folded his hands under his chin. “Confident of that, are you?”
“Do you play cards, James Lester? I do.”
“I bet you cheat.”
“My cards are my six boys, armed to the teeth. They’re picking up John Watson and Team Wales’ latest mayfly techie as we speak.”
“Really? My cards are a very brave girl, the most dangerous woman west of the Pennines, and John Watson.” Lester leaned backwards in his chair. “I like my hand more than yours.”
***
Jess’s mouth was parched, and her fingers were clammy, and she was seeing the gizmo in her hands with an unfamiliar clarity. She was noting that its surface was pitted and scarred, and scorched at one corner as though it had been through a fire. She was recalling that all the references the Welshwoman had made to her brilliant friend who had built it had been conspicuous for their use of the past tense. She was shaking.
“Jess?” John’s voice was quiet in her ear, as they huddled together behind a crate. The men with guns were still standing just inside the doorway to the chamber. “I need you to focus.”
“There are six of them...”
“Yes. And if you help me, I can take them. I need you to wave that magic wand and conjure me a distraction. A couple of seconds is all I need.”
“That’s impossible...”
“I used to believe in ‘impossible’, Jess. Then I met a man who could see everything about me in my BlackBerry. I can do this. And so can you.”
Jess set her lips. “Count of three?”
“Good girl.”
Jess counted down from three, and then set off the fire alarm beside the door. The men turned to look; a shot rang out; and John stood up from behind the crates.
“Hello, gents. I’m Captain John Watson, of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Now, be good little boys, and run away.”
The six men stared. Their eyes widened. Jess gaped as they dropped their guns, and fell over each other scrambling through the door.
“Umm..... What just happened there?”
“We don’t really have time for this, Jess.”
“You frightened them into running away just by telling them who you are?”
“Not exactly. Now, take a good, deep lungful of air, and don’t let it out until we’re through those doors. We should get to that office before someone dies.”
“Of course. James and your friend need us.”
“What? Oh. Yes. That as well.”
***
“What do you think, Ms. Wales?” Lester wiped his brow. “Have we heard enough?”
“We have, James. Time to wrap this up.”
Rann’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you mind if I take my jacket off?” the Welshwoman asked.
The other woman raised the gun. “The jacket stays.”
“I was just being polite, I’m afraid. The jacket’s coming off whatever you want. Because the South of England charges a fortune for dry-cleaning...”
Rann squeezed the trigger. She looked puzzled.
“... and you’re holding a gun with an isomorphic grip.” The Welshwoman slipped her jacket off her shoulders. “Hope you didn’t spend too many hours in that wardrobe, waiting for us to show. Your ‘fake hostage’ routine was semi-O.K.. Not very likely that you’d work yourself free just before we arrived, but beating yourself up a bit was a nice touch. The real problem was the arms. That was the reason I was checking your wrists. As the good doctor pointed out on our comms, it’s hard to wriggle out of restraints without getting rope-burns. After that, I just had to work out how to give you my gun. Because, well, I’m sure that James can put it better than me...”
“... people get much chattier, much quicker, when they think they’ve won.” Lester craned to look out of the window.
Rann’s eyes darted. “I still have my men.”
“Actually, you don’t.” Lester squinted against the setting sun. “I can see them from here, heading for the hills.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Yes. This is my poker face. Grey and sweaty. It’s not an act I plan to take to Vegas. I think that one of them’s soiled himself, actually. You just can’t get the staff these days.”
“Your boys are running.” The Welshwoman dropped her jacket on the desk. “Can’t say I blame them, with John to face. There’s a saying, you know. ‘Demons run when a good man goes to war.’ But me... well... I’m not a man, and I forgot how to be good so long ago.” She rolled up a sleeve with practised fingers. “I like the demons to stay within arm’s reach.”
Rann was backing away. “It doesn’t have to go like this.”
“It really does.” The Welshwoman started on the other sleeve. “The smart play would have been to jump you quickly, once you’d spilled your tawdry secrets. But then... then you had to go and insult my dead friends. That’s when you convinced me to take my time.”
“I think I may be having another dizzy spell, Ms. Wales.”
“Don’t worry, James.” The Welshwoman smiled. “One-on-one is only fair. So, Mo. Shall we dance?”
Interlude - The Empty Man.
“I like your office.” Lester watched moisture convene around the concrete pillars. He was fairly sure that he could hear rats squeaking. “Very open-plan.”
“How have you been, James?” The smile was mirthless. Lester didn’t think it had another setting.
“Enjoying myself. Gardening leave is very tranquil.”
“I see. Then why have you started keeping a firearm under your pillow?”
“Big greenfly. Vicious.” Lester clapped his arms around his shoulders. “Now we’ve got the banter out of the way, can you help me with my problem?”
“You must understand, James, that I cannot be seen to intercede directly. Particularly in light of our long acquaintance.”
Lester thought back to the ugly, crowded house in Hampstead. The mother had been a pretty woman, with a perpetually harried expression that was only too explicable in retrospect. He thought of the hours spent notionally babysitting the podgy, solemn boy who already had a larger vocabulary than his own, and the scowling toddler who sat in a corner building, as far as the teenaged James Lester could tell, five Rubik’s Cubes into a bigger one.
Lester wondered whether it would help to recall this. Almost certainly not. Sentiment did not convey advantage. And Lester had never seen convincing evidence that his interlocutor was, in fact, capable of forgetting anything.
“You must also bear in mind that my influence, while substantial, is not unbounded. HMG sometimes sees fit to ignore my advice. The consequences are usually regrettable. The Miracle. The 456.” He inspected the tip of his umbrella critically. “But they never learn.”
“I’m heart-broken.”
“Yes. I rather think you are. You care, James. Such a terrible affliction for any administrator.” He leaned on his umbrella. “I can put you in touch with some floating operatives. What you do with them thereafter is up to you. When your kingdom is restored, I shall expect a favour.”
“Thank you.”
“And James? Try not to be too... theatrical with what you’re planning. It wouldn’t do for innocent people to get hurt in your amateur dramatics.”
“Understood.”
“But a couple of M. P.s should be fine.”
7. The Package.
“I still don’t see how you did that.”
“There’s your problem, Jess.” John scoped out a corridor, and motioned her forward. “You see. But you do not observe.”
“You only fired one shot. And it’s not as though you hit any of them.”
“I hit what I was aiming at. I often do.”
“Wait a minute... Those canisters by the door.” Jess’s expression cleared. “You recognized them, didn’t you? The ones with a red goat’s leg on the side. And you wanted me to hold my breath.... Ah. What was in them?”
“Not a goat’s leg, Jess. The Devil’s Foot. A while back, I helped uncover work into a fear gas. Later on, we found out people had started playing with the formula. The revamped version is called the Devil’s Foot. I’m surprised that most of those boys managed to retain bladder control.”
“Weren’t you scared that they would just open fire when the gas hit?”
“A bit. That was why I made sure I was the target and not you. Now, we need to find the office...”
***
When Lester’s dizziness had passed, he opened his eyes again, and looked at the room. The Welshwoman was sitting on the floor. She sported a split lip and a tumescent eye, but her expression was calm.
Maureen Rann was huddled on the carpet beside her. Lester cleared his throat.
“Is she...?”
“Dead? No. Won’t be waking up for a while, though.” The Welshwoman stretched her back, and winced. “Jimbo had a good eye for a lieutenant. She might have been thick as shit, but she was tough.”
“Not tough enough, it seems.”
“No. Not tough enough.” The Welshwoman rested her arms on her legs.“The first man I killed came at me with a knife. He had no idea what he was doing, and I had less. That’s the thing about knives, you see. People think they’re easy, but they’re not. If you get the angle of entry wrong, you can feel all the textures inside that make us human, jolting up your arm.” She hugged her knees. “You asked me back at the bolthole whether I was always the woman I am now. “
“I did.”
“And I didn’t give you an answer. The truth is: I wasn’t. But I don’t think that the woman I was would like me. I think, if I’m honest, she’d be afraid of me.” The Welshwoman looked up. “You’ll take care of Jess when this is over?”
Lester looked at her levelly. “I will. Thank you again, Ms. Wales.”
“Gwen, James. My name is Gwen.”
***
“Did we make sure that bloody Rann woman wasn’t Helen Cutter?”
“Yes, James,” John, again, was taking point, “she definitely wasn’t Helen Cutter. Whoever that was. I think that your cocktail of venom and vodka might be getting to you a bit.”
“But are we certain that she wasn’t Helen Cutter?”
“Didn’t you say this Cutter woman was dead?”
“Somewhere she is. It wouldn’t necessarily stop her from popping up now. That’s the problem with time-travelling megalomaniacs. You find that your crises keep precurring.”
“Well, Cutter or not, she’s tied up tight. There’s enough evidence in this complex to put her away for a good long time. We’ll ’phone in a tip once we’re done here.”
“How long will the fear gas keep her flunkies out of action?”
“About a day.”
“A day?”
“Yes. Like I said, it’s nasty stuff.”
“Good. That should give us time to move the package.”
“Are we sure there is a package?” asked Jess.
John peered around a corner. His mouth went slack.
“Oh yes,” he said. “There’s definitely a package.”
***
It was the largest living thing that Jess had ever seen. The thought that this wall of scales and flesh was a single creature gave her vertigo. An eye blinked sleepily back as she looked at it.
“I’m thinking,” said John, “that it might not be viable to sneak her out in the boot. Were you expecting one of the big ones?”
“Not as big as this. I think they must have found her when she was smaller. At least they seem to have had automated feeding installed. And she looks peaceful.”
“She’s a stegosaurus,” said the Welshwoman. “They’re herbivores. She’s probably quite placid unless she’s spooked. And it’s likely they had her doped up to the eyeballs.”
“What do you think they were planning to do with her?” asked Jess.
“Sell to a collector. Harvest the DNA. Those are the pretty options.” The Welshwoman shivered. “Believe me, Jess. Humanity has an almost infinite capacity to fuck with marvels.”
John scratched his head. “You’re the Man with the Plan, James. What’s next?”
Lester adjusted his tie. “Here’s what we do...”
***
It was three months before Jess saw James Lester again. She had been expecting contact of some sort or another. But lunch at his favourite restaurant was a pleasant surprise.
“Before you ask,” he said, as he consulted the wine list, “no dinosaurs were harmed in the making of that picture. Ms. Wales would have skinned me alive if that had happened.”
Jess looked at him quizzically as she reached for the bread. “Are you sure? A friend who works in Whitehall told me the stories that were going round.”
“I may have laid a hand to the rumour-mill. She didn’t actually rampage through the Members Bar. Getting her that close to the House of Commons was tricky enough. But you’d be amazed what can be achieved with two ninjas, a Class Five perception filter, and gigantic quantities of Ms. Wales’ patent amnesia pills.” He put down the list and started looking for a waiter. “She was actually grazing on a tree when we allowed her to be discovered. And now she’s safe and sound in the new ARC.”
“That was what you were planning all along? Faking an incident, just to get back your facility?”
“Oh yes. Snaring a dangerous criminal as well was just the icing on the cake. But I didn’t invite you here simply to preen.” Lester buttered some bread himself. “Would you like a job at my new ARC, Jess Parker?”
“A job?”
“Yes. Try to maintain a fiction that we’re meeting for the first time if you take it, though. As you can imagine, I’d like to keep our little adventure under wraps.”
“Don’t you already have your team?”
“John and Ms. Wales were temps, I’m afraid. Ms. Wales went back to her demanding infant; John went back to his. And your skill-set has a value all of its own.”
Jess blushed.
“You’ll also be pleased to hear I have proper soldiers again. You really should meet Captain Becker. I think you two would get on like a house on fire.”
“Becker? Like the tennis-player?” Jess frowned. “I never really liked him.”
“I think,” said Lester, as he caught the waiter’s eye, “that you may be pleasantly surprised.”
FINIS
Author: Prochytes.
Fandom: Primeval/Sherlock/Torchwood.
Rating: PG-13. Angst and violence.
Characters/Pairing: James Lester, Jess Parker (Primeval); John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes (Sherlock); Gwen Cooper (Torchwood).
Disclaimer: Not mine, any of it.
Summary: How a king won back his kingdom, with two temps, one techie, and a package.
Word Count: 11 459.
A/N: Spoilers for Primeval to 4x01, Sherlock to 2x03 “The Reichenbach Fall”, and Torchwood to the end of S4. For the purposes of this fic, S4 and subsequent seasons of Primeval happen in the near future. Thanks to arachnekallisti for some valuable suggestions.
Interlude - The Empty Cradle.
On the eighth day, God discovered that He had over-budgeted on mud. He saw the surplus, that it was good, and He called it: “Wales”.
Good Welsh mud caked Lester’s trousers. Through the window he could hear the sea grumbling in that passive-aggressive way that Nature does when you aren’t keeping an active eye on her. He leaned forward in his chair, taking care not to look to his right.
“Your house is nice.”
“Thank you. I used to have one further up the coast, but it exploded.”
“Explosions. You have my sympathies. I bet that the insurers kicked up a fuss.”
“Why are you here, James Lester?”
“Hasn’t our mutual friend already told you?”
At least one other person was in the house. Lester could track the deft but heavy tread by the creaks above. There was also, of course, the evidence at his right elbow, which he was still scrupulously failing to notice.
“I don’t know what he said to you about my... consultancy. I’ve done a lot for him to keep me and mine invisible. But I’m not his creature. I retain the right of veto on what I do. Did he mention that?”
“He mentioned a lot of things,” said Lester, recalling some of them to mind (“Don’t let the Under Milk Wood ambience guile you: she won’t be more than three feet from a weapon. You should also be aware, James, that the woman you are meeting has had some unfortunate experiences involving representatives of Her Majesty’s Government and children. She will undoubtedly set you some kind of test. It won’t be hard to spot; she isn’t subtle. But if you fail.... well... she lives on the coast, and the sea’s not scheduled to yield up its dead before Judgment Day.”).
“So, then. Why should I help you?” The big eyes looked shuttered and hostile.
(“But I’m still quite confident about your chances, James. She suffers from much the same affliction as yourself.”)
Lester took a breath. “I’m reaching into my pocket. Is that acceptable?”
“Go ahead.”
Lester fished out a sheaf of photos. He began to lay them out on the coffee table. “This one,” he pointed, “shows the aftermath of a velociraptor attack. This one here was down to things from the future. They don’t have names. But, as you can see from the wounds on the bodies, they do have claws. The people in this one fell foul of a Smilodon. Huge thing: looks a bit like the tiger in those commercials for Frosties. Not exactly sparkling conversationalists. But when it comes to killing and maiming, they’re grrrrrrrrrreat.”
Her head was bowed over the images. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that if you don’t help me take back what I’ve lost, the world will be seeing a lot more cradles as empty as this one.” He reached out to his right and gave the cradle a nudge.
The person moving about upstairs had stopped. Lester thought he heard a contented gurgle.
“You’re a bastard,” she said.
“Yes. A bastard trying to save the world on a budget. I haven’t been told much about your past, but I seriously doubt I’m the first one of those you’ve met. Are you in?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m in.”
“Thank you, Ms....?
“Pallister. Yvonne Pallister.”
“That’s clearly a lie. But I’m sure I’ll think of something else to call you.”
5. The Lion in Winter.
“James? Can you hear me? James?”
Ms. Wales was hissing at him with unnecessary venom. Of course he could hear her. It wasn’t as though she had any trouble projecting. That was probably a Welsh thing, like.... like whatshisname. The one in the Goons, who did Songs of Praise. Bentine? No - the other one. Not short of a pair of lungs, whoever he was. Lester tried to stand up. The endeavour proved obscurely hard.
He looked down, and saw the dart protruding from his side. Ms. Wales wasn’t the only one toting unnecessary venom. Lester sighed.
“This,” he told the ceiling, “is why heroism is best left to the non-suit-wearing classes.”
And then he collapsed back on the floor.
John Watson in his ear: “What’s happening?”
Ms. Wales: “There was some kind of bloody crossbow trap in the room. Entirely mechanical - that’s why Jess’s gizmo didn’t pick it up. We tripped it before we saw it. James put himself between the bolt and me. You stupid, stupid bastard, James. You’re paying me to take the bullets.”
He found his voice again. “As we’ve established, Ms. Wales, I ‘m not really paying you very much. Oh my word...”
“James?”
“It’s like I’m burning...”
“How does he look?” John again. “Describe the visible symptoms. Now.”
“Loss of muscle control, disorientation. There’s a net of dark red lines starting across his skin.”
“This happened almost as soon as the dart hit?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ. They really do have everything here. What you’re seeing is called the Lion’s Mane. It’s a synthetic toxin, derived from the venoms of about three different species of jellyfish. From your description, James is in Stage One.”
“How many stages are there?”
“Not enough for me to get there in time. What do we have?”
“I’m sorry?”
“In the room. What do we have?”
“Umm.... I see a desk, a wardrobe, a drinks cabinet...”
“A drinks cabinet? Thank God.”
“Time and a place for a swift one, John. This isn’t it.”
“Find the biggest bottle of spirits you can, and get him to neck it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve encountered this toxin before. Strong drink’s the only thing that kills it.”
“John, if you’d seen what happened the last time I delivered first aid like Bernie the Bolt, you wouldn’t sound so confident...”
“Did anyone die?”
“No, but...”
“Well, then. You know my methods. Apply them.”
Some movement at the corners of Lester’s swimming vision, then the cold ring of a bottle neck against his lips.
“You heard the doctor, James. Get this down you.”
He swallowed, and almost gagged.
“Dear God, woman, this is neat vodka.”
“And there I was thinking you worked in Whitehall. You’re a senior civil servant, James. No one gets to be that without a liver the size of Kent. Swallow.”
“How does he look now?” asked John.
“Much better. The network of red lines is already fading.”
“Good. Make him drink as much as he can without throwing up or poisoning himself, but he should be OK. We’ll head over once we’ve finished here.”
“Understood.”
Lester had managed to prop his back against a wall. The Welshwoman handed him the bottle. “That was very brave, James. Stupid, but brave. What got into you? I thought that ‘stupid, but brave’ was what you hired me for.”
He closed his eyes. This was not a subject he had ever planned to broach. But James Lester was poisoned, and already more than a little drunk, and still couldn’t remember the name of that confounded Goon. The words were out before he could stop them.
“I let them down, Ms. Wales. I let my people down. Abby, Connor, Danny... They’re lost in time, and I can’t reach them. I was supposed to...” his nose wrinkled, “I was supposed to ’have their backs’. Vulgar American idiom. Makes it sound like you’re in a butcher’s. ‘I’ll have some of your best back bacon, please, and throw in a couple of sausages while you’re at it.’” He took another swig from the bottle. “But it’s true. They should have been able to rely on me to protect them. I didn’t. When I tried to get them back, I killed poor Sarah doing it. And now there’s nothing - nothing at all. I lost my team, and the world’s defenceless. Because that’s the thing, you see? The animals don’t come in two-by-two unless you have an ARC where you can keep them.”
“You’ll get it back. You’ll get them back. Thank you for saving me, James.”
“And thank you for saving me, Ms. Wales.”
“John would have done a better job.”
“You made an admirable proxy. Not as good as the doctor, but at least you’re here.”
She smiled. “That’s pretty much my job description. Now, back to business. What’s odd about this room?”
“The fact that it’s entirely devoid of interest?”
“Exactly. No computer, no files... What is there in this room that’s worth a booby-trap?”
“Wardrobe?”
“Wardrobe.”
“Um. Are you the good guys?” said a rather muffled voice. From the wardrobe.
The Welshwoman’s eyebrows lifted. “We do our best.”
“That’s... sort of reassuring, I suppose.”
The door to the wardrobe creaked open. A shortish woman in her mid thirties gingerly emerged. Shoulder-length, curly brown hair framed an oval face, with an ugly-looking gash at the temple. She rubbed her wrists as she advanced. “They tied me up. I’d only just worked myself free when I heard you moving. Are you the police?”
“More what you might call specialists,” Lester said.
“Have they gone?” The woman bit her lip. “Has it started?”
Lester looked at her quizzically “Has what started?”
“The Process. That was why they needed me, you see. Because of what happened in Borneo.”
“Just a moment, love.” The Welshwoman touched her earpiece. “John? We have a hostage.”
The woman blanched. Ms. Wales smiled at her reassuringly. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. We’ve found a hostage. Do you think we should... Oh. Right. Good point.” She turned back to the curly-haired woman. “Do you mind if I take a look at your arms, Ms...?”
“Rann.” The woman held her arms out obediently. “And it’s Dr. Rann, actually.”
The Welshwoman ran her eyes up and down the smooth skin of the other woman’s wrists and forearms before nodding. “You’re clean. No marks of injection. That’s a relief. My friend on the other end is a doctor as well, you see. He pointed out that your captors seem to have a bit of a thing for bio-warfare. Wouldn’t want to discover they’d injected you with something unpleasant. Although you’ll be relieved to hear that, whatever some directors think, chest-bursters are actually quite rare.”
Dr. Rann’s eyes were wide.
“You’re a bit out of practice at this reassuring lark, aren’t you?” said Lester.
The Welshwoman shot him a glare. “Now, Dr. Rann....”
“Call me ’Maureen’, please.”
“... Maureen, what were you saying about Borneo?”
“I’m a travel writer. Maybe you’ve read my stuff? Three Months in the Jungle? I was trekking when I found their other installation. Um. Is your friend in the suit alright?”
“Fighting fit,” said Lester, who prided himself that he was swaying only somewhat.
The Welshwoman sighed. “Let’s get you to a chair, shall we?” She carefully deposited her gun on the carpet, and wrapped her arms around Lester’s midriff until she could manhandle him to the seat behind the desk. “There. Good as...”
John in her ear again: “We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Six men have just walked into the store-room. They’re all armed. It looks as though they’re searching for intruders.”
“Any other exits?”
“None we found. We’re trapped.”
“Jesus Christ.” The Welshwoman sucked her teeth. “We’re in trouble.”
“Yes,” the curly-haired woman said cheerily. She scooped up the Welshwoman’s gun, and raised it to cover its owner and Lester. “I rather think you are.”
6. The Most Dangerous Game.
“Nice piece. Not a make with which I’m familiar. I prefer rifles myself. But beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Give me back my gun,” the Welshwoman said, in a level, quiet voice, “and walk away.”
Rann smiled. “Do you honestly expect that to work?”
“No. But remember later that I said it.”
“I’m going out on a limb,” said Lester, “and guessing that you aren’t, in fact, a travel writer.”
“Actually, I am. Everyone needs a hobby. But before I was a writer, I was a soldier. And I am a very, very good shot.”
Lester cocked his head to one side. “Good enough to shoot two bullets at once?”
Rann snorted. “You can barely stand. The Lion’s Mane takes it out of you, doesn’t it? And even if you could, that isn’t your m. o., James Lester. You wrangle monsters to do your fighting for you. That’s why you brought her.”
“I do believe she’s being defamatory, Ms. Wales.”
“‘Ms. Wales’?” Rann laughed aloud, as she looked at the Welshwoman. “He doesn’t even know who you are, does he?”
“That makes two of you, then.” The Welshwoman’s voice remained quiet and even. “You may know my name, sweetheart. But if you knew who I am, you’d have taken my offer.”
“Spare me. You people were a joke. A wheezing relic of Victoriana that no one could be arsed to put out of its misery. You were about as scary as the Proms. And that was while you were still approximately a someone. Wake up and smell the dog-shit, cariad. This is 2012. The Hub is history; the ARC is theology; and Baker Street is a track which didn’t have Bob Holness on solo sax. No more heroes anymore.”
“And you’re just itching to fill the gap.” The Welshwoman continued to hold her gaze. “So, what’s the deal, Mo? Whose bitch are you? Van Statten’s? No - word is he’s a busted flush. The Three Families’? No. This ridiculous honey-trap you set for us isn’t quite their style.”
“I like to think of this more as a big game hunt.”
“I’m sure you do. Not many big cats, where I come from. Tiger Bay’s a bit of a false lead. But it had to be clever, didn’t it? You had to prove you were smarter than us. And that’s a failing from John’s world, not mine. You used to work for Jim Moriarty, didn’t you? Can’t have been easy, lately. I heard that Lucky Jim ate his gun on the roof of Bart’s. Didn’t you hear that, James?”
“I did. Best thing that’s happened to a London hospital since the royalties from Peter Pan.”
“And now whole cantons of his organization are falling apart. That must be killing you, Mo. Hard to fight a dead man, isn’t it?”
“Easier than you think. Because now I’ve done what your clowns never managed. I’ve caught the doctor.”
Lester folded his hands under his chin. “Confident of that, are you?”
“Do you play cards, James Lester? I do.”
“I bet you cheat.”
“My cards are my six boys, armed to the teeth. They’re picking up John Watson and Team Wales’ latest mayfly techie as we speak.”
“Really? My cards are a very brave girl, the most dangerous woman west of the Pennines, and John Watson.” Lester leaned backwards in his chair. “I like my hand more than yours.”
***
Jess’s mouth was parched, and her fingers were clammy, and she was seeing the gizmo in her hands with an unfamiliar clarity. She was noting that its surface was pitted and scarred, and scorched at one corner as though it had been through a fire. She was recalling that all the references the Welshwoman had made to her brilliant friend who had built it had been conspicuous for their use of the past tense. She was shaking.
“Jess?” John’s voice was quiet in her ear, as they huddled together behind a crate. The men with guns were still standing just inside the doorway to the chamber. “I need you to focus.”
“There are six of them...”
“Yes. And if you help me, I can take them. I need you to wave that magic wand and conjure me a distraction. A couple of seconds is all I need.”
“That’s impossible...”
“I used to believe in ‘impossible’, Jess. Then I met a man who could see everything about me in my BlackBerry. I can do this. And so can you.”
Jess set her lips. “Count of three?”
“Good girl.”
Jess counted down from three, and then set off the fire alarm beside the door. The men turned to look; a shot rang out; and John stood up from behind the crates.
“Hello, gents. I’m Captain John Watson, of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Now, be good little boys, and run away.”
The six men stared. Their eyes widened. Jess gaped as they dropped their guns, and fell over each other scrambling through the door.
“Umm..... What just happened there?”
“We don’t really have time for this, Jess.”
“You frightened them into running away just by telling them who you are?”
“Not exactly. Now, take a good, deep lungful of air, and don’t let it out until we’re through those doors. We should get to that office before someone dies.”
“Of course. James and your friend need us.”
“What? Oh. Yes. That as well.”
***
“What do you think, Ms. Wales?” Lester wiped his brow. “Have we heard enough?”
“We have, James. Time to wrap this up.”
Rann’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you mind if I take my jacket off?” the Welshwoman asked.
The other woman raised the gun. “The jacket stays.”
“I was just being polite, I’m afraid. The jacket’s coming off whatever you want. Because the South of England charges a fortune for dry-cleaning...”
Rann squeezed the trigger. She looked puzzled.
“... and you’re holding a gun with an isomorphic grip.” The Welshwoman slipped her jacket off her shoulders. “Hope you didn’t spend too many hours in that wardrobe, waiting for us to show. Your ‘fake hostage’ routine was semi-O.K.. Not very likely that you’d work yourself free just before we arrived, but beating yourself up a bit was a nice touch. The real problem was the arms. That was the reason I was checking your wrists. As the good doctor pointed out on our comms, it’s hard to wriggle out of restraints without getting rope-burns. After that, I just had to work out how to give you my gun. Because, well, I’m sure that James can put it better than me...”
“... people get much chattier, much quicker, when they think they’ve won.” Lester craned to look out of the window.
Rann’s eyes darted. “I still have my men.”
“Actually, you don’t.” Lester squinted against the setting sun. “I can see them from here, heading for the hills.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Yes. This is my poker face. Grey and sweaty. It’s not an act I plan to take to Vegas. I think that one of them’s soiled himself, actually. You just can’t get the staff these days.”
“Your boys are running.” The Welshwoman dropped her jacket on the desk. “Can’t say I blame them, with John to face. There’s a saying, you know. ‘Demons run when a good man goes to war.’ But me... well... I’m not a man, and I forgot how to be good so long ago.” She rolled up a sleeve with practised fingers. “I like the demons to stay within arm’s reach.”
Rann was backing away. “It doesn’t have to go like this.”
“It really does.” The Welshwoman started on the other sleeve. “The smart play would have been to jump you quickly, once you’d spilled your tawdry secrets. But then... then you had to go and insult my dead friends. That’s when you convinced me to take my time.”
“I think I may be having another dizzy spell, Ms. Wales.”
“Don’t worry, James.” The Welshwoman smiled. “One-on-one is only fair. So, Mo. Shall we dance?”
Interlude - The Empty Man.
“I like your office.” Lester watched moisture convene around the concrete pillars. He was fairly sure that he could hear rats squeaking. “Very open-plan.”
“How have you been, James?” The smile was mirthless. Lester didn’t think it had another setting.
“Enjoying myself. Gardening leave is very tranquil.”
“I see. Then why have you started keeping a firearm under your pillow?”
“Big greenfly. Vicious.” Lester clapped his arms around his shoulders. “Now we’ve got the banter out of the way, can you help me with my problem?”
“You must understand, James, that I cannot be seen to intercede directly. Particularly in light of our long acquaintance.”
Lester thought back to the ugly, crowded house in Hampstead. The mother had been a pretty woman, with a perpetually harried expression that was only too explicable in retrospect. He thought of the hours spent notionally babysitting the podgy, solemn boy who already had a larger vocabulary than his own, and the scowling toddler who sat in a corner building, as far as the teenaged James Lester could tell, five Rubik’s Cubes into a bigger one.
Lester wondered whether it would help to recall this. Almost certainly not. Sentiment did not convey advantage. And Lester had never seen convincing evidence that his interlocutor was, in fact, capable of forgetting anything.
“You must also bear in mind that my influence, while substantial, is not unbounded. HMG sometimes sees fit to ignore my advice. The consequences are usually regrettable. The Miracle. The 456.” He inspected the tip of his umbrella critically. “But they never learn.”
“I’m heart-broken.”
“Yes. I rather think you are. You care, James. Such a terrible affliction for any administrator.” He leaned on his umbrella. “I can put you in touch with some floating operatives. What you do with them thereafter is up to you. When your kingdom is restored, I shall expect a favour.”
“Thank you.”
“And James? Try not to be too... theatrical with what you’re planning. It wouldn’t do for innocent people to get hurt in your amateur dramatics.”
“Understood.”
“But a couple of M. P.s should be fine.”
7. The Package.
“I still don’t see how you did that.”
“There’s your problem, Jess.” John scoped out a corridor, and motioned her forward. “You see. But you do not observe.”
“You only fired one shot. And it’s not as though you hit any of them.”
“I hit what I was aiming at. I often do.”
“Wait a minute... Those canisters by the door.” Jess’s expression cleared. “You recognized them, didn’t you? The ones with a red goat’s leg on the side. And you wanted me to hold my breath.... Ah. What was in them?”
“Not a goat’s leg, Jess. The Devil’s Foot. A while back, I helped uncover work into a fear gas. Later on, we found out people had started playing with the formula. The revamped version is called the Devil’s Foot. I’m surprised that most of those boys managed to retain bladder control.”
“Weren’t you scared that they would just open fire when the gas hit?”
“A bit. That was why I made sure I was the target and not you. Now, we need to find the office...”
***
When Lester’s dizziness had passed, he opened his eyes again, and looked at the room. The Welshwoman was sitting on the floor. She sported a split lip and a tumescent eye, but her expression was calm.
Maureen Rann was huddled on the carpet beside her. Lester cleared his throat.
“Is she...?”
“Dead? No. Won’t be waking up for a while, though.” The Welshwoman stretched her back, and winced. “Jimbo had a good eye for a lieutenant. She might have been thick as shit, but she was tough.”
“Not tough enough, it seems.”
“No. Not tough enough.” The Welshwoman rested her arms on her legs.“The first man I killed came at me with a knife. He had no idea what he was doing, and I had less. That’s the thing about knives, you see. People think they’re easy, but they’re not. If you get the angle of entry wrong, you can feel all the textures inside that make us human, jolting up your arm.” She hugged her knees. “You asked me back at the bolthole whether I was always the woman I am now. “
“I did.”
“And I didn’t give you an answer. The truth is: I wasn’t. But I don’t think that the woman I was would like me. I think, if I’m honest, she’d be afraid of me.” The Welshwoman looked up. “You’ll take care of Jess when this is over?”
Lester looked at her levelly. “I will. Thank you again, Ms. Wales.”
“Gwen, James. My name is Gwen.”
***
“Did we make sure that bloody Rann woman wasn’t Helen Cutter?”
“Yes, James,” John, again, was taking point, “she definitely wasn’t Helen Cutter. Whoever that was. I think that your cocktail of venom and vodka might be getting to you a bit.”
“But are we certain that she wasn’t Helen Cutter?”
“Didn’t you say this Cutter woman was dead?”
“Somewhere she is. It wouldn’t necessarily stop her from popping up now. That’s the problem with time-travelling megalomaniacs. You find that your crises keep precurring.”
“Well, Cutter or not, she’s tied up tight. There’s enough evidence in this complex to put her away for a good long time. We’ll ’phone in a tip once we’re done here.”
“How long will the fear gas keep her flunkies out of action?”
“About a day.”
“A day?”
“Yes. Like I said, it’s nasty stuff.”
“Good. That should give us time to move the package.”
“Are we sure there is a package?” asked Jess.
John peered around a corner. His mouth went slack.
“Oh yes,” he said. “There’s definitely a package.”
***
It was the largest living thing that Jess had ever seen. The thought that this wall of scales and flesh was a single creature gave her vertigo. An eye blinked sleepily back as she looked at it.
“I’m thinking,” said John, “that it might not be viable to sneak her out in the boot. Were you expecting one of the big ones?”
“Not as big as this. I think they must have found her when she was smaller. At least they seem to have had automated feeding installed. And she looks peaceful.”
“She’s a stegosaurus,” said the Welshwoman. “They’re herbivores. She’s probably quite placid unless she’s spooked. And it’s likely they had her doped up to the eyeballs.”
“What do you think they were planning to do with her?” asked Jess.
“Sell to a collector. Harvest the DNA. Those are the pretty options.” The Welshwoman shivered. “Believe me, Jess. Humanity has an almost infinite capacity to fuck with marvels.”
John scratched his head. “You’re the Man with the Plan, James. What’s next?”
Lester adjusted his tie. “Here’s what we do...”
***
It was three months before Jess saw James Lester again. She had been expecting contact of some sort or another. But lunch at his favourite restaurant was a pleasant surprise.
“Before you ask,” he said, as he consulted the wine list, “no dinosaurs were harmed in the making of that picture. Ms. Wales would have skinned me alive if that had happened.”
Jess looked at him quizzically as she reached for the bread. “Are you sure? A friend who works in Whitehall told me the stories that were going round.”
“I may have laid a hand to the rumour-mill. She didn’t actually rampage through the Members Bar. Getting her that close to the House of Commons was tricky enough. But you’d be amazed what can be achieved with two ninjas, a Class Five perception filter, and gigantic quantities of Ms. Wales’ patent amnesia pills.” He put down the list and started looking for a waiter. “She was actually grazing on a tree when we allowed her to be discovered. And now she’s safe and sound in the new ARC.”
“That was what you were planning all along? Faking an incident, just to get back your facility?”
“Oh yes. Snaring a dangerous criminal as well was just the icing on the cake. But I didn’t invite you here simply to preen.” Lester buttered some bread himself. “Would you like a job at my new ARC, Jess Parker?”
“A job?”
“Yes. Try to maintain a fiction that we’re meeting for the first time if you take it, though. As you can imagine, I’d like to keep our little adventure under wraps.”
“Don’t you already have your team?”
“John and Ms. Wales were temps, I’m afraid. Ms. Wales went back to her demanding infant; John went back to his. And your skill-set has a value all of its own.”
Jess blushed.
“You’ll also be pleased to hear I have proper soldiers again. You really should meet Captain Becker. I think you two would get on like a house on fire.”
“Becker? Like the tennis-player?” Jess frowned. “I never really liked him.”
“I think,” said Lester, as he caught the waiter’s eye, “that you may be pleasantly surprised.”
FINIS