Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter One

"...What the? Mud, I'm wallowing in mud... how... why..."

Oxygen seared through his lungs as he gasped for air, his heart springing to life in a furious flurry of activity as it tried to pump life back into what had been, a few moments ago, a dead body. Nausea overwhelmed him as he curled up into a ball; the familiar sensation of pins and needles coursing through his limbs as his body slowly regained its circulation. He fought to hold onto consciousness, as he tasted the disturbingly familiar metallic flavour of his blood in his mouth. For a few scary seconds he found himself wondering what century it was before he finally came back to his senses and he slowly became aware of the steady driving rain that drenched his face.

"Well, that explains the mud I suppose."

Giggling helplessly as he lay splayed in the dirt, he didn't bother to move as he listened to the soothing pitter-patter of the falling rain. body screamed with exhaustion as he tried vainly to gather his thoughts. Forcing his mind into the here and now, he squinted his eyes, peering through the rain in the hope of seeing something, anything, that would jog his memory.

Terror bubbled up through his exhausted body, dissipating the cobwebs in his mind as he slowly came to the realisation that he had no idea where he was. He scrambled quickly up on his elbows and glanced down at his clothes. With a sinking heart, he examined what was left of his sweater, even through all the mud he could clearly make out all the blood splatters. Ye Gods what a mess, somebody had definitely torn into him pretty badly. His sweater had been slashed more than once, leaving great big gaping holes in what used to be his second favourite sweater.

Gulping nervously, he tried to figure out what the hell had happened to him. That queasy feeling of impending doom that he was way too familiar with of late began to grow, this was not good, not good at all. Groping through his memory for answers, he still couldn't figure out how he ended up face down in the mud yet still managed to keep his head attached.

"Blood and mud... muddy blood... Ah well, another piece of knitwear bites the dust."

Cursing under his breath, he quickly scanned the surrounding terrain. He had awoken in some kind of clearing surrounded by what was obviously a piece of virgin territory. He was nowhere near Paris that was for certain; old forests like this one had been cut down centuries ago in France. He eyed the sturdy old oaks swaying in the rain and the dense, wild underbrush that encroached on the muddy clearing. He had definitely off the beaten track that was for sure; this was not an area that saw many nature walks.

"Yes Dorothy, I guess we aren't in Kansas anymore."

It was then that his eyes eventually rested on what he had known all along he would find - a head. There it was, nestled snugly among the soggy leaves, not a care in the world, its open eyes staring sightlessly back at him. He irritably wondered how the head managed to avoid getting mud on its face in the midst of all this sludge; there was no justice in the world these days.

"A head... a head... I thought I saw a head... you're losing it old man, you'll be winging it away with Tweetie bird if you don't get a grip on yourself."

Leaning forward to get a better look, he searched its features and waited for the penny to drop. Nothing happened, nada, no stirring of recognition whatsoever. It was the face of a complete stranger. He closed his eyes and willed himself to feel some kind of relief.

"Well isn't this a plus, we didn't actually kill any old lovers or long lost friends today, this is just looking better and better. Oh yes, I'm just sitting here feeling the sunshine, not a care in the world... dum di dum... di... dum... nope, I still don't feel any better."

Shaking his head in defeat, he pushed aside his growing feeling of unease. With a wry smile, he reminded himself that he hadn't felt guilt since the eleventh century, great one liner that, pity it wasn't true. Staggering to his feet he felt for the familiar weight that meant he was armed and therefore, in theory, safe. Oh hells, where was it? Where did he leave his... a dull gleam caught the corner of his eye and his eyes brightened in relief.

"Ah, there you are, come to Papa."

Tugging gently at the hilt, he tried to pry his Ivanhoe loose from it's muddy grave without damaging the blade. Suddenly, with a great slurping gulp the mud reluctantly loosened its hold. He staggered back, grinning in delight at his small victory. His sense of triumph quickly evaporated though as he noticed his weapon's dilapidated state.

"Damn it, it's going to take me an age to clean it. Why couldn't he have picked a nice sunny day when the ground was nice and dry. While he was at it, why didn't he pick somewhere a lot nearer civilisation... or more to the point, why didn't I pick somewhere a lot nearer civilisation, what the hell was I doing out here - having a picnic?"

Sliding his muddy blade into his even muddier overcoat, it suddenly occurred to him that though he had had a good look at the head, the rest of his supposed challenger was nowhere to be seen. Cursing softly, he started scouring the surrounding underbrush but came up empty, no body and no sword. Wracking his brains, no easy answer came to mind; he was still at a complete loss as to how he had ended up here. His memory, fickle at the best of times, had apparently decided to take a brief vacation, probably had run off to Bora Bora, bright little brain cells. He wasn't sure how much time he had lost but hopefully it wasn't too much, he hadn't had any significant memory loss for... for.... Well, a very long time anyway, over a millennium at least. It had been a small mercy that he had been grateful for but it seemed that the honeymoon period was over.

"Hello, my name is Methos and I'm over 5,000 years old. I may or may not know the secrets of mankind but I couldn't tell you either way because I also suffer from recurring bouts of amnesia that sometimes span entire centuries. But don't worry; I keep a journal so that if the worst comes to the worst I can look my own name up. Yes Joe, now you know the horrible truth, my journals are not for posterity's sake as you may have thought, but to make sure that I don't forget where I live."

A brief smile flitted across his face as he imagined the look on Joe's face as he explained the true purpose of his journals, it might just be worth the endless explanations in order to witness it in reality. But first things first, Joe's reaction to the true state of his mental health would have to wait. Uneasily he tried to figure out the most likely reason for current dilemma. Somehow he didn't think that he had just been tripping through the woods minding his own business when suddenly he just happened to stumble across a spare head. Why on earth had he been stumbling around in the wilderness anyway? Had he been following his challenger or had it been the other way around, it didn't seem likely that they just happened to bump into each other while wandering merrily through the forest one day.

He wandered back into the centre of the clearing and took a second look at the offending item. It was a young face, the skin still had the smoothness of early adulthood and his cheeks were still filled out with puppy fat. He must have been barely old enough to shave when he had met his first death. The fair hair and the strangely peaceful expression on the dead man's pale face gave the head an almost angelic air, though he of all people knew that appearances could be deceiving.

Sighing yet again he looked up at the sky, he figured that it wasn't much past midday but it would probably grow dark early because of the dense cloud cover. Searching the undergrowth for clues he realised that things weren't as bad as he feared. The flora was comfortingly familiar which meant he was still in Europe, he hadn't actually hopped continents. An Idea suddenly occurred to him and he quickly searched his pockets, his wallet was still there bit his mobile phone was nowhere to be found, well, that was one idea scrapped. He stood in the clearing and gazed at his surroundings. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong with this picture - and strangely enough it wasn't the bodiless head. Tilting his head, his eyes catalogued everything that was growing in and around the clearing. It really was a very unspoiled piece of wilderness; one could almost believe you were back in the days before the industrial revolution. Then, like a thunderbolt, it hit him.

"Of course, how could I be such an idiot... it's so obvious."

It was too perfect, too unspoiled, where was the scorch marks, the broken boughs? Even the weakest of quickenings would have left some damage. Swallowing weakly, he once again found himself staring at his nemesis, heads don't just pop out of thin air. Somebody must have dumped it here, why would they do that? If this was a set up, it was a remarkably elaborate one. He racked his brain for a feasible explanation, how would a scenario like this work to an enemy's advantage.

Yet another nasty thought sprang to mind, how could he be sure that the head belonged to an immortal? He eyed the head nervously. It would explain the lack of quickening marks, but why on earth would he kill a mortal? It still didn't explain the missing body. Checking the holster on his leg, he smiled in relief to see his gun was still there. Decapitations were messy and raised too many questions; if he had killed a mortal, he would have used a bullet, not his sword. Of course, that brought him back full circle. Could this be some kind of elaborate set up? Gods.... He really could do with a beer right now.

Rubbing his temples in frustration, he tried to make sense of the mess but his brain wasn't cooperating. All he knew was that he really needed to get a move on. No matter what way the cookie crumbled it definitely wasn't a good idea to hang around any longer than he had to. But what about the head? Should he just leave it there and hope for the best or bring it with him. Eventually he decided on a compromise, he would take the head and bury it somewhere away from the clearing so that he could retrieve it later. With that decided he leaned down and grabbed the head by the hair. It wasn't as if he had a choice, he didn't exactly have a spare plastic bag lying around. Fear warred with anger as he traipsed through the thick undergrowth. The dense trees blocked what little light there was and instead of the tree cover protecting him from the worst of the rain, it only served to make the downpour even more irritating as heavily laden branches drenched his face and poured down his back as he brushed past.

Railing against nature, he trundled on. He had never liked the rain... give him a desert any day. To make matters worse, he didn't have a clue about where the nearest piece of civilisation was- he was just going to have to wing it and find some running water. If in doubt follow the river, it was sound advice 5,000 years ago and some things never changed: where there is water, there are inevitably people. Vaguely he wondered if he should make more of an effort to move silently but shrugged the thought away. He was cold and wet and the noise of the downpour more than adequately covered any indiscreet sounds that he may be making. Besides, if there was an immortal about Methos would sense his presence long before he became a threat, and a mortal wouldn't stand a chance of sneaking up on him.

He may not be too fond of nature but when the chips were down, he'd bet that a man born into a tribe of bronze-age hunters could leave even the woodsiest mortal running around in circles. Nothing like a lifetime or two of picking berries to hone one's wilderness skills. With a wry grin, he wondered what the Boy Scout would think of that little piece of information; he'd lay odds that both he and Joe thought that he was born in some cradle of civilisation. It didn't seem to occur to them that he might be of less exalted origins.

Dusk was already falling when Methos eventually stumbled across a stream, it wasn't much but he decided to follow it anyway, hoping that it would lead to a river. Three hours later he hit pay dirt as the stream poured into a larger waterway, by this time the rain had eased off and the night sky was beginning to peek through the cloud cover. Methos began to sing tunelessly under his breath, his mood lifting as he picked his way along the bank.

"As I went into the woods one day... dum... de... dum... de... dum..."

A sharp crack broke the still night air and Methos froze mid step, hitting the ground a split second later as he realised he may have company. That's what you get for dropping your guard; maybe he should have added a song and dance routine too! The sound of hushed voices emanated from the woods and he crouched down as a flashlight blinked on, its beam directed at the riverbank.

"How many were they, two, more than two?"

He didn't think for a moment that they could be friendly, good guys didn't skulk in the woods in the middle of the night, unless they were him of course! Best-case scenario was that that they were poachers, which meant they were probably armed and nervous; the alternative was that they were another kind of hunter which meant that they were just plain armed and dangerous.

A whispered conversation was held in the trees and a moment later the flashlight blinked off again, straining his ears he heard an unfamiliar voice hissing in French.

"But I heard something I tell you, it could be him..."

"Stow it Rene, there was nothing there. Now move it, we have schedule to keep."

The second voice seemed to have an American accent, Midwestern if he had to hazard a guess. The voices drifted off into the distance and Methos found himself in a quandary: should he follow the voice of the two mortals or continue following the river. After a short inner debate, he decided to keep following the riverbank. Truth be told, he felt a bit wary of about embroiling himself in a possible conflict without knowing all the facts. Wearily, he picked himself up from the ground and proceeded to creep along the river.

The night was beginning to get old when an exhausted Methos eventually spotted a bridge. Warily he scanned the hinterland for any sign of somebody lurking in the bushes. When he was satisfied that nobody was going to jump out at him he slowly stepped onto the roadway - only to duck off it again as soon as he realised he was still carrying the damned head. Cursing furiously, he scraped a hole in the dirt with his dagger and unceremoniously dumped the head inside. Marking the spot with a stone, he ran back into the bridge again and knelt down to kiss the tarmac with aplomb. Smiling happily, he rose from his knees and proceeded to stroll down the road towards what he hoped was some form of civilisation.

The sky was beginning to pale with the pre-dawn light when he spotted the glimmer of artificial light in the distance. Taking a deep breath, he started up the dirt track toward the farmhouse about a half-mile off the road. Day had truly broken by the time he found himself in the farmyard; chickens roamed free around his legs and he nervously noted the sound of some very angry geese. Vicious little buggers they were, probably penned up because of the hens.

It was the slow creak that alerted him to the door. The first thing he noticed was the double-barrelled shotgun; the next thing was the determined glint in her eyes and the firm line of her mouth. She was seventy if she was a day but he was old enough himself to know that this was one lady who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Damn, why did he always have to bump into the smart ones? Just once, he'd like to meet one of those nice little old ladies who knitted. He'd never actually met one, but he had it on good authority that they existed.

"Chickens got your tongue, boy?"

It took a few moments for the words to sink in and a few more for the language to register.

"Bulgarian! How the hell?"

Well that explains the forest. He must be somewhere in the Balkan ranges.

"Well what do you know, home sweet home. Well, give or take a few millennia anyway"

"Well, boy, have you anything to say for yourself?"

Beady suspicious eyes glared at him over the barrel of the gun; there was no way she would miss at this range and she definitely looked like the meticulous type. Chances were he'd wake up to find her with a shovel in her hand as she dug his grave. No, death was not an option. Putting on his best wide-eyed little boy lost look he decided to tell her the truth. Well, sort of.

"Not much, really. Last thing I remember, I was in a club with a few friends in Paris. Next thing I knew, I had woken up in a forest. I didn't even know what country I was in until you spoke."

Well that knocked her for six! He could see her eyes widen as she digested what he said but they hardened just as quickly as he tightened her hold on the shotgun.

"Mighty handy that you happen to speak Bulgarian then!" she retorted.

The sarcasm in her voice was not lost to him as she widened her stance, raising the gun to aim.

"Damn! How the hell do I get out of this one..."

"It's what I do for a living, languages I mean, I'm a linguist at the Sorbonne."

The lie tripped easily off his tongue but she wasn't having any of it. He took in her appearance; she looked Slavic on the whole but... He switched languages.

"I also speak Turkish."

Bingo! He watched with satisfaction as her jaw dropped; he thought he saw a touch of the Tartar around her eyes, probably a grandparent. Not wanting to push his luck, he waited for her to speak first. Her head tilted to the side as her shrewd eyes took his measure, relief flooded through his bones as he noticed that her hold on the trigger relaxed slightly.

"So what brings you to my door?"

"It was the first door that I found," he answered truthfully, venturing a little smile.

"Somehow, I have the feeling that that was the first honest reply I've got from you."

Suddenly he didn't feel so relieved anymore.

"Relax, boy, I'm not going to kill you. Not yet anyway." A sly grin spread across her face as she lowered the barrel of her shotgun. "If you're looking for a phone you're fresh out of luck, can't afford to keep one."

"Directions and a bite to eat will do just fine." He looked at her with his best "eager" expression plastered across his face. If she invited him to her table chances are that she wouldn't kill him, Bulgarians are funny that way.

"You forgot about a change of clothes." She gestured at the bloodied remains of his sweater. .

Damn, he'd forgotten about that, no wonder she held a gun on him.

"Yeah, that too."

"Well, come in then, I've got some leftovers on the range "With that, she retreated back into the house, leaving the door open in invitation. After a moment of trepidation, he followed her inside.

The door led straight into the kitchen, the heart of any good farmhouse. A huge table dominated the room and an old-fashioned solid fuel range was giving off heat from the left wall, although he noted that she also had a more modern gas cooker by the sink on the right. Photographs of smiling faces dotted the white walls and a couple of herb plants graced the windowsill on the far wall. She gestured imperiously to a chair at the table as she busied herself with a pot that stood on the edge of the range.

A few minutes later, he was sitting in front of a rather large bowl of stew. "Do you want some bread with that?" A silent nod produced a loaf of rye with some cheese and butter. A few moments later a battered old teapot joined him at the table and after producing some milk and sugar she sat with him at the table to have her cup of tea. .

"There's plenty more in the pot if you want a cup."

Gesturing at the draining cups by the sink, she leaned back in her chair to have her tea, the shotgun propped against the table beside her. Snagging a cup from the draining board, he poured himself a cup of very black tea; it obviously had been standing on the range since he got up. She peered at him over the rim of her cup as she produced a pouch of tobacco from her pocket and proceeded to roll a cigarette: the anti-smoking lobby had obviously not made any inroads into this household. He smirked as he imagined some well-meaning doctor trying to convince this old biddy to quit.

"Want one?"

He hesitated, it wasn't as if he had to worry about his health but he had given up smoking as soon as people in western society began to look upon it as a bad habit. Any sort of attention was bad attention as far as he was concerned, so there went his cigarettes. Her shrewd eyes pinned him to the chair as he continued his inner debate. Oh what the hell, when in Rome...

"Yes, please."

She pushed the pouch across the table with a knowing look and produced an ashtray before she took a box of matches from that cavernous pocket of hers. They smoked in companionable silence as she finished her tea; the only sound the slow ticking of the wall clock.

"I've got the hot tank on, you can clean yourself up while I find something you can wear, then you and I are going to have a little talk."

Pushing her chair back from the table, she led him to the bathroom upstairs.

"My tank isn't very big, so you'll have to be sparing with the hot water," she warned as the mounted the stairs.

He gave her a nod and with a grunt she left him to his bath. Ten minutes later, he was relatively clean and feeling much better about life in general, He was busy debating whether it was a good time to clean his sword when a loud knock interrupted his reverie.

"Clothes outside the door!''

He opened the door a crack and found a neat pile of clothing leaning up against it. A quick perusal of the items in question produced some dubious results. The original owner had obviously been a large man with a broad build, though he was about Methos's height. Using a belt, he hitched the trousers up and tucked in the shirt. Speaking of which, he really should ask her what her name was; somehow he didn't think the phrase ''old biddy'' would go down too well. While he was at it, he might as well bite the bullet and ask her the date. He quickly threw on the rest of the clothes and reattached the holsters for his dagger and gun. It was a good thing that she hadn't decided to frisk him. He didn't relish the idea of explaining why a ''university researcher'' was so well armed. After examining his overcoat, he decided it would have to do. There was no way he'd be able to hide his sword under the shirt. After wiping the worst of the mud and gore off he draped it over his arm and made his way down to the kitchen.

She sat on a chair by the range, the shotgun across her lap. Apparently she wasn't that convinced he was harmless. As he sat on the chair she pointed at, he noted that it was the one situated furthest away from her. This was going to be a serious conversation, then.

''My name is Kira Pendarova, perhaps you'd like to tell me yours.''

''Adam Pierson at your service.''

''Well Mr Pierson, perhaps you could tell me the whole story now that we're comfortable.''

''Oh yeah, I'm screwed, Tweetie here I come..."

''I don't know what you mean...''

''Cut the horse manure Mr Pierson, you arrived on my doorstep covered in blood. Your clothes are more hole than fabric, and you truly expect me to believe that it's all a blank?''

''Typical, the one unholy truth I was able to tell her and she thinks it's a lie."

''I swear to you Madame Pendarova, it's the God's honest truth.''

For a brief moment, Methos wondered if the whole ''madam'' thing was going a bit too far and with a sinking heart he had his suspicions verified as he watched her head tilt to the side. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they gave him the once over, he'd already become familiar with that expression on her face, it loosely translated as ''this young upstart has it coming''

''Yep, seems that the ''madam'' thing was laying it on a bit thick after all"

''Listen, if you don't believe me you can call the club, the owner is a friend of mine...''

''Yeah sure, she could do that, if she actually had a phone, you idiot. Get with the program, old man. There has to be some way I can convince her not to blow my brains out.''

''Madam'' Pendarova made herself comfortable in her chair as she wrapped her finger around the trigger, she wasn't exactly aiming it at him yet but the raised eyebrow told him that she was definitely contemplating it.

"Perhaps I should start with an easier question. Why are you carrying around that trench coat with you as if it is something precious? I hate to tell you this but no amount of mending is going to fix it. ''

''Well, speaking of attachments, you seem pretty cosy with that shotgun of yours.''

The silence that greeted that statement was deafening.

''Oh dear Gods, please tell me I didn't just equate my trench coat with her shotgun, what the Hades is wrong with me?''

Sheepishly he slouched in his chair as he waited for her to connect the dots, it didn't take too long.

''Let me tell you what you are going to do, Mister Pierson. You are going to slowly stand up from your chair and then you are going to ever so gently lay your coat on the table.''

The gun cocked as she rested its butt against her shoulder.

''All the better to blow your brains out with, m'dear.''

Laying his coat on the table with slow care, Methos quietly retreated to his chair, praying silently to whatever Gods were listening that she didn't take it into her mind to frisk him. A sword was hard enough to explain; he couldn't even start to imagine explaining a gun with a silencer attached, not to mention the dagger. Oh yeah, here be dragons.

"So tell me, Mr Pierson, are you actually going to tell me what you have hidden in the folds of your coat or am I going to have to peek for myself?''

This old lady was way too sharp for her own good. Slouching back in his seat, Methos ran a hand through his still-damp hair as he decided to bite the bullet (though not literally, he hoped).

''Various forms of weaponry, I'm afraid.'' The silence that greeted this statement was so deafening that it seemed to take on a life of its own. Methos plunged on. ''A double-edged broadsword, to be more exact.''

It was then that she did what he least expected her to do: she burst out laughing. The poor woman practically doubled over as tears of mirth poured down her cheeks. This had not exactly been the reaction he had been expecting but he wasn't about to start complaining; it was a welcome change to a bullet in the head.

''Madam... Madam... Are you okay?'' he asked cautiously as he leaned forward in the chair.

The old lady stood abruptly, waving her shotgun in his general direction as she strove to regain her breath. Methos leaned back in his chair as his eyes warily followed the barrel of the gun. This was definitely not good for his nerves. Pulling the coat to her, she felt in its folds until her hands found the sword. Dragging it halfway out of its scabbard she fixed Methos with a suddenly very serious stare.

''This is a very workmanlike piece of steel you have here, Mr Pierson. I assume that you know how to use it, and that it is not some unlikely form of fashion statement?"

Methos answered her enquiry with a short affirmative nod. With a sigh, she slipped the sword back into its scabbard and sat back down. Methos studied the changing expressions on her face as she struggled inwardly with the situation. Eventually she raised her eyes to meet his, taking her finger off the trigger and placing the shotgun on the table beside his coat.

''I think I'm going to need something stronger than tea before I hear this, Mr Pierson. Care to join me?"

Making her way over to the fridge, she grabbed a whiskey bottle off the top of it and returned to the table, unscrewing the cap as she looked enquiringly at her ''guest''. With a nod, Methos pulled his chair to the table and pushed his teacup towards her, it wasn't a beer but it was close enough. There were a few moments of comradely quiet as she reinforced their tea and they cradled their cups as they took a few sips.

''So... a sword, hmm?''

''Yep''

"Interesting''

Both gazed into their cups as the clock ticked off the long seconds.

"Use it often?"

"I'm afraid so.''

''I knew you were going to say that.''

With a long swig, she finished off the spiked tea and reached for the bottle: time to move onto the unadulterated stuff. After pouring herself a generous measure, she gestured at his cup once again and he raised it for a refill.

''Is this a secret society thing or are you just plain crazy?'' she asked with a nervous laugh

''Neither, strangely enough.''

"Now, why doesn't that make me feel any less nervous?''

With a shrug Methos gazed at the old pictures on the wall as he tried to decide what to admit. An old grainy photograph of a couple caught his eye. Standing under a tree, they beamed blissfully at each other. Her voice abruptly interrupted his reverie. "T'was our wedding day,'' she said softly as she glanced at the photo. ''It wasn't long after the war, so no white dress. Couldn't get the material.''

It was a familiar story. Not a lot of luxuries during those years, not a lot of anything, especially in Eastern Europe. Methos turned to meet her gaze and with an inward sigh as he came to a decision. Time to spill the beans - he would just have to deal with the consequences later.

''This is going to be a very long story,'' he warned.

''I thought as much, it's alright, we've got all day.''

''I wouldn't bet the farm on that, I seem to be attracting a lot of trouble of late.''

With a chuckle, she stretched back in the chair, produced her tobacco pouch and proceeded to roll herself another cigarette.

''You'd better start talking fast, then,'' she answered as she took out her matches again.

" I suppose I'd better start out with the most pertinent fact. I'm immortal, I'm not the only one and I carry a bloody great big sword around with me because there are a lot of other immortals out there who believe that there should be only one... by the way, I don't suppose you could tell me the date...''

Chapter Two

Three hours, a half a bottle of whiskey and an impromptu demonstration with a sharp blade later, he had told her as much as he was prepared to tell. He had decided that she didn't need to know his true name and had fudged around the whole issue of his true age. He also had come to the conclusion that she had enough to digest without throwing the watchers into the mix: from her earlier comment, she seemed to have an aversion to secret societies to begin with. All things considered, she knew all there was to know.

They both sat bleary eyed at the table, the comforting haze of the alcohol making the silence more amiable than it should have been.

"You never were truly afraid of me, were you?" she asked, smiling ruefully. "All that nervousness about my shotgun was feigned. Here I was thinking that as long as I kept my finger on the trigger I was safe." She pushed her chair back from the table and eyed the clock over the stove.

"It's nearly midday, Mr Pierson, and my son will arrive around two in his pickup. I could arrange a lift for you to the nearest town. It's called Travda and it has a train station, you could be on your way in no time."

"Not trying to get rid of me are you, Madame"

"Of course I am trying to get rid of you, Mr Pierson," she replied. "I haven't lived this long by being stupid, you know."

"A woman after my own heart."

A grin lurked on his face as he ducked his head and rummaged inside his coat until he found his wallet. After a few minutes' pause, he ripped open the lining and pulled out an Italian I.D. card and a MasterCard along with his emergency cash stash. All things considered, he thought it might be better if he didn't travel under the name of Pierson, so from now on he would be Senor Roberto Sabotini for this little adventure. Tucking his new identity into his jean pocket, he handed his Wallet over to Hira.

"Could you hold onto this for a while? If I don't contact you within the next few days, please mail it to a friend of mine in Paris, his name is Joe Dawson. The address is on a card in the wallet"

With a nod, Hira put the wallet into her pocket and rose from the table. With a disparaging look at the coat that lay there, she disappeared from the room only to return a few moments with a raincoat.

"It's not much, but it's better than that collection of rags that you call a coat," she muttered as she held it against him.

"Very fetching, I didn't know you cared."

"You don't have to wear it. you know," she grumbled as she laid it on the table.

"I'm sorry, Kira, I didn't mean to offend you," Methos apologised as he picked up the coat and tried it on. "You've done more for me than I could have possibly have hoped for." Smiling contritely, he peered at the lining and gauged that it would be strong enough to hold the harness.

"Could I ask for a needle and thread?"

Hira disappeared out of the room yet again and reappeared a few moments later with a sewing basket.

"Help yourself."

With a grateful nod, Methos set about salvaging the harness and scabbard from his old coat and sewing it into the raincoat. By the time he had decided that it was secure enough to hold the weight of his sword, it was already nearing two. Hira was bustling around in the yard and he could hear the geese kick up a fuss. Using his old coat as rag, he gave his sword a good rub down; a proper cleaning would have to wait. A few minutes later, his concentration was broken by the sound of an engine followed by the slam of a truck door. The sound of footsteps and low conversation grew closer as he quickly slid the sword into its new home.

"Josef, I want you to meet Adam, Adam this is Josef, my son. Adam had a bit of a mishap in the woods, Josef, and he needs a lift into town. That's alright, isn't it, dear?" Hira enquired as she bustled in through the door, her son ducking under the doorway as he entered after her. To say that he was a fine strapping fellow was putting it mildly: He was built like a house, well over six foot and carrying over 200 pounds. How on earth could someone as petite as Hira give birth to this monstrosity? Catching the glint in Hira's eye he guessed she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Josef takes after his father's side of the family, don't you dear? " she said dryly as she watched Methos's expression with amusement.

"So they say," answered Josef breezily as he held out his hand to shake. "Nice to meet you, Adam, Maman has explained that someone had dumped you in the woods as some kind of prank. Doesn't seem like a very funny one, if you don't mind me saying."

"I'm a bit of the same mind myself, actually" answered Adam with a grin as he grasped Josef's hand, inwardly pondering what he would do to whoever had set up this particular "prank". He was thinking that something along the lines of the spectacular and bloody was in order, as soon as he remembered what actually had happened, that is. With an inward sigh, Methos smiled at Hira in thanks as he followed Josef out to the truck. He'd had to pay her back in some way when all this had blown over, maybe she could use a phone...

Methos jumped up into the pickup and slammed the door after him, rolling down the window as Hira neared the truck.

"You take care of yourself, Mr Pierson," she said with an enigmatic smile, putting her hand on the windowsill. "Don't be losing your head now." With a wink, she pulled away from the door as Josef started up the engine and reversed out of the yard. With a final glance back he saw her small, determined figure disappear back into the farmhouse.

It was a quiet journey; whatever had passed between mother and son before they had entered the house had seemed to leave her son disinclined to ask any further questions. It was with some amusement, as they arrived at Travda around three, that Methos noted the total sum of two words had been uttered in the cab during the entire trip: "we're here". A few moments later, Josef slowed down to a halt in front of what Methos presumed was the train station. With a sly smirk, Josef turned in his seat and fixed him with a steady look. What on earth did that old biddy tell him? It was enough to make an old man paranoid.

"There is a train bound for Sofia pulling in at five-thirty. The next one isn't due until the day after tomorrow so I suggest that you don't miss it."

Gods be damned, this boy looked way too knowing. All at once Methos felt very glad to be getting out of Dodge. With great alacrity, he jumped out of the truck and watched in bemusement as Josef sped off as if the hounds of hell were after him. Yep, that train ride was definitely looking very attractive. Methos stood on the pavement and contemplated the quickly disappearing truck as he turned slowly towards the train station. It was then that he got thwacked across the head with a very large stick.

"Where the hell have you been man, I've been climbing the walls since yesterday!"

With slow care, Methos turned and looked at his would be attacker as he cradled his spinning head.

"Joe, what the hell are you doing here?" he cried in amazement as he confronted a fuming Joe Dawson, who still waved his cane threateningly in the air.

"What do you mean what am I doing here, have you gone senile or something? It was you who dragged me down here in the first place. 'Mac has been kidnapped,' you told me. 'Quick, we don't have much time, we have to get to Bulgaria,' you said."

Methos smiled in amusement at Joe's atrocious imitation of his accent but then took a double take as he realised what Joe had actually said.

"What? Again? Since when?"

"Jeeze, you have gone senile, haven't you? That fossilized brain of yours has finally seized up. Since the day before yesterday, of course. Have you been hit on the head and lost your memory or something?"

"Funny you should say that..."

Disbelievingly, Joe stared at him in horror. "You gotta be kidding me."

"I'm afraid not," Methos replied with a resigned shrug.

"We're doomed," Joe declared flatly as he leaned on his cane.

"Maybe we should have this conversation elsewhere, Joe, people are beginning to stare."

"Oh yeah, like that is the height of our problems. What the hell are we going to do?"

"Well, I was rather hoping you would fill me in."

Joe looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two extra heads. For a moment, Methos thought he was going to start yelling at him again. No such luck,instead, Joe did something much more sinister; he began to laugh. Adam was beginning to think it was some kind of epidemic.

"Oh, that is rich" Joe wheezed, "Mister I-keep-my cards-so-close-to-my-chest-because-I'm-afraid-someone-might-figure-out-what-I-was-thinking wants me to fill him in on what is going on. How the hell do you suppose can I do that when you've been playing Mr. Mysterious for the last two days? There are exactly two things I can tell you, Adam, diddly and squat!"

"Breathe, Joe, I've heard that it helps."

"Don't you patronize me, you old sot! Mac's life is at stake here, or have you forgotten that - again!"

With a sigh, Methos rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in resignation.

"Panicking isn't going to help him, though, is it? We have to figure out what we do know instead of fixating on what we don't. Let's start with the basics: is there anywhere around here we can get a beer?"

This time he was lucky enough to see Joe's cane coming and managed to jump out of range before he got his head caved in by three and a half feet of solid oak.

"Easy Joe, I think my brains are scrambled enough at the moment, don't you?" he muttered as he held his hands up in surrender. "I just need to sit down for a moment. I haven't slept since yesterday, there is a great yawning blankness where my memory should be, and I am in serious need of some downtime. Give me a break here, Joe."

Giving Methos a long, hard look, Joe relented and gestured across the road. "There's a tavern across the road, I could probably do with a drink myself. Let's go."

Five minutes later they were both safely ensconced in a nook, supping on their respective beers. For the first time, Methos took a good look at his friend and realised that he wasn't the only one to not have had much sleep over the last couple of days. Joe looked sick with worry and Methos felt that hard coil of tension in his stomach tighten. Joe wasn't the type of person who got worried easily - usually it took a fair amount of dead bodies before he got this stressed. This wasn't looking good.

"Listen, Joe, I know you've said that I didn't tell you much about Mac's capture, but I need somewhere to start from. Tell me what you do know, let's start with how we got here and maybe something will jog my memory."

With a sigh, Joe leaned back in his seat and combed a hand through his hair. "It started two days ago. I was setting up the bar for the lunch crowd when you came flying through the door and pulled me into the back. You told me that you had gone to visit Mac that morning and that when you arrived at the barge, you saw two guys throw his unconscious body into the back of a van and fly off. You also told me that the abductors had been well-dressed and mortal."

A glimmer of hope flashed in Methos's mind. " Mortal, did you say? Did I give you a description of what they looked like, age, hair colour, anything like that?"

"Nope, well-dressed was all you said."

"Ah well, what happened then?"

"Then you told me to pack a bag because you had a funny feeling that he was going to end up in Bulgaria."

"Oh, come on, I must have said more than that!"

"Nope, and believe me, it wasn't for want of me trying to pry it out of you."

An uneasy quiet settled upon the table as they both studied their pints moodily. All of a sudden, a gasp escaped Methos's voice as his head jerked up suddenly and he stared at Joe.

"Joe... where is my stuff?"

"At the hotel, why?"

For a second Methos thought about skirting around the question but reluctantly decided against it. Considering Joe's little tirade earlier about his less than forthcoming nature, honesty was probably the best policy. Especially as he was still within striking distance of Joe's cane, no sirree, he's not afraid of the big bad blues man. Rubbing his head at the memory, he gave a sideways glance at the stick that was now innocently leaning against the table. He was definitely getting very blasé about using that overgrown twig of his lately; maybe they should have a little chat about it when he was feeling a little lighter on his feet. It was starting to become a very worrying trend.

"Let's just say that I feel a sudden urge to reacquaint myself with the last few entries in my journal."

"Your journal..."

A slow grin spread across Joe's face as it dawned on him the import of Methos's words.

"Sheesh, why didn't I think of that?"

"Must be the stress."

"Ha, ha, ha, very funny, not."

"Come on then, finish up your pint Joe. We don't have all day, time's a-ticking, Mac's in danger and all that."

"Don't even start, you old goat."

With a grin, Methos downed the rest of his pint and stood up. Nothing cheered him up more than getting a rise out of the wily old watcher, except maybe getting a rise out of an even older highlander. He hadn't been lying when he once said he was easily amused.

Stepping out onto the street, Joe led the way to the Hotel. As he strolled along at a leisurely pace besides Joe's awkward gait Methos couldn't help but dwell on his memory loss. His mind awash with uneasy thoughts about a certain bodiless head, he wondered if of the events of the last few days would eventually come back to him. In the past, his bouts of amnesia had been pretty much a hit-and-miss affair.

Sometimes it came back as clear as a bell only a few days later, other times the most he could hope for were a few hazy recollections. His childhood was a jumbled mishmash of pictures, the strongest being his mothers pale, fine-boned face. He had no concrete memories of his first death, and couldn't be sure that the recollections he had of his teacher were reliable, either.

Then there were the times the memories never came back. To this day, he couldn't for the life of him remember a single day of the second century and, even worse, it had been the sixteenth century before he even realised there was a blank.

He had been reminiscing with a fellow survivor of the Bronze Age he had met up with in Florence when the conversation turned to old anecdotes about a certain Persian peacock who had recently taken on a new student. After a having a good giggle at picturing the old coot trying to explain the nature of the game to a clannish 16th century highlander, his companion began to chortle about the time all three of them had partied in Ramirez's palazzo in Rome for two straight months back in 168 c.e.

At first Methos assumed he couldn't remember the details because he'd been in a drunken haze for most of the time (Ramirez's parties back in those days being better described as drunken orgies) but ten minutes into the anecdote he realized that it was a bit more serious than a few pickled brain cells.

Smiling and nodding absently as his companion continued on with his story, he feverishly searched his memory. He had been living amongst the Gauls during the latter end of the first century, that much he was certain of, and he remembered the time he spent in Britain during the early 200's with perfect clarity, but everything between was missing.

A few hours later, after his old acquaintance retired for the night, he made a beeline to his study. Pulling a loose panel out of the wainscoting, he extracted the slim metal box he had stashed there the previous century. Breaking it open, he rifled through the journals within until he found what he was looking for.

Carefully, he leafed through the hide pages and absorbed the words; apparently, he had been married at least twice during that century. Once in Rome at the start of the century and another time in Constantinople shortly after his stay at Ramirez's. Two wives, whose faces he didn't remember.

He had proceeded to get very drunk that night. It didn't matter how descriptive his journals might be, nothing could replace a true memory. Even thinking about it now made him shudder - what if he woke up one morning and couldn't remember Alexa's face?

The thing was, he wouldn't have minded so much if these bouts of amnesia were more even-handed. There were a few years from his angry adolescence that he'd gladly elect to erase from his memory, like that time Kronos convinced him to attack one of Xerxes' supply convoys during that whole mess with the Greeks.

"How can we fail?" he asked. "If those squabbling Greek states with their mishmash of democracies and petty tyrants can thrash them, so can we."

Needless to say, they'd never come across a Greek hoplite before then. If they had, they might have re-evaluated the Persian army's capabilities. It takes balls to hold a line against a pissed-off Greek.

And while he was at it, there wasn't much he wouldn't give to forget that mess he had gotten himself into in Rome during the first century C.E. Uprisings really weren't his forte.

Then there was that crazy boat ride he took with those lunatic Irish monks. What the hell had he been thinking? He still couldn't look at a hull without having to resist the urge to heave. With a shudder, Methos dragged his mind away from that singularly unpleasant memory and into the here and now.

"Well, here we are, our hotel."

"What?"

"I said that this is it, the place we're staying at. Adam, are you still with me?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. Let's go on up to our rooms then."

"Ookaaay. Adam are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine Joe, really. Well, other than the whole annoying memory lapse thing, that is."

The look on Joe's face told him that he wasn't amused.

"Alright then, moving swiftly on..."

Methos quietly stood just inside the door as Joe collected the keys, smiling wanly at the receptionist as she glanced in his direction. He was under no illusion as to what he looked like: death warmed up, and badly dressed to boot. Methos rewound that sentence in his head and snorted, shrugging his shoulders at Joe's enquiring face. Somehow, he didn't think that Joe would appreciate the joke; the whole horseman issue was still a touchy subject. For a brief moment he entertained the notion of explaining the pun "Death warmed up, death warmed up, get it..." No, definitely not a good idea now that he came to think about it... Following Joe down a short hallway on the ground floor, he put his hand out for his key.

"What room am I in?"

"Room eight, I'm next door."

With a nod, Methos inserted the key into the door that Joe indicated and entered the room. It was a simple affair but the bed looked extremely inviting. Gods, he was so tired. With a sigh, he dropped onto the mattress and leaned over the edge. Reaching underneath the bed, he retrieved the satchel he knew he would find there. Sometimes he was very grateful for being a creature of habit.

"That's where you keep it, under the bed. Jeeze, somehow I expected someplace more innovative."

Methos glanced up at Joe who was standing in the doorway with an incredulous look on his face. With a smirk, he straightened up and pulled the satchel onto his lap.

"What were you expecting exactly, some kind of cleverly disguised hidey hole? Give a man a break; it is a hotel room for crying out loud. Besides, sometimes it's better to hide something in plain sight. Take a seat, Joe."

With a snort, Joe entered the room and settled himself on the chair beside the dresser as Methos pulled his journal out.

"Alright then, let's find out what I've been up to..."

Joe watched the expressions that moved across Methos's face as he flicked through the pages. Eventually he couldn't take it any longer.

"What does it say?"

"It says that you were right, Joe, we're doomed..."

Chapter Three

Silence reigned in the room for a couple of seconds as their eyes met across the room. Methos wished, not for the first time that day, that Joe would stop looking at him like that; it was beginning to make him annoyed.

"So how doomed are we?"

"What?"

Pulled out of his reverie by Joe's question, Methos tucked his journal back into the satchel.

"I asked you how doomed are we Methos. Just a rough, ballpark estimation will do. I mean, are we talking about the usual 'I'm an evil immortal and I'm going to kill you' situation, or are we talking about 'I'm an ancient Zoroastrian demon who has come to bring humanity to its knees'"

Methos looked askance at Joe upon the mention of demons.

"I think we can safely cross demons off the list of things we have to worry about Joe. Don't you?"

"Hey, don't scoff, old man. You weren't there for most of it, remember?"

"Hmph, no chance of forgetting that little titbit of information since you remind me of it every chance you get!"

"No, I don't... hey... wait a minute... stick to the point, old man. I've had enough of the run-around in the last two days thank you very much. What the hell is going on, and who has Mac."

"Okay, okay, don't get your trousers in a twist. But I've got to tell you - you're not going like it."

"Just spit it out, let me worry about whether or not I'll like it."

"I'll give you a hint. There are two words and they begin with a W and a C. - and no, I'm not talking about a toilet."

"You've gotta be kidding me! Again? "

"Afraid so, the watcher's council strikes yet again. It seems they've decided that they have unfinished business with Mac."

"So what are we talking about here, some kind of faction within the council. 'Coz I've got to tell you, buddy, I don't buy the idea that this was officially sanctioned."

"From what I can make out from my journal entry, I tend to agree with you. There's a problem though, I seemed to have been unsure as to who to trust."

"So what else is new?"

"Sheesh, could you take it down a few notches Joe, it's not as if this is all my fault."

"Yeah I know, sorry about that man. I'm just a little bit tired, that's all. These last two days have taken a lot out of me."

"Okay then, this has what I've gleaned from my journal. Two weeks ago, I received a letter, along with a videotape, from an old watcher friend of Don's who goes by the name of Philip Turner. The tape apparently showed a couple of overzealous watchers "question" a very reluctant-looking immortal about the Methuselah stone. It seems that some of the watchers are still more than a little bit interested in Rebecca's little trinket."

"I don't understand. The stone is scattered all over the bottom of the Seine, isn't it?"

"It seems that our local neighbourhood hunters think differently."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Philip said in his letter that these guys were under the impression that someone, or some group unknown retrieved it from the riverbed and then transported it to some Neolithic ruins in Thrace."

"Thrace, isn't that in Greece?"

"Part of it is, yes, but originally Thrace stretched along the whole Balkan Peninsula and that includes..."

"...Bulgaria. Okay that explains what we're doing here, but what has that got to do with Mac?"

"Well apparently Mac is in a position that is actually quite unique for him."

"Oh really, and pray tell, what is that exactly?"

"He is the bait."

"He's the WHAT?"

"Yeah, I know, funny, isn't it? Usually he's the target in these little melodramas."

"This isn't funny!"

"Oh, but it is, it's bloody hilarious."

"I'm afraid that you'll have to let me in on the joke, then, because I'm not getting the punch line."

"It seems that this week is the week for role reversals. Not only is Mac the bait, but Amanda has been elected the target, and yours truly is the one left holding the bag."

Understanding began to dawn on Joe's face.

"She's got the final piece."

"Bingo!"

"So where is she? Amanda, I mean."

"Well, that is the sixty-four dollar question. All I know is that she was last spotted in Buenos Aires about four months ago. At least, that's what the latest data in the watcher's files says."

"Found a way to get around the new firewalls they've added to the system, then," Joe observed.

"Wasn't that difficult, I'm afraid. You're going to have to hire a better class of computer nerd. By the way, why the hell hasn't Amanda a proper watcher?"

"Funny you should ask that. Ever since Mac over-shared with her about that whole incident with Horton, being her watcher has become a real bitch. She seems to take great pleasure in making their lives a living hell. Interpol has picked up three consecutive watchers since 1998 for suspicion of theft. She seems to find it funny to frame them for her activities. Anyway, nobody seems to want to volunteer for the job, and the powers-that-be have decided they didn't want to force anyone into the position," Joe explained.

"The really funny thing is that her little game of 'spot the watcher and frame him' has probably saved her life. Remember, you're not paranoid if they're really after you." Methos replied. "I've a strong feeling that they're as much in the dark as to her whereabouts as we are, hence their not so bright idea of kidnapping Mac," Methos said.

"Wait a minute, if they don't have Amanda's location either, how do they expect to tell her about their hostage?"

"As I've already said, not a very bright idea. I think that they had foolishly banked on being able to pry that piece of information out of Mac."

"Do you think he knows?"

"Perhaps, but somehow I don't think he'll be telling them either way, do you?"

Joe shook his head wearily as he leaned back into his chair."So where do we go from here."

"I'm not really sure. According to my journal, I made a few phone calls before I left Paris to people I know Amanda likes to hang out with. I gave them enough details to find us. If she's been seen then she should be on her way here, If not, well..."

"We're screwed."

"Well, there are still the ruins."

"Any idea of where exactly they are?"

"Funny that you should say that! I have a hunch that I was stumbling around in its general vicinity last night. Isn't life full of amazing coincidences?"

"Oh yeah, it's amazing Methos. Practically a miracle," retorted Joe sarcastically as he leaned back into the chair. "Now, can we get on with the rescuing?"

"Whoa, hold on there, Tonto. Mac might not even be there, you know. All we've got to go on are the few sketchy details that I scribbled in my journal. I'd prefer not to go charging in there until I'm sure I know what I'm getting myself into."

"So what do you suggest we do, sit around on our asses until the bad guys decide to send us an engraved invitation?"

"Did we hire a vehicle when we got here?"

"Of course we did, we hired a jeep. You parked it in the lane behind the hotel."

"Okay then, this is the plan. Let me get a couple of hours sleep and then we'll get a bite to eat. I'll root out my laptop afterwards and search the university databases online for some more accurate information about the ruins before we go and take a look-see."

"That's it? That's your great plan? Get some sleep and then go have a look-see?"

"Give me a break, Joe, I'm knackered. If I don't lie down soon I'll fall down."

"Alright, alright, I'll wake you at eight and we'll grab a few bites in the dining room."

Four hours later, Methos was awoken from a very pleasant dream involving a temple priestess and a sunny afternoon by a loud and insistent knock on the door.

"Adam, ADAM, get your lazy ass out of that bed and unlock this door! The kitchen closes at eight thirty, so if you want to eat you'll have to get a move on."

With a groan, Methos pulled himself off the bed and staggered towards the door.

"Keep you shirt on, I'm coming."

Unlocking the door, he pulled it ajar and blearily eyed an impatient Joe.

"Give me a few moments to clean up and I'll join you in the dining room. Order me a steak will you? I could do with the protein."

"Okay, then, but don't take too long. If we hang around here much longer I'm going to explode with frustration," Joe warned him.

"Tell me something I don't know," Methos muttered as he closed the door and made his way to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he joined Joe at the table looking and feeling a lot more awake. Helping himself to a bread roll, he buttered it liberally as he watched Joe's obvious impatience with amusement.

"Relax, Joe. As long as Amanda is nowhere to be found, Mac's head is safe so why don't you just count to ten and enjoy the meal?"

Tearing a chunk out of the roll, Methos chewed happily as he perused the room. Spotting a waiter he beckoned him over to the table and ordered a beer. Things were definitely looking up.

The beer arrived with the meal and Methos helped himself as he mentally went over his plan. He already had an idea of where to look for the ruins, but a quick look through Sofia's university databanks should clear up the details. The question was, what to do when they got there? Other than the vague details in the journal, he had no idea of what they were getting into.

Which reminds him, there was still the little problem of the journal entry he had chosen not to share with Joe. He figured that his friend had enough to worry about without knowing about the immortal that was in cahoots with the renegade watchers. The idea of getting Joe to come with him to Bulgaria had less to do with needing his help, and more with getting him out of the line of fire. Not that he was having much luck with that. The most he could hope for would be to get Joe out of this mess alive.

There wasn't much information on the immortal in question. He was a Frenchman who went by the name of Richard Valmont having dropped the prefix "De" during the French revolution. It wasn't a good idea to advertise one's aristocratic background in those days, especially with Robespierre's new executioner's toy - nothing like a beheading to make an immortal nervous.

The details of his first death were sketchy. Other than the fact that it happened in Constantinople during one of the Crusades in the eleventh century, nothing much else was known. There was no information about where he disappeared to immediately afterwards, and nothing on who was his teacher.

The next sighting of him was in Rome during the fourteenth century, where he lived for the following two centuries, after that he had moved back to France and had lived there ever since. He lived a quiet life, and there was no indication of him being a headhunter. By immortal standards, he was a model citizen.

All in all, he had absolutely no idea why an immortal with such a low profile would suddenly get himself involved in a mess like this - and that made him nervous, he hated an unknown.

He glanced up from his meal, only to find Joe eyeing him suspiciously.

"You seem very wrapped up in your thoughts there, something you haven't told me?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Experience."

"You've hurt my feelings, Joe, anyone would think you didn't like me."

"Yeah, yeah, you look real broke up. Stick to point, old man."

"It's nothing, Joe. I'm just a little worried about going after these guys without knowing all the facts."

"Are you sure about that? No nasty surprises in the woodwork that I should know about?"

For a brief moment, Methos's resolution wavered under Joe's intense gaze, but it was just a moment.

"No Joe, nothing else."

Finishing off his meal, Methos rose from the table and gestured in the direction of his room.

"I'll go on ahead and boot up my laptop, join me when you're finished."

Joe looked up at him questioningly, and a few heartbeats went by before he sighed and nodded.

"What ever you say, Adam."

Methos was at the door before he heard Joe call after him."

"Adam."

Turning around, Methos held his breath and raised his eyebrow enquiringly.

"When you're ready to tell me the truth let me know, I'll be all ears."

Closing the dining room door after him, he released his breath and shook his head in defeat. He was going to have to tell him the truth eventually, he knew that. It was just that he was hoping he would have a little more time before it came to that.

As soon as he got to his room he booted up his computer and logged into the Sofia university database. Checking out the latest archaeological digs, he eventually found what he was looking for. The database had identified it as a tomb, because it had the typical markers that identified tombs from that era, but if Methos's memory served him correctly, there might be more to this sight than a simple burial site. From what he could see of the photographs and diagrams of the site, there was a good chance that a temple was attached to the area as well.

"Three guesses as to where we'll find the psychotic watchers."

Saving the pages to his laptop, he did a quick check on his e-mail and was surprised to find one from Nick Wolf. Opening it, he quickly scanned the short message. The elusive Amanda had been found and Nick had apparently filled her in. She was due to arrive at Sofia Airport at midday tomorrow.

With a sigh, Methos weighed the pros and cons of the situation. Things were coming to a head way too fast, as far he was concerned. If only he knew what they were hoping to do with Rebecca's stone. Once again, he felt the panic rise in the pit of his stomach as he mentally ran into the brick wall that was his memory loss.

Too many pieces of the puzzle were missing. Joe had concluded from the journal entries that the reason he'd flown down to Bulgaria in such a hurry was to come to Duncan's aid. Methos knew better, as much as he was fond of the highlander, there was no way he'd fly down here without any back-up unless there was a very pressing reason. Pity he had failed to jot down what it was in his Journal.

In his mind he pictured the stone, the way the light fractured over its facets as it stood on the shelf in Rebecca's study. He had learned of the stone's supposed properties from her one evening back in the seventh century when she was in a rare, expansive mood. Pensively she had told him about her teacher's philosophies and beliefs, recounting the day he had made a gift of the stone before she left his protection on the eastern shores of the Black Sea. Methos wasn't sure if he believed all she said about the power of the stone, all he knew was that when the stone resurfaced in the late 1990's, desperation gave him a faith in it's abilities that to this day he couldn't understand. He had loved Alexa deeply, but she wasn't the first wife he had loved and lost. So why was it that when it was Alexa's life that was ebbing away, he had suddenly remembered it? Sighing, he reluctantly concluded that he might never know the answer to that question.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie and Joe's voice wafted through the doorway.

"Adam, are you in there?"

"Come in Joe, it's not locked"

"Well, what did you find out?" he asked as he settled himself on a chair.

"To start with I've some good news for once, Amanda has been found and she's on her way here, she's due to arrive tomorrow. I've also been able to get my hands on some details of the layout of the ruins."

"Things are looking up then."

"So it seems."

"So why don't you look happy?"

"Call it my inner pessimist, but I'm not going to feel happy about this until I'm sure that we're all going to get out of this alive and in one piece."

"Whatever you say buddy."

"Right then, lets get a move on, shall we? The night isn't getting any younger you know."

With a flourish, Methos leapt from the bed, and stood waiting for Joe to reorient himself on his feet.

"Have you got the car keys on you?" he enquired as they made their way out into the hall.

"Yeah," Joe replied shortly. A determined look on his face as he pushed ahead into the reception area.

Five minutes later, they were safely ensconced in the jeep and on their way. Midnight was approaching by the time they made it to the bridge Methos had found the previous night. All things considered, he thought that Hira wouldn't appreciate two visits in one day, so he hadn't stopped along the way. Pulling over to the side, Methos perused the hinterland and made a decision.

"I'm afraid that this is as far as you're going Joe. I'm going in alone from here on in."

"WHAT? Oh no, no way, man. I'm coming with you and that's that."

"Look around you, Joe, there are no lanes, no pathways. There is no way you are going to be able to get through this underbrush even in the best of circumstances, never mind in the dead of night with who knows what lurking in the bushes. You're staying here, Joe, and that's final."

With a glare, Joe sunk into his seat and muttered something under his voice about annoying know-it-alls as Methos reached into the back and pulled out a torch. Getting out of the jeep, Methos glanced back at his companion.

"It's for the best, Joe. I'll be back as soon as I can but if I'm not here by dawn, get you ass back to Travda and wait for Amanda."

"This jeep isn't configured for someone with my disability, you know."

"Somehow I think you'll manage."

"I think I'd prefer not to find out all the same. You'd better be back before dawn Mister. Things are bad enough without having to rely on Amanda to launch a rescue mission!"

With a laugh, Methos shut the car door and crept into the trees. Moving as silently as he could through the undergrowth, he made his way towards the ruins, making better time than he had before because this time he knew where he was going. An hour later, he heard voices ahead and he hunched quickly as he slid silently forward.

"I'm telling you, Max, I don't like the fact we're relying so much on that immortal's information"

"Relax, Al. Rene's been his watcher for the last fifteen years and has vouched for him. It's all going to work out as planned. You shouldn't worry so much."

"Don't tell me to relax Max. You may not have read the Highlanders chronicles, but I have, and I for one wouldn't want to cross him - except of course WE ALREADY HAVE!"

"Jesus Christ! Keep your voice down."

"Who's going to hear me, the squirrels?"

"Don't forget we still haven't found out who killed that Jackson kid from the Viennese motherhouse. Still haven't found his head either. Could be a renegade immortal in the neighbourhood, remember?"

Methos winced from his place in the bushes. At least he now knew the poor bugger's name. Worriedly, he eavesdropped further to the two watchers' conversation as he settled himself down in his hiding place. It was definitely time to listen and learn.

"And who's to say that our "renegade" immortal wasn't Valmont?"

"The motherhouse in Paris, that's who, Al. Valmont was still safely tucked up in his Parisian apartment when Jackson was killed."

"Oh, yeah, and we all know how reliable those reports are. Just as reliable as ours have been of late."

"Oh come on Al, those old codgers don't have it in them to fake a report. They don't have the imagination and even if they did, why would they?"

"Maybe for the same reason that we did? Maybe we weren't the only watchers he contacted with this little deal of his? Maybe he's playing us against each other for his own ends?"

"You need to get a hold on that paranoia of yours, kid. It's getting out of hand."

"Yeah, well, finding a headless body will do that to you."

The watcher called Max grunted and leaned against a tree.

"Well all I can say is that it's a little too late in the day to start getting nervous. Buck up, pal, it's all or nothing at this stage."

"I still don't see how this crystal can grant immortality."

"Hey, nobody can figure out how an immortal is granted immortality' but they exist all the same."

"But what does Valmont get out of this deal? I mean, he already has got the whole immortality thing down, so why is he doing this?"

"Well, I heard a rumour that the stone is supposed to grant immortals invincibility, so maybe that's it."

"That doesn't make sense though. I've read this guys chronicle and he just doesn't seem the type who'd want to play at being Mr Invincible. He doesn't hunt, lives a quiet life, runs a small business. I mean, he's married for crying out loud, so why does he suddenly want to up the stakes?"

"Don't look at me, I'm just the hired help. That's between Valmont and Tribeau."

Methos mentally congratulated himself as he listened; now he had a name he could work with. Ah well, time to get on with it then. Silently he crept up behind the tree that Max was leaning against and waited for his opportunity - these two were going to go sleepy bye-byes for a few hours. Patiently crouching behind the tree, he waited for his opportunity as the two watchers continued to speculate.

"I still say we shouldn't trust him, Max."

"You know as well as I that what we think isn't worth squat, Al, so just can it."

"Fine, fine, be like that, I'm going for a piss."

"Watch out for the squirrels."

"Ha, ha, bloody ha."

Methos couldn't believe his luck.

"Oh, this is just too easy!"

With a grin, he took out his dagger and hit Max over the head with the pommel. The watcher sank to the ground soundlessly. A moment later, he heard movement in the bushes and Al poked his head out from behind a tree. Methos conked him on the skull and he folded without a word, the poor guy didn't even have time to zip up his fly. Rifling through their clothes, he took their weapons, wallets, mobiles and keys. Stripping them of their shirts, he ripped them up and used them to bind and gag the unfortunate watchers.

Peeking up through the branches, he reoriented himself from the stars and continued on his way. It wasn't long before he saw lights through the trees and the low murmur of many voices.

"My, my, these guys really are a bunch of night owls. What the hell are they up to, having a midnight feast or something? Maybe Hira was right about this whole secret society thing."

Crouching low, he slunk forward and settled down to watch the show. Tents dotted the site and a large campfire was lit in the centre of the camp. He counted at least twelve men around the fire and he surmised from the amount of tents, that there were at least twelve others he couldn't see. With a smirk, he realised that he had already accounted for two of them. Chances were, most of the others were on watch as well. After a few moments deliberation, Methos decided to take a tour of the perimeter.

Creeping back into the trees, he travelled clockwise, his eyes searching the trees for sentries. It was when he reached the east side that he felt it, the faint but steady buzz of another immortal.

Pausing for a moment to slide out his blade, he slipped forward and discovered a second, better concealed, encampment set back into the trees. The numbers were fewer but these men definitely seemed more aware of their surroundings. Their fire was banked and about half of them were watching the trees for any sign of intruders, rifles at the ready across their laps. These guys were not of the rank and file; they actually had a clue about what they were doing.

"I knew things were going too well."

It was then that he noticed one of the men disappear into a hole in the ground about three yards to the north of the fire.

"And I wonder where they've stashed the Highlander."

With a disgusted sigh, Methos retreated back into the trees and tried to figure out a game plan that wouldn't get him killed. He had hoped that he could get out of this without having to kill someone, but the heavily armed guards had just upped the stakes. There was no way in hell he would be able to disarm and incapacitate all of them without being caught.

There were seven men above ground, with the silencer on his gun; he figured that he could take out at least four before the rest figured out what was happening, and that he could take at least another two before they could duck for cover. That left one that could get down the ladder before he reloaded. With a shrug, he resigned himself to having to leap down after him and hoped there wasn't another seven waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.

"Oh well, here goes nothing."

Attaching his silencer, he aimed and took out the three closest to the hole in quick succession. Two more he shot before they hit the ground for cover and another as he reached the top of the ladder. The seventh man crouched uncertainly behind the log that he had been sitting on five seconds previously.

It was then that he remembered the other two guns in his pocket; they didn't have a silencer attachment but beggars couldn't be choosers. Methos waited for the watcher to bolt, gun cocked to fire. The noise of gunfire was going to bring the other encampment running, so he didn't want to fire until he was sure of a direct hit.

A sharp scrape on the ground alerted Methos to his targets run for safety. He fired and watched as the watcher dropped like a stone. Methos sprang from the undergrowth and dashed for the hole, aiming his gun at the ladder as he arrived. A dim light shone from below and he jumped in feet first, gun at the ready. The underground chamber was empty except for a single chair that was occupied by a bound, gagged and very brassed-off Highlander.

"Hey, Mac, how's it going? life been treating you okay?"

Duncan glared balefully at his smirking 'rescuer' as Methos hacked at the bonds with his dagger and peered around the chamber.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Could it be - gasp - a temple."

Pulling the gag from his mouth, Duncan shakily stood on his feet and faced Methos.

"I never thought I'd say this old man, but you are definitely a sight for sore eyes"

"Aww, that just brings tears to my eyes. Now take this gun, we may have to shoot our way out of here."

"And where is 'here', exactly?"

"You, my fine young Highlander, have the dubious honour of being whisked away to the Balkan Ranges."

"And that is a bad thing?"

"Usually? No. As wilderness goes it's quite picturesque. Unfortunately for us, this particular patch of it has seemed to have acquired some nasty wildlife, so we better get going."

Without further ado, Duncan scrambled to the top of the ladder, gun in hand, and poked his head up.

"I hear voices."

"Well, get a move on, then! I really don't want to be here when they stumble across the bodies."

"Bodies?"

"You don't want to know. Now MOVE!"

Duncan leapt from the hole with Methos hot on his heels; they dove for the undergrowth just seconds before the cavalry arrived.

"What the hell? Search the perimeter, we've had a security breach."

"Security breach! It's a bloody massacre, Rene, they're all dead."

"I think I've already noticed that Jacques, why don't you go and make yourself useful and check on our guest. Everyone else spread out, I want to catch these bastards."

"Time to go Mac." Methos hissed at the Highlander as he made to slink away from the clearing. With a nod, Duncan followed him into the forest. The Highlander's night vision was better than most, but he suspected that Methos's was even sharper.

The next two hours were a nightmare of twists and turns as they strove to evade their pursuers whilst making their way out of the forest. Eventually, though, they hit tarmac. Spotting the jeep in the distance, they ran the last few hundred yards and jumped into the vehicle, gasping for breath.

"Well I'll be, you did it. You actually did it," an ecstatic Joe exclaimed as they fell into their seats.

"No need to sound so surprised, Joe. I'm not totally inept, you know!"

"Ooops, sorry, I didn't mean it like that old man, I'm just relieved that you both made it back."

"Ah, go on, admit it! You were just afraid you'd have to tackle the drive home behind the wheel." Methos teased as he turned the ignition.

"You got me!" Joe laughingly replied as he turned in the seat and eyed the Highlander slumped in the back seat, "You alright there, Mac?"

"I'm fine Joe, just a little bit wiped out."

Joe eyed the pallor of the normally healthy-looking Highlander.

"Well, just close your eyes and rest, then. It's a long drive back to town."

With a grateful smile, Duncan shut his eyes and dozed off within moments.

"Sheesh, he must have been exhausted," Joe muttered as he straightened in his seat.

Glancing in the rear view mirror at the sleeping form in the back seat, Methos had to agree.

Dawn had broken by the time they arrived at the hotel, and Joe shook Duncan's leg as they pulled into the lane behind the hotel.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head, we're here."

Mac muttered drowsily as he pulled himself together and jumped out of the jeep. "So, where are we?" he enquired as he took stock of his surroundings.

"We're in Travda. It's a pleasant spot, actually, has quite a few features of historical interest for such a small town. All in all, it's quite a nice place to be holed up in, couldn't do better if we tried," Methos replied.

"Been here before, then?" Duncan asked as he perused the street.

"A bit after my time, to tell the truth."

"Really?"

Duncan eyed his companion speculatively.

"Ask me no questions, Mac, and I'll tell you no lies."

Joe listened in on the brief exchange and made a note to bring up the subject again when Methos had a few drinks in him. He had a funny feeling that there was a tale to be heard.

Reception was empty, so Methos leaned across the counter and snagged their keys before they made their way to his room. Once safely inside, Duncan threw himself on the bed as Joe once again made himself comfortable on the room's only chair. Retrieving the laptop from the dresser, Methos nudged Duncan and sat on the corner of the bed as the Highlander reluctantly moved his foot.

"Oi! A few more inches here."

Duncan groaned but gave ground, pulling himself to one side of the bed as Methos leaned back against the headboard and opened the laptop, accessing the files he had downloaded the night before.

"Here we go!" he exclaimed cheerfully as he studied the diagram of the site. "Time to play 'lets spot the secret underground temple.'"

"What do you mean? You've already found it, remember? You just rescued me from its hallowed halls less than eight hours ago!" Duncan retorted, raising his head from the pillow to look at his fellow immortal.

"Ah, but there was something missing," Methos replied smugly.

"And what was that 'Oh, all knowing one?'" Joe asked mockingly.

"Why, the secret underground antechamber in which the Methuselah stone is displayed, on an altar worthy of its splendour, of course!"

"Huh? Okay, what have I missed?" asked a puzzled Duncan as he pulled himself up on the bed and looked over the other immortal's shoulder.

"You're not going to like it"

A snort of laughter came from the chair in response. "Just tell him, old man, before he tries to throttle it out of you."

Methos quickly filled the Highlander in on what they had discovered so far; including the fact that Amanda was on her way as they spoke.

"So that's why they were trying to get her whereabouts from me. We've got to head her off," Duncan said worriedly. "There is no way I want to let those freaks near her"

"Too late, Mac. She's due to land at Midday, and even if there were a way of heading her off, she'd fight us all the way. You know as well as I do, that the one thing that's sure to get Amanda's dander up is someone messing about with Rebecca's legacy. She may waver when it comes to other situations like this, but she was unswervingly devoted to her teacher. She won't stand for anyone trying to use Rebecca's crystal for something that her mentor would never approve of."

Duncan had to reluctantly agree with Methos's assessment of the situation. Amanda was on her way, come hell or high water.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to snatch a few hours sleep. I've a funny feeling that I'm not going to get any sleep once Amanda arrives," Joe announced as he pulled himself up from his chair and made his way to the door.

"Sweet dreams Joe," Methos called out after him as he entered the hallway.

"Right back at ya," Joe replied with a grin as he closed the door after him.

"Well, I better go down to reception and get myself a room," groaned Duncan as he swung his legs onto the floor.

"Hold on a minute, Mac, there's something I haven't told you yet."

Closing his eyes in defeat, Duncan leaned back on the bed.

"Do me a favour, old man, break it to me gently."

"I'll try not to upset your fragile constitution," laughed Methos, earning a glare from the exhausted Highlander.

"Just ge' on wi' it, will ya" he muttered, his accent broadening from fatigue as he slumped on the bed."

Methos briefly summarized Valmont's involvement with the renegade watchers and waited for the Highlander's reaction.

"Why haven't you told Joe about Valmont?"

"At this stage, I'm not very sure. I suppose I just thought that I had a good reason not to have told him from the start, and as I can't remember either way...."

"...You decided that saying nothing was the safest thing to do. We're going to have to tell him, you know."

"Do we have to?" Methos whined.

"Yes we do!" laughed Duncan as he dragged himself from the bed once more.

"Oh, Maaacc!"

"Don't tell me, the Martians have landed and have announced that they, too, want the Methuselah stone."

"Nothing so exciting, I'm afraid."

"What, then?"

"I hate to have to remind you, but you didn't exactly travel here on a passport and hotels are usually a bit of a stickler about that kind of thing when you're registering."

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

"Not to worry, Mac, I'm sure that Amanda will be glad to accommodate you once she's checked in."

"But that's hours away!"

"Well, you could always snuggle up with me."

"Not bloody likely!"

"I promise I'll leave your virtue intact."

"Your head won't be intact in a minute if you keep this up."

"Aw Mac, is this the way to speak to the man who just saved your... what the... what the hell are you doing!

"What does it look like, I'm stealing your duvet of course," Duncan grunted

"You can't do thaa... oof!"

Triumphantly, Duncan heaved the duvet off the bed, dumping Methos on the floor in the process.

"Ouch, that hurt you know."

"Serves you right, picking on a man while he's down."

Stealing a pillow for good measure, Duncan settled himself upon the floor.

"You're still wearing the bloody clothes you crawled through the woods in you know, the duvet's going to be a mess."

"So? You've got maid service haven't you?" Came the muffled reply from the floor.

"Oh, you've got all the answers don't you," muttered an irate Methos as he stalked into the bathroom to clean up.

"You better believe it," came the sleepy rejoinder, a chortle escaping from under the duvet as he heard the old man slam the bathroom door.

Chapter Four

The sharp tang in his mouth that accompanied the buzz of an approaching immortal broke through his sleep, and Methos scrambled for his sword under the bed, colliding with a startled Highlander who had also awoken with a start on the floor. With a howl, Methos nursed his nose as he continued to feel around under the bed with his left hand.

"It's probably just Amanda, you know," Duncan pointed out as the pounding in his head began to abate.

"Never hurts to be cautious," came the short reply as Methos curled his hand around the pommel of his sword.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Duncan groaned as the din echoed through his still-tender noggin.

"Methos! Methos, I know you're in there, I could feel you from down the hall!"

"For crying out loud, doesn't that woman understand the concept of a secret identity? I'm surprised she doesn't just post my name on the net," Methos grumbled as he stumbled over Duncan to get to door.

"You know she only does it because it guarantees you'll answer the door. That paranoia of yours is way too easy to play upon."

Glaring down at the smug Highlander, Methos wrenched open the door and found himself with an armful of Amanda.

"Oh, Methos," she sobbed into his shoulder. "Thank God you're here, you've got to save him!"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Methos's mouth; nothing like a millennia of practice to perfect the little-girl-lost routine.

"Relax, Amanda. As it happens, no cajoling is required on this occasion."

"It isn't?" Amanda exclaimed disbelievingly as she raised her head to look at him.

"One Highlander coming up!" He announced as he pushed the door fully ajar to reveal the grinning Scot.

"DUNCAN!"

With a squeal, Amanda abandoned Methos and threw herself at Duncan, hurtling them both onto the bed.

"I see that Amanda has arrived then."

Methos put his head out the door and discovered a hastily-clad Joe coming out of his room.

"Come on in, Joe, join the party," he said wryly as he retreated to the dresser and propped himself against it.

"Joe, darling!" Amanda exclaimed, extricating herself from Duncan as she rose from the bed and held out her arms to greet him.

With a grin, the watcher obliged her with a big bear hug.

"Hey!" Duncan pouted, sitting up on the mattress in protest.

"Hey yourself," Joe retorted, "Surely you wouldn't deny an old man a hug?"

"Heaven forbid," came the sly reply from the dresser.

"Oh honey, are you feeling all neglected? There, there, let Amanda make it all better," She purred, waltzing back to the bed and patting the put-out Highlander on the cheek as she perched on the bed beside him.

"Aww, how touching." Came the cynical observation from a grouchy Methos.

"Feeling old and bitter today, are we, darling" Amanda fired back.

"That's me every day, d-a-r-l-i-n-g," the elder immortal drawled.

"Okay, kiddies, let's play nice, shall we? We've enough on our plates as it is," sighed Joe as he plopped himself on the chair.

"Right, the Methuselah stone," declared Amanda, her mood transforming in front of their eyes as her attitude became all business. Methos had been right in gauging her reaction to the news that the watchers had their hands on it.

"Do you want the bad news first, or the worse news?" asked Duncan as he rose from the bed.

"I want the entire story," came the reply as she shrugged off her coat and settled on the bed. "Don't spare the details."

For the third time in twenty-four hours, Methos found himself recounting what had occurred the last few days, Amanda listening raptly as he described all the twists and turns.

"And you still don't remember how you ended up the clearing?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows.

"Not a glimmer," Methos admitted.

"This isn't the first time that this has happened to you, is it?" Amanda shrewdly guessed.

"I'm afraid not," was the sheepish reply.

"It's not?" Joe asked, as he turned and looked enquiringly at the Highlander, who just shrugged in reply.

"It's the first he's heard about it too, Joe," an exasperated Methos retorted as he watched the exchange.

"Speaking of first times to hear about it..." Duncan prompted, raising his eyebrows meaningfully and gesturing towards Joe.

With a sinking heart, Methos realised that Duncan wanted him to spill the beans about Valmont; he really wasn't looking forward to this.

"What's going on here?" demanded Amanda as she noticed the rising tension between her two immortal companions. "Come on, guys, give."

"Well... there seems to be an added complication," admitted Methos.

"I knew it, I knew it!" Joe cried triumphantly as he stomped his cane on the floor.

"Why don't you fill them in while I clean up," Duncan suggested as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Muttering mild expletives as he stared daggers at Duncan's back, Methos shrunk back against the desk and faced the other two.

"Any time today will do, Methos," prodded Joe impatiently.

"It's about an Immortal called Valmont, apparently he's involved in this whole mess."

"How, exactly?" Amanda asked curiously.

"Well, that's the sixty million dollar question, isn't it?" was the flip reply.

"The name doesn't ring a bell, I don't think this guy is very active in the game," Joe mused.

"You aren't wrong," Methos agreed. "Valmont is approaching his first millennia and he still can count all his challenges with his fingers."

"Now that's what I call a low profile," approved Amanda.

"Tell me about it. Frankly, I'm envious," the elder immortal replied. "I've never been able to keep that low under the radar, and it isn't from want of trying."

Joe leaned back in his chair and perused his two companions.

"So why should such a peaceable guy suddenly get involved in the kidnapping of such a high profile immortal such as Mac? I mean, I know about the Methuselah stone and everything, but that doesn't make sense either. If he's done his research, he must know that he has some pretty stiff competition for the crystal, mortal and immortal alike. Why would such a guy take the risk when so many thing could go wrong?"

"Maybe he isn't really that peaceable," suggested Amanda. "It could all be a subterfuge, pretending to be Mr. Nice Guy whilst all the time secretly plotting world domination!"

"A millennia is a very long time to pretend to be something you're not, Amanda."

"You seem to have managed it," she retorted as she slumped back on the bed.

"Could be a dark quickening," came the quiet suggestion from the bathroom door.

Methos turned and looked at the Highlander's troubled face.

"It's unlikely, Mac," he answered gently. "An immortal's response to a dark quickening isn't usually so controlled. He'd most likely be on a killing spree, not quietly plotting with a bunch of watchers."

Duncan nodded at Methos's assessment and disappeared back into the bathroom.

"I could have a chat with his watcher," Joe interjected. "Get some inside info. Maybe he's noticed something that hasn't made it into his chronicles."

"I think I could pretty much guarantee that, Joe," replied Methos darkly. "His name is Rene, and I'm afraid he is one of the renegade watchers."

"Jeeze, is there anything else that you've failed to mention?"

"Well, that depends. Does the name Tribeau mean anything to you?" Methos asked.

"There's an Alain Tribeau in research..." Joe suggested.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Methos said. "Is he new?"

"Not exactly, he was stationed in Istanbul during the time you were with us. I guess your paths just didn't cross."

"And there goes that uneasy feeling again," Methos muttered to himself.

"Care to spread that unease about?" asked Amanda sarcastically.

"I second that," a newly shaved Duncan added as he returned to the room and joined Amanda on the bed.

For a moment, Methos felt his temper rise to the fore but he suppressed it before it could show through the nonchalant fa・de that he was finding harder and harder to hold onto as the hours went by. How could he explain the terror of not remembering what you had eaten for breakfast the previous day, never mind whether or not you had killed someone? He now had a name for the boy whose head he had found; it didn't make him feel any better. Funny how he didn't feel anything for the seven men he'd killed last night, but the thought of Jackson's head made him cringe with guilt. It was the not knowing that was killing him. Looking at the expectant faces around him, he took a deep breath and waded in.

"It could be nothing..."

"Or it could be something. Come on, spill," Joe encouraged.

"It's just that... well... I can't help but remember that Valmont met his first death in Constantinople and wonder if there is a connection. Is there any way we could find out what Tribeau was researching there?"

"I could call a few favours in, see if I can discreetly get a peek at his work," Joe agreed.

"Can't we just hack into the watcher database again?" Amanda suggested, "I mean, it isn't exactly difficult, is it? The firewalls have more holes in it than Swiss cheese."

"And how would you know, Amanda?" demanded Joe. "And what exactly do you mean by 'we'?"

"Did I say that? Must be a slip of the tongue," a guilty-looking Amanda replied as she studiously examined her hands.

Joe glared around the room and noticed the blushing Highlander looking at an overly innocent looking Methos.

"I don't believe it! You've all been at it, haven't you? We aren't a public library, you know!"

Looking for all the world like three scolded children who've been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, the three immortals gazed at their shoes in response.

"And don't think that I'm going to fall for this 'I'm so contrite' act, either. What age are you guys anyway? I've read your chronicles but I'm beginning to think that they might have erred about your birth dates," exploded Joe.

"I've only done it in emergencies," protested Amanda.

"Oh yeah, and what kind of emergency is that, Amanda? Having problems avoiding all the immortals you've robbed over the years?"

"Calm down, Joe, we have enough on our plates as it is, remember?" Methos said soothingly.

Joe glared at Methos for a moment before slumping back into his seat and nodding his head in agreement.

"Okay, then," Duncan said carefully. "Getting back to Tribeau."

"The database doesn't cover research material," explained Methos. "Only the basic details of the still-active immortals; otherwise, the system could get too unwieldy."

"So, what do we do?" Amanda ventured.

"Well, I was thinking that a little overnight trip would do us good," Methos joked. "I've heard that Turkey is lovely this time of year."

"But what about the stone?" Duncan protested.

"What about it? The stone's useless until they get Amanda's piece. Let the watchers keep it nice and snug in the woods until we get back," replied Methos smugly.

"Man without a passport, here," Duncan reminded him.

"We'll report it missing in Sofia and get one reissued at the British embassy. You still carry a British passport, don't you?"

Duncan nodded in answer and stretched out on the bed.

"Well, I'll go get packed," Joe announced as he stood up. "We'll want to make a move before it gets dark."

"I'll be back in half an hour," said Amanda as she grabbed her coat. "I think poor Duncan needs something to wear that hasn't been worn for four days straight!"

"I'll go with you Amanda," Methos declared. "We don't want any renegade watchers to get their hands on you."

"I can take care of myself," Amanda protested.

"So can Mac, but it didn't prevent them from bundling him into the back of a van!"

"That reminds me... how did they get you, Mac?" Joe asked.

"Sniper rifle," Duncan answered shortly.

"Gets you every time," Methos commented wryly as he reached for his anorak.

"Leave your credit card here," Duncan asked Methos. "I'll take care of the reservations while you're gone."

Two hours later, they were on their way to Sofia. Methos travelled with Joe in the jeep while Duncan accompanied Amanda in her rented convertible. They arrived in Sofia just after 1 a.m. and made their way to the hotel at which Duncan had reserved rooms earlier.

"This is more like it," Amanda sighed as she entered the suite Duncan had reserved for her.

"You didn't exactly skimp with my credit card, did you?" Methos observed dryly from the doorway.

"Think of it as a reciprocal payment for all those times you've crashed on my couch," grinned the Highlander as he threw himself on the bed.

"I'd prefer to think of it as an advance payment for all those times to come," replied Methos mischievously as he disappeared from the doorway to the sound of Amanda's laughter.

The next morning was a flurry of activity as Duncan went to the embassy armed with the story he had concocted with Methos over the breakfast table. Methos spent most of the morning on the phone making some discreet enquiries of his own through his academic contacts about Tribeau.

Amanda had decided she needed to check out the local designer stores and dragged Joe along with her for "protection"-- one shopping trip with Methos was enough, as far as she was concerned. Five thousand years, and he still had no dress sense; she wouldn't be surprised if he dressed from a catalogue.

Duncan returned triumphantly at midday, his new passport safely stashed in his inside pocket. Methos confirmed their flight reservations for that evening and they both went downstairs to wait for Amanda and Joe in the restaurant. They had just picked up the menus when Amanda breezed into the room amidst a sea of bags with a very harassed-looking Joe in tow.

"Did we have fun?" Methos drawled as he looked up from his menu.

"Yes, thank you," came the prim reply as Amanda sat in the chair that Duncan pulled out for her.

Methos noted with humour Joe's silence as he joined them at the table and looked at the menu. The watcher belonged to the school of thought that 'if you had nothing nice to say, say nothing at all'. Tact really wasn't his forte; it probably had something to do with his inability to lie convincingly.

"How's it going there, Joe, pick up any bargains?" he asked as he beckoned the waiter.

"Oh, Joe wasn't in the mood for bargain hunting but I found a few things for him," Amanda interjected contentedly, "I even found something for Amy, a sweet little cocktail dress that will look absolutely divine on her."

Methos inwardly wondered if Amy would ever have the occasion to wear such a dress; watcher circles weren't exactly known for their opulent dinner parties.

"I fully intend to drag her out when I next come to Paris, that poor girl doesn't get out enough. All that lurking in the shadows can't be good for her social life," Amanda added. Sometimes Methos wondered if she were a mind reader.

"You may not realise this, Amanda, but you don't exactly have the greatest of reputations among the watchers. They might have something to say about Amy consorting with you," Methos snorted.

"Whatever do you mean, Adam?" Amanda replied, batting her eyes innocently.

"I mean that they are a bit nervous about letting you get your claws in another watcher. Yours seem to have a habit of ending up behind bars!"

"They do?" enquired Duncan, his face a picture of amusement.

Joe rolled his eyes and resumed looking at his menu.

"Besides," Methos continued, "Amy is my watcher and I'm quite fond of her, so hands off."

"If you're so fond of her then why are you ditching her at every opportunity," Amanda sulked.

"Just doing my part to keep her on her toes," he answered glibly. "Wouldn't want her to get sloppy, would we?"

"Well, your watcher is busy cooling her heels in Paris at this very moment, and she is not amused," Joe commented from behind his menu.

"You've been talking to her?" Methos asked.

"I phoned her yesterday morning, I didn't want her to worry."

"You didn't tell her what we were up to, did you?"

"And have her flying down here like a bat out of hell? No, thank you, I've got enough on my plate," Joe snorted.

"Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you, Duncan," Amanda pronounced as she produced a long, slim case. "I thought you might have needed a replacement until you retrieve your Katana."

With a surprised smile, Duncan accepted the gift. "That was really thoughtful, Amanda, thank you."

The conversation came to a close as the waitress arrived at the table to take their orders. The next hour passed pleasantly as they lingered over their meal and chatted, carefully avoiding the subject of their current predicament. It was nice, Methos thought, to talk about mundane things for a while. Reluctantly, they finished their coffees and retired to their rooms to pack for their flight.

The flight to Istanbul was uneventful and they arrived at their hotel at 8 p.m. without incident. Methos noted sourly that Duncan had managed to charge another suite to his credit card; he was really going to have to nip this in the bud. They met in the bar after dropping their luggage in their rooms and went over their options.

"I say we try a little bit of breaking and entering and see what we come up with," Amanda suggested. "The motherhouse's security shouldn't be a problem for me, we could be in and out within half an hour."

"There's that word again," Joe snickered. "Tell me whom, exactly, do you mean when you say we.""

"Well, I was thinking Adam and I would do the actual breaking and entering, and you and Duncan would keep the engine going in the getaway car, easy peasy!"

Duncan rolled his eyes as Methos and Amanda grinned at each other; those two were having way too much fun, as far as he was concerned!

"Right, then," Joe said briskly. "Time to get a move on. We'll take my car, I believe it's my turn to drive."

Without further ado, they collected their things and made their way down to Joe's car. The drive took them about an hour as they trawled around the edges of the ancient city until they eventually found what they sought.

"The Istanbul branch isn't exactly short of funds, are they," Methos observed as he surveyed the sprawling villa with its beautifully tended gardens from the hill above.

"Tell me about it," Joe agreed from the behind the wheel.

"We'll enter through the patio door," announced Amanda as she pulled on her small backpack.

"Whatever you say, Maestro," said Methos as he crawled out of the back seat.

"Good luck!" Duncan called out softly as they descended the hill and approached the grounds.

Creeping across the gardens, Amanda and Methos eventually came to the patio doors and Amanda produced some tinfoil and a set of lock picks.

"You know, these guys should really update their security systems. These circuit breaker triggers are child's play to circumvent," she whispered as she applied the tinfoil to the circuit pads and inserted the first lock pick, "I mean, look at this, no movement sensors, no video surveillance. Hell, there isn't even a deadbolt in this door."

"Sssh, don't complain. All the better for us, remember?" Methos whispered from his lookout point.

"I'm just saying, that's all," she muttered as the door opened.

Quietly, they slipped inside and looked around the quietened room. From the scattered couches and coffee tables, they surmised that they were in some kind of communal sitting room.

"Well, I guess we now know where the living quarters are," Methos commented as he eyed the room. "We'll have to be quiet until we get to the other side of the building, there are usually a couple of people living in-house in the smaller motherhouses."

Amanda nodded and peeked into the hallway, "All clear," she whispered as she crept out the door.

Making their way through the winding hallways, they eventually found the double doors that led to the library. Amanda checked for sensors and, finding none, tried the handle. The door opened smoothly. Amana arched her eyebrow at Methos who shrugged in response.
"Guess they weren't expecting to be burgled by a couple of pissed-off immortals," Methos suggested.

"You think?" Amanda replied archly.

The room was pitch black, the curtains closely drawn against the outside. The two immortals glanced at each other and produced their torch pens.

"So, where do we start?" Amanda asked as she swept the room with the torch."

"The office," Methos supplied as he made his way to the other end of the room, Amanda in tow.

The office door was also unlocked and Methos made a beeline towards the computer. "Check under 'T'," he ordered Amanda as he gestured at the file cabinets. "I'm going to have a look around in this computer."

"Got something," she exclaimed as she pulled out a file, "They look like permission slips for books he wanted to study, at least ten of them."

"Must be rare if he needed to have a permission slip signed, do they give the book titles?"

"I think they do, but don't ask me to pronounce them, These titles look like something you'd find on Rebecca's shelf and this looks like its been scratched by a chicken," Amanda says as she waved the slip under his nose.

"It's cuneiform," an intrigued Methos replied as he grabbed the slip from Amanda's hand.

"You mean, like ancient Babylonian?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"What does it say?"

"A rough translation would be 'The Pool of Lights'," Methos answered.

"So what you're telling me is that we came here to find out about a stone, and what we've found is a reference to water," Amanda stated.

"Pretty much."

"So what do we do now?"

"Give me a look at the other permission slips," said Methos, holding out his hand.

Amanda handed them over and waited patiently as Methos surveyed them.

"Okay, this is what we'll do," he eventually said as he handed them back to Amanda, "None of these texts will be in the main library, they'll most likely be locked away in a vault in the cellar. I want you to go find them and bring them back here. I warn you, though, some of these pieces will be fragile and the cuneiform text as well as the ancient Egyptian one will most probably be on clay tablets. Think you can manage that?"

"Blindfolded," was the confident reply. "What are you going to be up to?"

"I'm going to try to hack into this computer," Methos answered.

Ten minutes later, he was cursing at the computer screen in frustration. Apparently the watchers didn't know how to secure a database but they did know how to password protect a library file.

"Come on, come on, it can't be that hard..."

Closing his eyes, he tried to think of a solution. Nothing came. He was still glaring at the screen when Amanda arrived back from her foraging trip toting a very full-looking backpack.

"How's it going, are you in yet?" she enquired as she lay the heavy backpack on the table.

"Nope," came the short reply.

Amanda craned her neck around the monitor.

"You're having problems with the password?"

Methos closed his eyes in response.

"Have you checked the desk drawers?"

Methos's eyes flew open. "They wouldn't be that stupid."

"Hmmm, Watchers, remember? Not so great on the follow through!"

Their eyes met over the monitor and with a curse Methos ripped open the top drawer. There, neatly taped on the side, was a list of passwords complete with their corresponding files.

"It's times like this, Amanda, when I could kiss you."

"You mean you don't want to kiss me all the time?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, m'dear!"

Crossing her legs as she perched on the desk beside him, she pulled a moue at Methos's rejoinder. Glancing at the screen disinterestedly, she noted the long list of titles he had pulled up on the screen.

"And we are interested in these because..." she prodded.

"...Because these are all the in-house dissertations written in the last ten years," he finished for her as he stole a floppy from the desk and inserted it into the drive.

"Did you find Tribeau's yet?"

"Still looking," he replied absently as he scrolled down the list.

Tapping her nails against the edge of the desk, Amanda let her eyes rove over the room as Methos continued searching.

"Duncan and Joe will be getting worried by now," she pointed out as her eyes came back to the computer screen.

"They'll live," Methos grunted as a title caught his eye. Double-clicking on the icon beside it, he gave a low whistle of appreciation as the page filled up with text.

"And we have a winner," he said triumphantly as he saved it to the floppy and pulled it from the drive. "We better make a move".

Quickly they slid through the house as quietly as they could and left the way they came in. Amanda took out her lock picks to close up behind them but Methos waved her off.

"Amanda, we've just helped ourselves to some of their oldest and most precious documents. I think they're going to figure out someone was here no matter what we do, so we might as well not bother."

"But it's sloppy," Amanda protested as he made to go, "Besides, if we lock up after ourselves it might take them a bit longer to realise they've been burgled."

Methos paused and reluctantly stopped.

"Make it snappy then," he relented as he eyed the gardens nervously, "I really don't want to hang around here longer than I have to."

Amanda nimbly relocked the doors and returned the sensors to their original state.

"There, that wasn't too long was it?" Amanda said cheekily as she danced past Methos and flitted across the lawn.

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, Methos ran after her, catching up as she reached the hedging.

"It isn't a race, you know," he said with some aspiration.

"You told me to make it snappy," she smirked, clambering over the foliage before he could think of a comeback.

"That woman spent way too much time with Rebecca," he grumbled as he followed her over the hedge and up the hill.

Together they trotted to the car, jumping into the back seat as Joe hit the gas.

"Did you get anything?" Duncan asked eagerly as they sped towards the city centre.

"We got his dissertation and some of his more esoteric source material, but we didn't pause to make sense of it all while we were there," Methos explained. "Anyone up for some in-depth reading and research tonight?"

A collective groan filled the car as Methos raised an eyebrow and smirked at his companions.

"My, my, we are an enthusiastic lot, aren't we?" Methos said, savouring their discomfort as he slouched back in his seat: one had to get one's guilty pleasures somewhere, after all. Personally, he was rather looking forward to it; anything that might help to fill in the gaps in his memory was a good thing, as far as he was concerned.

With cheerful indifference, he started to whistle under his breath as he watched the city roll by. Before long, they were pulling into the hotel parking lot and making their way upstairs to their rooms.

"Let's meet up in Duncan's suite in half an hour and make a start on this shall we," Methos said as he disappeared into his room to clean up.

"Hey! Why does our room get elected?" Duncan protested.

"Rooms Mac, you're the only one with a suite - remember?" Methos retorted as he popped his head out of the door.

"Like a dog with a bone," Duncan muttered to himself as he shook his head in defeat.

"Don't mind him," Amanda advised as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Come and help me 'freshen up.'"

With a smirk, Duncan backed her into their suite and shut the door behind him, leaving Joe alone in the hallway.

"Just another day of breaking and entering, I suppose," he sighed to himself as he entered his room.

Chapter Five

It was more like an hour before they eventually gathered together in the living area of Duncan's suite. Methos carefully laid out all the texts that Amanda had acquired from the vault before booting up his laptop and inserting the floppy.

"Right, then," he declared. "Amanda, you will work on the Latin and medieval French texts. Duncan, you'll look at the Greek and Egyptian texts, and I'll have a look at the Sumerian and Babylonian tablets. Joe will trawl through the dissertation."

"Yes sir!" Amanda muttered, picking up the Latin text by the corners.

"It's been a while since I've translated something this complicated," Duncan warned. "And my knowledge of Egyptian hieroglyphics aren't the best."

"Its better than Joe's, or Amanda's" replied Methos absently as he picked up one of the tablets. "Just ask me if you have any real problems."

The room fell quiet as they immersed themselves in their various texts; only the sound of turning pages broke the silence as the hours passed by. Eventually Joe groaned and put down the laptop.

"Time to raid the minibar I think," he pronounced, levering himself from the couch.

There was a mumble of assent from the room as they shifted in their seats and lay their research down.

"We could probably do with a summary of what we've read so far, anyway," Methos agreed. "I'll have a beer, Joe."

"We'll give you the honour of going first, then," smirked Duncan as he relaxed back into the sofa. "Seeing as you're so keen."

"Well, the good news is that for once the watchers have been studying a Sumerian text that doesn't refer to Gilgamesh. I swear if I come across another text referring to that jumped up tribal chieftain I'll go spare."

"Not fond of the adventures of Gilgamesh and Enkidu then?" Joe teased, setting a beer bottle on the table beside him.

"Oh please, the only reason that excuse for an immortal is still remembered is because he was too stupid to avoid getting caught reviving from the dead. In case you forgot, that little war he was famous for? He wasn't the victor, the idiot was creamed," Methos huffed.

"Oh no, we're not bitter at all," Amanda muttered as she accepted a glass of wine from Joe.

"Okay, so we all know now what the text doesn't say, care to tell us what it does?" asked Duncan, sipping his drink as he relaxed into the couch."

"Well, it's a story that involves quite a few disparate parts of Sumerian mythology," Methos explained as he opened his bottle, flipping the top behind him as he fell back into the armchair. "There is a short reference to the great goddess Nammu creating the earth from the Abzu - that's the primeval sea to you."

"Thanks for sharing that, now get on with the story will you?" Joe snarked.

"Well it goes on about the creation of Dilmun, which is a kind of Sumerian Eden who most historians assume refers to the modern area of Bahrain, along the eastern gulf."

"Would they be right?" Duncan asked curiously.

"Close enough," Methos admitted. "Anyway, according to this text, Dilmun had within its garden a spring that flowed from the Abzu and into a pond that the text refers to as 'the pool of lights'."

"Hold on, hold on," Duncan protested. "I may not be an expert on Sumerian mythology but I think I know enough to say that there aren't any references to a pool of lights, or a pool of anything for that matter."

"I'm right there with you, Mac, but that is what the text says," Methos explained.

"Is there more?" Amanda asked.

"Well, it goes on to describe the flood, and the granting of immortality to Ziusudra by An and Enlil, after which they tell him to stay in Dilmun. That much is pretty much the same as the usual translation of the myth, but then it diverges from the usual legend."

"Don't keep us in suspense then, tell us," Duncan urged.

"Well, apparently An and Enlil granted Ziusudra immortality through the use of a crystal stone, then told him to return it to whence it had come, once he grew tired of his gift."

"Let me guess, the pool of lights," Joe concluded.

"And we have a winner," smiled Methos as he took a sip from his beer. "Apparently though, Ziusudra was a naughty boy and didn't return the stone to the pool, but gave it to his son before passing away peacefully. An and Enlil were not pleased to say the least, and they hunted for Ziusudra's son but to no avail, for he had disappeared from their sight. Apparently, they appealed to Nammu for help in tracking the stone down and returning it to the pool, but she refused, saying that once something was created from the Abzu it could never be returned to it and thus uncreated, and so the stone passed onto the mortal coil," Methos explained.

"But why then is it called the Methuselah stone?" enquired Amanda.

"The passage of time," Methos shrugged. "It's no secret that whole tracts of the book of Genesis from the Bible were taken wholesale from the ancient Sumerian beliefs, right up to and including the flood. The order in which things occurred was changed around, and the names differed, but the basic stories stayed the same. If I had to guess, the stone was attributed to Methuselah in the later millennia because the name Ziusudra ceased to have any meaning for the peoples that knew of it. It wouldn't have been the first time this has happened, the Babylonian text more or less tells the same legend, except in their version Ziusudra is called Ut-napishtim"

"Don't you just wish sometimes that these old writers would just cut the crap, and stopped couching their thoughts in metaphor?" Joe complained, rattling the ice in his glass.

"Which reminds me, what did the mysterious Tribeau have to say in his little epic?" enquired Methos, leaning forward in the seat.

"To be quite honest, I don't know what to make of it. The whole thing is a rather long-winded account of some mystical waters secreted at some undisclosed location in France. They apparently have the ability to make things that were broken whole again. I thought it may have something to do with the "pool of lights", but as France is nowhere near Bahrain..."

"You may be wrong about there being no connection," interjected Amanda. "The Latin text I have refers to the Roman goddess Egeria. Apparently, she was a water nymph and the goddess's Diana midwife. The text tells of a Roman woman called Lativia who feared for her unborn child's life, and went to Egeria for help. Supposedly, a noblewoman who had been slighted by Lativia's husband had cursed her child to a life that was not whole. The story says that the pregnant woman appealed to Egeria for aid and she agreed to help. Giving Lativia a flask, she told her that it contained the stuff that all life was created from. She directed Lativia to go to the most northerly point of the Roman Empire, and find a pool of water to pour it into. Once she had done this, she was to bathe in the water for seven nights, and after the seventh night, her child would be forever whole."

"Let me guess: at the time the text was written, the most northerly part of the Roman Empire was France," Joe commented.

"It was written only a couple of years after the Romans conquered the Gaul's," agreed Amanda.

"What about the piece written in medieval French?" Duncan asked.

"Oh, you'll love this," Amanda exclaimed, as she smiled at Duncan. "It talks about Charlemagne's friendship with a French monk who bore the name of the great general Darius! Apparently they became fast friends when Darius helped one of Charlemagne's daughters back to health after she fell victim to a fever. It seems he cured her by bathing her in healing waters."

"I'm beginning to see a theme in all this," Joe said. "Pity Darius is dead, I'd love to know where these waters are."

"Actually, we do know," Methos admitted as he caught Duncan's eyes across the room.

"We do?" chorused Amanda and Joe.

"Yeah, we do," Duncan said as he laid his glass on the table. "Methos took me there when I was suffering from the dark quickening. It was how I was healed - how I was made 'whole' again," he added, with an ironic twist to his mouth.

Amanda and Joe both looked at Methos, who just shrugged in response.

"Well that's something you left out of your explanation of Duncan's recovery," Joe said wryly.

"I didn't even know there was a dark quickening to recover from," Amanda admitted, looking at Duncan enquiringly.

"You weren't in town at the time," Duncan reluctantly explained. "And by the time I saw you again, I had recovered and... well... it's not something I like to talk about."

"So... what did your research turn up?" asked Methos as he tried to direct the conversation away from what was obviously still a painful subject for Duncan.

Joe threw Methos a shrewd look, but said nothing as Duncan sorted through his notes.

"To start with, my pieces mention nothing about any waters, mystical or otherwise," he began. "The Greek texts both talk about a prophecy given by a Delphic Oracle during the fifth century B.C.E., it's basically a warning - 'Beware the Elder who seeks what cannot be, that which is done cannot be undone'."

"Well, that sounds ominous, if a little obscure," Amanda observed.

"'Obscure' is the word I'd use for just about everything we've read this evening," said Joe, grinning.

"What does the Egyptian text say?" prompted Methos.

"It's an account of the tributes received by Ramses the Great from a Babylonian king, nothing more than a list really. I've written out what the tributes were, but nothing jumps out at me. Here, take a look."

Duncan passed the sheet across the table to Methos, who read the list quickly.

"Nothing leaps out at me either," he admitted.

"So, can anyone make any sense out of all this?" Joe asked, grasping his cane before standing up to refill his glass.

"I could make a pretty good stab at it," Amanda said darkly. "Tribeau wants to make something that is unwhole whole, and we all know that the Methuselah stone isn't exactly in one piece at the moment."

"If he can make the crystal whole by dipping it in the waters, why does he need Amanda's piece?"

"Because, although the waters were created from the Abzu, it isn't actually the primeval waters," Methos mused. "The waters can fix that which is broken, but it can't create that which isn't there. The Methuselah stone is only the Methuselah stone as long as all pieces are connected. Without Amanda's piece, all you've got is a harmless piece of crystal. Darius could heal Charlemagne's child because she had it within herself to heal, the waters just gave her immune system a push. The same goes for Duncan, the waters could heal him of his dark quickening because he had his true self buried within."

"That makes sense I suppose," Joe acknowledged.

"So, what we're saying is that Tribeau and Valmont wish to gather all the pieces and bring them to the waters to rejoin them and make the stone whole again," Duncan concluded.

"That's pretty much it," Methos agreed.

"And the question still remains, why?" wondered Joe.

"I wish I knew, Joe," Methos muttered.

"I wonder if they know the location of the waters as well," Amanda said.

"Seeing that the fate of the Methuselah stone has been public knowledge for over half a decade among the watchers, but these renegades have only decided to make their move now, I'd guess yes. It was probably the discovery of the waters that caused this sudden flurry of cloak and dagger in the first place," Methos suggested.

"All this is giving me a headache," sighed Duncan. "How about we retire and continue this tomorrow?"

"Sounds like a plan," Methos concurred as he stood to go. "We still have a plane to catch tomorrow, and it would be nice to fly semi awake for once." With that, Methos accompanied Joe out of the suite

"Night, night," Amanda called out after them.

"Sweet dreams," Joe called back, shutting the door after him.

It was the harsh ring of the telephone that woke Methos the next morning.

*******

"Good morning, Mr Sabotini, this is your wake up call. It's eight-thirty A.M.," said a soft, professional voice.

For a moment Methos looked confusedly at the receiver, then he remembered what passport he was travelling under.

"Umm, thank you," he mumbled belatedly.

Returning the phone to its cradle, Methos rolled out of the bed and headed to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he had showered and packed the few things he had brought with him. Toting his carryall, he made his way down to the dining room where Joe awaited him.

"Mac and Amanda not up yet?" he enquired as he sat down at the table.

"Oh, they're up alright," grinned Joe, "they just haven't finished 'freshening up' yet."

Rolling his eyes, Methos beckoned a waitress and ordered his breakfast. A quarter of an hour later it arrived, followed closely by Amanda and Duncan.

"Glad you could join us," Methos said dryly, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss," Amanda replied, smiling at the waitress.

Methos snorted and returned to his breakfast as Amanda and Mac ordered. Soon afterwards, their breakfasts had arrived and the table fell silent as they ate and sipped at their coffee.

"We'd better get a move on," Methos eventually said. "The flight departs at midday."

Duncan pulled out Amanda's chair and they all rose to leave; Methos, Joe, and Amanda walked on ahead to the car park while Duncan ducked upstairs to collect Amanda's and... well... Amanda's luggage. Ten minutes later, Duncan reappeared, dragging Amanda's many bags behind him.

"Oh honey, they do have bell hops you know," Amanda cooed.

"Probably couldn't afford one," Methos said gleefully. "With that amount of luggage, the tip would run into four figures."

With a glare, Duncan popped the boot of Amanda's rental and stowed the luggage. Unfortunately for him, there wasn't enough room, so he had to listen to Methos's roar of laughter as he opened the back door and heaped the rest onto the backseat.

"Sometimes that man is absolutely insufferable," he told Amanda, as he watched Methos get into Joe's car.

"Actually I was thinking it was a bit of a relief to hear him laugh," observed Amanda. "It's the first time since I've arrived that he's so much as giggled. I was beginning to get worried."

"You're kidding me," Duncan said as he pulled his seatbelt on.

"No, I'm not," answered Amanda soberly, "Haven't you noticed how off he's been; he looks like he's about to jump out of his skin. I think he's a lot more worried about his memory loss than he's letting on."

Duncan grew thoughtful as he listened to Amanda's worries. "Now that you say it, I think you're right. Should we try to talk to him about it?"

"I don't really know," responded Amanda. "Maybe we should just wait and see if he brings it up."

"Not going to happen," Duncan told her. "Methos never volunteers."

"You're right, I suppose," she sighed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Let's play it by ear, then. We could probably bring it up in conversation, see how he reacts."

"He's going to see what we're up to from a mile off," Duncan pointed out.

"Have you any better suggestions?" asked an exasperated Amanda.

"Let's have a chat with Joe first," Duncan replied. "He may have some ideas."

Amanda nodded in agreement. "Sounds like the best thing to do," she admitted, turning on to the airport road.

The flight back to Sofia was uneventful, and it was still afternoon when they landed.

"If we hire our cars now we could make it to Travda by tonight," suggested Methos as they strolled through the terminus.

"My, we are in a hurry," commented Joe.

"I just want to make sure they haven't been up to something while we were gone," Methos said fretfully. "We're too much in the dark as it is."

"You were the one that was so gung-ho about going to Istanbul in the first place," Joe retorted.

"That was when I thought we'd discover the connection between Tribeau and Valmont, but all we've found are more questions," he grumbled as he looked about for the car rental desk.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Joe said as he figured out what Methos was looking for. "The cars are rented around that bend."

"No need to be snotty about it," Methos sniffed, stalking down the corridor.

"See what I mean?" Amanda pointed out to Duncan as she made to follow Methos. "Way too touchy!"

"Well, Joe is a bit touchy too," Duncan said.

"Methos usually enjoys riling Joe up," Amanda pointed out. "He finds it hilarious, he told me so himself!"

"Hey! Standing right here, you know," Joe interjected.

"Sorry, Joe," Amanda called back as she walked off. "Duncan, have a chat with him, will you?"

And with, that she ran to catch up with Methos, who had just disappeared around the corner.

"Adam! Adam! Hold up!" she hollered, in a very unladylike fashion.

Methos halted abruptly and hung his head in exasperation. "It's Roberto, Amanda," he hissed lowly, as he furtively glanced at the rental desk. "I'm travelling under the name of Roberto Sabotini."

"Oops, sorry!" whispered Amanda, before raising her voice again. "ROBERTO ADAM SABOTINI, DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME AGAIN," she complained loudly. Slapping him across the shoulder, she stalked away from him and approached the desk with an exaggerated swing of the hips.

"I've said it before and I say it again, that woman will be the death of me," he grumbled under his breath, but he couldn't quite suppress the smile on his face as he joined her at the desk.

"...Oh you know what men are like," he overheard Amanda tell the desk clerk in a low confiding voice. "They'll never let you have the final word."

Methos smiled widely at the clerk, who blushed deeply as she noticed his arrival.

"Been telling the nice young lady all my failings, have we, Amanda?" he asked rhetorically, leaning on the desk and winking at the clerk. He hadn't thought it possible, but the poor girl managed to go a shade redder.

"Oh, he's finally decided to have a conversation with me," Amanda replied in a singsong voice as she filled out her form. "Could you tell Mr. Sabotini that I'm not in the mood to speak with him? Oh, and tell him he'd better rent his own car, he'll travelling alone from now on!"

"Who, me?" squeaked the clerk, frozen with embarrassment.

"It's all right m'dear," Methos interjected in a soothing voice. "I think I caught all that, just pass me a form."

The harried clerk quickly produced a form and pen and made a quick retreat to her computer desk. Desperately avoiding their eyes, she pretended to be intensely fascinated with the bouncing ball in her screensaver.

"You don't think you might have overdone it?" Methos whispered as bent his head to fill out the form.

"Let's put it this way, do you think she'll now question you about why I called you Adam when you passport says your name is Roberto?" she mumbled back, signing her form with a flourish and trying to catch the eye of the reluctant clerk.

"Good point" Methos muttered, as the terrified clerk approached the counter again.

"Forms all filled out?" she asked nervously, picking the up the papers.

"Yes," Amanda and Methos cried loudly in unison, making the poor girl nearly jump out of her skin.

"Right then," she stuttered. "I'll just get the keys for you then, shall I?"

Two minutes later, they were on their way back to Duncan and Joe.

"You see? She didn't even ask us for picture I.D.," crowed Amanda as she jangled her keys.

"I defer to your superior guile," replied Methos, gracing Amanda with a sweeping bow as they rounded the corner.

"Oh, you're just saying that," Amanda replied with mock coyness, flicking an imaginary fan in response.

The duo collapsed into giggles as they approached Duncan and Joe, drawing amused looks from the throng around them. Joe watched them with a perplexed air as they drew nearer. Methos didn't look that stressed out to him - what was Duncan talking about? Joe looked questioningly at Duncan who just shrugged bemusedly.

"Hey guys, why the frowns?" Methos asked cheerfully as he pushed his hands into his pockets and sauntered up to them. "Did something happen while we were gone?"

"Just wondering what the joke was, that's all," Joe replied, with a fair approximation of nonchalance.

We'll explain it to you on the way to Travda," laughed Amanda as she linked arms with Joe and led the way to the parking lot.

Methos recounted Amanda's flustering of the desk clerk to Joe as they drove along the country roads, taking care not to leave out all her inflexions and mannerisms, as well as the look on the poor girl's face as she stood there in embarrassment. By the time he had got around to describing the bouncing ball on the computer screen, Joe was crying with laughter.

"Oh, man," he wheezed. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when that girl takes her coffee break."

"That depends on whether or not she has regained her ability to speak," sniggered Methos. "It wouldn't be much fun if she couldn't share the pain, so to speak."

"Evil, that's what you are," Joe declared as he shook his head in response.

"Never denied it," Methos replied amiably.

The journey passed pleasantly as the two automobiles sped through the night towards their destination. When they arrived at their Hotel, dusk had just fallen and the stars had begun to peep through the evening light. As a group, they spilled into reception and made a beeline for the desk.

"Ah, good day, Mr. Dawson. Your daughter is waiting for you in the dining room," the smiling receptionist told Joe as he reached the desk.

All four froze. How the hell did Amy find them? Methos looked at Joe accusingly.

"Care to share, Joe?" he asked, with a false smile on his lips.

"I'm as confused as you," he said, glancing at the dining room door.

"Well, stop standing there like a couple of scared little boys and follow me," Amanda instructed as she sashayed into the dining room.

"Chop, chop," grinned Duncan. "Time to walk into the lions' den!"

Reluctantly Joe and Methos followed Amanda to meet their fate, pausing at the doorway as they spotted Amy's glowering face at one of the tables.

"Oh, boy. We're for it," Joe muttered, looking sideways at Methos's blank face.

"Smile, Joe, I hear it helps," Methos mumbled back as he strode forward.

"Ah, there you are," Amanda declared from her newly taken seat. "Aren't you going to join us?"

With a glare in Amanda's direction, Methos sat at the table and studied the silent Amy.

"Hello, Honey," Joe said nervously as he reached the table. "What brings you here?"

Amy threw a wallet onto the table in answer.

"Oh..." Methos uttered.

"Yes, oh," Amy said sarcastically.

"Whose wallet is it?" Joe asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Mine," Methos admitted sheepishly.

"Hira says hi by the way," Amy said flatly. "She hopes you didn't miss your train from Travda. Obviously, her hopes are dashed."

"I asked her to mail it to the bar," Methos pointed out.

"And who do you think ended up running it, while you took my father gallivanting around Eastern Europe," Amy retorted.

"I see your point," Methos answered quietly.

"Oh, you haven't even begun to see my point," Amy declared ominously.

Methos winced as she folded her arms and glared, while everyone shuffled in their seats. With a sigh, Amanda gestured at the waiter who was hovering around the table, and asked for some menus. Gratefully, her table companions immersed themselves in reading the entrées, as Amy's face got darker and darker.

"So, is anyone going to tell me what is going on here?" she demanded after the waiter left with their orders.

"We'll tell you all when we're somewhere a little more private," soothed Amanda as she took a sip of water.

"I want the full and unedited version," she warned, "no skirting around the subject."

"You're my watcher, not my keeper," Methos reminded her. "You're supposed to be observing and recording from a discreet distance, not demanding answers from me in person. In fact, you're not even supposed to talking to me! Non-interference, remember?"

"Don't you dare!" burst out Amy. "You gave up the right to use that excuse when you did a runner with my father in tow. As far as I'm concerned, you're the one who chose to ignore that 'discreet distance'! I was worried sick."

"Now, you just stop right there, Amy," Joe cut in. "I came along on this trip to track down Duncan, who if you may recall, happens to be my assignment."

"Oh, yeah," his daughter snorted. "And, of course, this is exactly how watchers are supposed to track their immortals, by traipsing around with a group of his immortal cohorts through the back end of Europe."

"Oh p-l-e-a-s-e," said Methos snidely. "You're just pissed because you weren't invited along."

"Damn right I am," she fired back.

Amanda tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile off her face as she watched the immortal and watcher face off across the table.

"Are you two going to continue this cat fight all through the meal?" she enquired as she unfolded her napkin.

"What fight?" Methos asked with an innocent expression. "I'm just explaining to Amy why we shouldn't be having this conversation."

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from behind Duncan's raised hand.

"You have something to say, Duncan?" asked Amy sarcastically. "Please, don't hold back on my account."

"Who? Me? Oh no - just a tickle in my throat," he said before he caught Amanda's eye across the table and broke up into gales of laughter.

"It's not funny," Amy protested. It was too late however; she could already feel the corners of her mouth twitching.

Joe had already averted his head as tried in vain to suppress the grin that was plastered all over his face. Even Methos was smirking. Eventually Amy caved and began to laugh.

"Alright, alright, you win," she conceded as she slumped into her chair. "I'll wait until we're somewhere more private."

"There's a good girl," said Methos with condescending approval, picking up his wallet from the table.

"Are you trying to start an argument?" Amanda asked exasperatedly. "The damage is done, Roberto, stop trying to avoid the inevitable."

"Adam," Methos replied lowly.

"What?" was the puzzled rejoinder.

"I'm registered as Adam Pierson here," Methos explained.

Amanda studied his face for a moment before answering in a low, measured, tone. "You know it may be a good idea to cut down on the alter-egos, Adam. Keeping it to one a day would make a good start."

Methos kept silent. He knew better than to answer when Amanda became cranky.

The meal was a tense affair as everyone tried to avoid causing another flare up between Methos and Amy, and the relief was palpable when they stood up from the table as the waiter cleared the table.

"How about I fill Amy in?" Amanda volunteered as they made their way to the lift. All things considered, she didn't think it was a good idea that Methos be left in charge of telling the tale, and Joe didn't look too eager to do it, either.

Upstairs, Methos disappeared into his room without a word, closing the door firmly behind him. With a sigh, Amanda waved everyone else into her room.

"What's up with him?" Amy asked as she sat in an armchair and looked at Amanda with a puzzled air. "I knew he'd be irritated, but this is ridiculous. He knew I'd be right on his tail the minute I found out where he was, it's my job."

"He has a lot on his mind," Amanda explained, as she sat on the bed beside Duncan. "Let me tell you what has happened up 'til now, and maybe you'll get a better picture of what is going on at the moment."

Amanda spent the next hour recounting the events of the previous few days, at Amy's insistence going into detail about what they knew of the renegade watchers. The whole affair with the Methuselah stone left her a little nonplussed, and she looked at Joe for confirmation as Amanda described what the stone's powers were supposed to be. When Amanda explained about Methos's bout of amnesia, her face went thoughtful.

"No wonder he's cranky," she mused.

"You'd better get used to it," Duncan advised. "His mood have been swinging like a yo-yo for the last four days, and I've a funny feeling he's not going improve until this has all been cleared up.

Amy nodded soberly as she stood up and went over to give her father a hug.

"I think I'll retire for the night, if it's all to same to you, Dad," she murmured as she kissed him on the cheek. "It's probably going to be a long day tomorrow."

Chapter Six

A soft knock on the door awoke Methos from his doze; the lack of a buzz told him that it was most probably either Joe or Amy. With a sinking heart, he rose from the bed. Somehow, he didn't think it was the grizzled-looking blues man. Cautiously, he opened the door and peeped out.

"Hey," Amy said softly as she stood in the hallway. "Can we talk?"

Methos padded back to his bed, leaving the door ajar in silent invitation. Sprawling across the mattress, he eyed Amy warily as she entered the room. Having Amy as his watcher was like having a double-edged sword. On the one hand, he knew he could trust her to turn a blind eye whenever the occasion asked for it. On the other hand, however, he didn't have the luxury of being able to give her the slip without there being repercussions. When you know your watcher's name, you worry about hurting their feelings.

"You're going to have to stop losing me, you know," Amy sighed, as she sat down. "If you don't, they'll just transfer me and you'll end up with another watcher.

"No, they won't," answered Methos with a small smile. "They've already tried other watchers. So far, you're the only one who's managed to last more than a week."

"All the same, it wasn't nice," she stated. "You have no idea how cranky my superiors get when I lose you."

"Objection noted," replied Methos. "But you've probably figured out by now that my having a watcher in tow at the moment is not a good idea. I don't want my whereabouts reported back to watcher headquarters; too many people have access to the records."

"They already know, Methos," Amy sighed. "They knew from the moment I booked a flight to Sofia. I'm sorry, but I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was that you had run off to parts unknown with my father. Hell, I wasn't even aware that Duncan had been kidnapped, never mind the rest of it!"

"Have you told them who I'm travelling with?" Methos said as he sat bolt upright on the bed.

"No, I haven't made a report since I've got here," Amy admitted.

"That's something, then," Methos mumbled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You realise that you may have to lie outright in your next report? We are in a very delicate situation. We can't afford to let it get back to the renegade watchers that Amanda is here. Even as things stand, we may find we will have some surprise guests over the next few days. If Tribeau is worth his grain of salt, he'll no doubt know that I'm an acknowledged friend of both Duncan and Amanda."

"Time to move hotels, then?" Amy suggested as she watched Methos mull the situation over.

"That's not a bad idea. In fact, I'd go one further and suggest we move towns," Methos replied.

"We'll do that tomorrow, then," Amy declared as she stood up. "I'll let you get some sleep."

"Is that it?" Methos said with a slight smirk.

"Is what it?" Amy asked confusedly.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I was expecting a more robust conversation. Possibly even a few violent threats?" Methos enquired with amusement.

"I think we've done enough shouting at each other for one day, don't you?" Amy replied with a crooked smile.

"That must have been some 'chat' you had with Amanda," he observed wryly.

"It was pretty informative," Amy admitted as she put her hand on the doorknob.

"Described in full Technicolor vision, I've no doubt," Methos muttered.

"And surround sound," Amy agreed. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing much to say, Amy," he said tiredly. "Lets leave it, shall we?"

Amy fixed the man, who was both her assignment and friend, with a good long stare before finally nodding and opening the door. "I'll see you in the morning, Methos. Goodnight."

Methos didn't bother to reply. What was there to say? It was at times like these he really missed Darius. He had been one of the few immortals left who would have listened to his worries without having a panic attack. Even Amanda reacted to his sudden appearance of weakness like it was the end of the world; 5,000-year-old immortals weren't allowed to be vulnerable.

Frankly, he was worried enough without having to see his fears reflected back through their eyes. Darius would have served him some of his awful concoctions that he had the nerve to call 'tea', and cracked jokes about all the predicaments he could get into by losing his memory. Within half an hour, he would have succeeded in putting it all into perspective for him. With a groan, Methos rolled over in the bed and hit the lamp switch. Things were bad enough without dwelling on friends that were no longer with him; it was time to go to sleep.

He had begun to drift off when he felt the buzz of an approaching immortal. Cursing softly under his breath, he reached for the pommel of his sword and waited. It was probably Duncan or Amanda wanting to have a 'chat'. There seems to be a lot of those going around at the moment. Straining his ears, he heard soft footsteps coming up the hall and came fully awake. They were coming from the wrong direction. Methos slipped off the bed and positioned himself beside the door; the footsteps had stopped, probably because the immortal had sensed his presence. Quietly, he positioned his hand on the door as he mentally went through his options...

"Oh, the hell with this!"

The door slammed against the wall as he wrenched it open and leapt into the hallway, blade raised in attack. He saw a flash of dark eyes as the other immortal came rushing at him, his sword held in a two-hand fist as the two blades met in a shower of sparks.

"Right, this is going to be a game of hack and slash then"

Methos struggled to disengage in the close quarters of the hall as his opponent tried to back him into the wall. Kneeing him in the balls, Methos took a step sideways as he doubled up and backed up a few steps. Taking advantage of his attacker's disorientation, Methos rushed him, forcing him back with a feint as he produced his dagger and sunk it into his leg.

With a cry of pain, the strange immortal slashed at his arm, drawing blood as he pulled back. A rush of sensation heralded the emergence of Duncan and Amanda from their room and Methos saw the look of surprise flash in his opponent's eyes. Methos tried to take advantage of the situation and sprung to attack yet again. In a flurry of feints and parries, they danced down the hallway towards the reception room.

"Any chance of getting your name?" Methos asked through gritted teeth.

The strange immortal remained silent as they spilled into the wider space, redoubling his attack as the receptionist screamed and ducked behind the counter. It seemed that the decision to move hotels was taken out of their hands. Duncan flew over to the counter to check on the poor hotel employee as Amanda watched the fight worriedly. Suddenly, Amy and Joe rushed onto the scene; both with hand guns at the ready.

"Since when did Amy start packing?"

The thought took a back seat as the other immortal got past his defences and slashed his leg. Cursing inwardly, Methos retaliated and succeeded in wounding his opponent's sword arm. With a cry of pain, his attacker backed up and ran for the door. Methos gave chase, running out into the street after him. The sharp report of a gun rang out and Methos staggered in pain as blood blossomed on his shirt and poured from his chest. The last sound he heard before he passed out was the screeching of a car.

When he woke up, he found himself being carried by Duncan and Amanda down the hotel hallway. "You can put me down now," he muttered as he struggled in their grasp. The two immortals dropped him like a stone on the carpeted floor.

"Thank goodness for that," Amanda said as she rubbed her wrists. "How on earth are you so heavy? Are you carrying iron bars in your pockets?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Methos replied with a flash of humour as he dusted himself off. "Where's my sword?"

"Amy has it," Duncan explained as he gestured down the hall.

"Anyone get a look at our immortal's little helpers?" muttered Methos as he surveyed the damage to his clothing.

"Three of them, dark clothing, dark car, big guns," Duncan replied briefly. "I didn't get a very good look, I'm afraid."

"Could they be watchers?" Methos asked.

"They'd fit the bill," Duncan admitted.

"How's the desk clerk?" Methos said, as he looked over his shoulder towards reception.

"Relatively calm, all things considered. Joe is having a little chat with her as we speak," answered Duncan.

With a nod, Methos walked towards his room, turning around as he called back. "I think we may have to change abode. The local constabulary may have a few questions for us and personally I think that it may not be a good idea to be here when they arrive. It would be hard to explain why we would be the victims of a drive-by shooting in this neighbourhood, not exactly an everyday occurrence."

"I think you may be right" Duncan said with a grin as he glanced at Amanda.

"I'll start packing," Amanda agreed.

With that, all three immortals disappeared into their rooms to get ready to leave. Stripping off his blood-soaked clothing, Methos jumped into his shower to clean up. Dumping the wrecked clothes into a shopping bag, he dressed and packed, pausing only when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he called out as he zipped up the carryall.

"Woman with sword here," Amy called out as she entered the room, the Ivanhoe gingerly held out before her. "How on earth do you carry this in your coat without walking lop sided?"

"It's a secret, handed down from generation to generation. I'd tell you, but there's a whole initiation thing..." joked Methos.

"Been there, done that, have the tattoo to prove it," Amy joked back as she surrendered the sword to his grasp.

"Are you all packed?" he enquired, returning his sword to its place in his anorak.

"My bags are in the car," Amy replied as she turned to leave. "We're all gathering out back in the alley."

Picking up his bag, Methos followed her out of the room and down through the kitchens to the back. Everyone else was already there when they arrived.

"That wasn't Valmont," Joe volunteered as they strolled up to the group.

"I know, they have his photograph in the watcher database," Methos replied as he dropped his bag into the boot.

"This conspiracy is beginning to get a little crowded," Duncan sighed.

"So, who is he?" Amanda asked pensively.

"I don't know, but I think we can safely assume that he is in league with Valmont. Two immortals running around in the Bulgarian countryside with a bunch of gun-toting watchers is a bit of coincidence." Methos said in exasperation.

Amy giggled and the rest of the group looked at her in puzzlement.

"You've got something to add, Amy?" Methos asked snarkily. "Please, do share."

"Sorry," she apologised. "It's just... that would have been a pretty good description of us as well! You know - immortals running around in the countryside accompanied by a couple of watchers carrying guns?"

There was a few seconds of silence before Amanda began to titter and the tension broke in the air.

"Okay, then," Duncan laughed. "Lets not make any assumptions."

"But we could make some educated guesses," Methos pointed out, as he huddled in his anorak. "One way or another, I think it would be safe to assume that he is involved in this whole ridiculous situation in some capacity."

The sound of sirens rang in the distance and they instantly became alert.

"They took their time," Amanda observed.

"We have to get out of here - fast," Joe urged. "I convinced the desk clerk to 'lose' our details from the registry book, but there must have been witnesses to the whole debacle outside."

"But where do we go?" Amy asked as she helped Joe into his car.

Methos grinned evilly as he fingered his wallet in his pocket. "I think I may have an idea. I happen to be acquainted with a certain farmhouse owner not too far away from here..."

"Do you really think that is a good idea, Methos?" Duncan protested. "From your description, I got the impression she was a bit on the elderly side. We could be bringing a lot of trouble to her door."

"Don't worry about her!" Methos snorted. "It's us you should be worried about, that woman has nerves of steel."

"Right then," Amanda declared. "Off to the funny farm we go."

"I don't think we're going to be carted off by the men in the white coats just yet," Duncan told her.

"But I think we're getting there," Methos muttered darkly.

It never failed to amaze Methos how blind the authorities could be sometimes. Four rental cars pull out in a convoy and drive away from the scene of a crime, and nobody thinks to stop them. You'd have thought someone would realise something was very wrong with that picture. Methos shrugged the thought away as they left the streetlights behind and sped away through the dark, country roads. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, that was his motto - unless it was wooden, of course.

It was still the middle of the night when Methos pulled into Hira's yard, the other cars following closely behind. Making a mental note to dispose of some of the vehicles the following morning, Methos strolled towards the house as everyone got out of their cars. Suddenly, the yard was awash with light and Methos stopped in his tracks.

"Don't move a muscle! Oh... it's you."

Squinting his eyes as they adjusted to the yard light, Methos made out Hira's tiny form in the doorway. "Hello again," he said, as he moved forward, only to be greeted by the barrel of her shotgun. "I hope this isn't an imposition, but I was wondering if you could put us up for a couple of nights."

Hira looked at him in disbelief. "Do this look like a guesthouse to you, Mr. Pierson?" she demanded. "Do I look as if I serve bed and breakfast?"

Moving the gun gingerly out of his face with his hand, Methos gave a pleading look.

"Don't you try your games with me," Hira scolded as she caught the expression on his face. "That only worked before I knew your true age - so, act it!" Nevertheless, she lowered her gun and looked behind Methos at the small, assembled group. "Come on in," she sighed as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Methos looked back over his shoulder and smirked. "Looks like we've got an invite," he said as he followed her into the house.

"I still think this isn't a good idea," Duncan muttered as he put his arm around Amanda and led her in, the rest of the group following closely behind.

The kitchen was warm when they entered. The banked fire in the range still giving off heat, as they arranged themselves around the table. Hira eyed them with some trepidation as she filled the kettle and put it on the gas.

"I'm sorry about this, Hira, but we needed a place to lie low in. We've got ourselves into a situation which would bring too much attention from the wrong people," Methos explained as he shrugged of his anorak, the others following suit.

"You'd better tell me exactly what is going on here, Mr. Pierson," Hira said as she settled into the empty chair at the head of the table. "If I'm going to help you, I'd like to do it with my eyes open." Methos translated what she said and silence reigned in the room as they weighed their options. Finally, Amy spoke up.

"I think we should tell her. I mean, she already knows about immortals, right?" The rest of her companions shuffled in their seats as Hira looked at them enquiringly.

"Why don't I make a pot of tea?" Hira eventually said to Methos. "Then you can tell me all." Raising herself from her chair, she laid the table and filled the teapot with the now boiling water. A few minutes later, they were all quietly sipping their tea.

"Hira, this is Joe Dawson, the man to whom I asked you to mail my wallet. That is his daughter, Amy," Methos said as he rested his cup on the table and gestured towards the two watchers. "Believe it or not, they belong to a secret society called 'the watchers'."

Hira looked at him askance. "I thought you told me you weren't involved in any secret societies, Mr. Pierson," she scolded.

"I'm not!" Methos protested. "Well, not much..."

"What did she say?" Amy asked.

Duncan repeated Hira's words in English.

"Lets just say that Adam is no longer a card-carrying member," Joe suggested.

"Anyway!" said Methos as he gave Joe a glare. "As I was trying to say before, Joe and Amy belong to this society who call themselves 'the watchers'. Their reason for existence is to watch and record immortals and supposedly never interfere. The other two are Duncan MacLeod and Amanda Darieux. They, like me, are immortal."

"I see," Hira said slowly. "Any chance that you're going anywhere with this?"

Methos told Hira what had transpired over the last few days, filling her in on the background of the Methuselah stone and the renegade watchers. Every once in a while, one of the others would throw in their two cents and Methos or Duncan would have to translate. The story meandered to its conclusion an hour later.

"You don't do things by halves, do you, Mr. Pierson?" Hira sighed, leaning back into her chair.

"We're really sorry about this, Mrs. Pendarova," Duncan said. "But we truly didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I suppose so," Hira sighed. "My son is going to have a fit. I don't mind telling you that he was very suspicious of your tale. It just seemed a little far-fetched; he didn't pry though, so you don't have to worry." Standing slowly, she eyed her 'guests' and came to a decision, "You'll have to double up, I'm afraid. I've a lot more room since the children have left home, but as I said before, I'm not a hotel."

Duncan smiled their thanks as Methos explained to the others what Hira had said. A half hour later, they were all assigned rooms and had brought their luggage in.

"We're going to have to get rid of some of those cars," Duncan observed as he joined Methos at the kitchen table again.

"That has already occurred to me," Methos admitted. "Maybe we could pull some of them off the road and throw some branches over them. That way we can retrieve them easily enough if we have to."

"Sounds like a plan," Duncan agreed as the rest of the group rejoined them.

"What plan?" Joe asked as he caught the tail end of the conversation. Duncan filled him in.

"It's still the middle of the night," Amy pointed out.

"The best time to do it," Methos countered.

"Where has our hostess disappeared to?" Amanda asked.

"She has already retired for the night," Duncan explained.

"Smart woman," Joe muttered.

"Methos and I can manage," Duncan said. "We're only getting rid of two of them. I think we'll hold on to Methos's and Amy's as they're more able for these roads."

"Thank goodness for that," Amanda said as she rooted in her purse. "Here are my car keys, I'm going to bed." Laying her keys on the table, Amanda left for her room.

"And here are mine," Joe announced as he produced his keys. "I'm going to take a leaf out of Amanda's book and catch some shut-eye."

"Night, Joe," Methos called out after him as he disappeared out of the room.

"I think I'll retire as well," Amy announced.

Duncan and Methos grabbed the keys and went out to the cars. Duncan took Amanda's car while Methos ended up tackling Joe's.

"Bloody typical, how on earth do you drive this thing?"

Squinting at the levers, he tried to figure out which were the accelerator and the brake.

"'Methos and I can manage' he says. Yeah, right, fine for him to say, driving around in Amanda's Corvette!"

Finally, he figured it out and backed Joe's car out of the yard. Driving the car about a mile down the road, he found a little dirt lane and pulled in, Duncan following closely behind. Eventually they stopped in a lightly wooded area and got out.

"It'll do," Duncan pronounced as he surveyed their surroundings.

"It'll have to," Methos muttered as he chopped a few branches down with his sword. Duncan winced as he thought of the damage it must be doing to the blade.

"It'll take an age to reshape your edge," he pointed out as he watched Methos hack away in dismay.

"Not as long as it would take to break these branches with our bare hands," Methos pointed out as he draped his spoils over the windscreen of Joe's car.

"You have a point, I don't suppose you could cut a few branches for me as well?" he enquired.

Methos gave him a dirty look.

"Well, there is no need to ruin two blades, are they?"

With a groan, Methos set about cutting down the extra branches and leaned against Joe's car as Duncan covered Amanda's car.

"All done," Duncan eventually pronounced.

"About time!" Methos grumbled as he started down the lane. "Come on, I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

The two walked in silence down the lane and onto the road. It was obvious to Duncan that Methos didn't want to talk but he couldn't forget what Amanda had said earlier that morning.

"So, how are you?" he probed.

"Just peachy," Methos answered shortly. "Change the subject."

Duncan took the hint and remained silent as they continued down the road. They were about 300 yards away from the farmhouse when they came across a van.

"That wasn't here when we drove past earlier," Duncan observed.

"Looks like we have company," Methos agreed as he pulled out his gun.

As one, they ran for the house, their pace quickening as they heard the sound of gunfire. Methos held Duncan back as they approached the front gate.

"Let's not announce ourselves just yet," he advised in a whisper. "A little bit of stealth sometimes goes a long way.

Duncan hesitated for a moment, then nodded his assent. "The shed on the left side of the house is quite low, how about we clamber up on top and get ourselves a birds'-eye view?"

Grinning in response, Methos followed Duncan as they circled the farmhouse. Sidling up the back of the shed, they felt the presence of another immortal.

"Amanda?" Methos mouthed to Duncan. Duncan shrugged in response and peered down. The yard was ablaze with light and Joe's form could clearly be made out standing at the door, gun cocked at the ready. A disembodied voice wafted up from beneath them.

"I'd advise you to put that gun down, Mr Dawson, or I may have to hurt you."

"Oh, yeah? You and whose army?" Joe demanded.

The sound of guns being cocked broke the air as several grim-looking mercenary types suddenly ran into the yard.

"Me and my big mouth," Joe exclaimed, as he backed into the house only a split second before they opened fire.

"These guys have definitely been watching too many gangster films," Duncan muttered, watching in disbelief as the gunmen peppered the house with bullets. Chunks of plaster flew, the windows exploding in a haze of gunfire. "That's it, I'm going down," Duncan declared as he leapt off the building.

"Duncan, wait," Methos hissed. "Damn it all to hell, why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?" Taking a few moments to take in the situation, Methos watched as Duncan leapt into the fray. Thankfully, Duncan was light on his feet and the gunmen were reluctant to use their guns in such close quarters for fear of shooting one of their own.

The mercenaries were at a severe disadvantage in hand-to-hand combat and Duncan's expertise was formidable, but the enemy were many and Duncan was one. Methos decided to even the odds and open fired. Three were down before someone realised that the herd was beginning to thin.

"Fall back," one of them called out. "We're under..."

A well-placed bullet silenced him as the others deserted the yard; Methos noted that the presence he had felt earlier had faded also. Leaping from the roof, he ran for the house, banging at the locked door as Duncan gave chase to the gunmen.

"Open up, it's us!" he roared, He heard the bolt slide back and Hira's face showed through a crack.

"They're gone?" she queried, peering into the yard.

"For now," he answered briefly, glancing over his shoulder as he heard Duncan join them.

"I got one more before they made it to the van," Duncan explained as he struggled to regain his breath.

"Your young friend has been shot," Hira said as she widened the crack in the door and let them in.

"Young friend..." Methos started, his voice drifting off as he took in the scene before him. Joe was sitting in a chair, his face frozen in horror as he watched Amy moan with pain on the floor. Amanda had propped her head up on her lap, and was applying pressure to the wound in her stomach, but it was obvious from the blood that seeped through Amanda's fingers that Amy was in big trouble.

"It was a ricochet, the bullet is still inside her," Amanda said as she looked up.

"Shit," Methos muttered as he knelt to examine the wound. "We're going to have to get her up on the table so I can get a better look."

Amy's eyes fluttered, but she didn't speak. Her breath was coming in short rasping gasps and Methos began to worry. Silently, the three immortals lifted Amy onto the table, closing their ears to Amy's cries of pain. Duncan and Amanda looked quietly on as Methos tried in vain to both staunch the wound, and assess the damage.

"How bad is it?" Joe asked hoarsely, his face taut with fear as he looked on.

"Pretty bad," Methos admitted. "The bullet has perforated her stomach and she's losing a lot of blood."

"Is she gonna..." Joe's voice gave way before he could finish the sentence.

"She needs medical attention, but she should make it," Methos replied, trying to sound reassuring as he took a first aid box that Hira had handed him and proceeded to bind the wound.

"Can't you do it? You patched me up that time in Paris," Joe asked.

"I had my old medical instruments at hand in Paris, Joe, and she's going to need a hell of a lot more attention than I can give her from this first aid box."

Joe bent his head in acceptance as Methos tied off the binding. The room was fraught with tension, the only sound the running of the tap as Amanda washed the blood off her hands. Hira hovered at the other end of the table, her eyes following the conversation even though she didn't understand the language. Methos looked up and caught her attention.

"Where are the nearest medical facilities, Hira? A hospital or clinic would do." He asked.

"How about a doctor's surgery office?" she enquired.

Methos shook his head. "She's lost a lot of blood, Hira. She's going to need a transfusion."

"Khaskovo would be where the nearest hospital is, but they are going to ask questions if you arrive with someone with bullet wound," Hira told him.

"We don't need to bring her there, we just need to pick up a few supplies," Methos explained as he looked at Amanda in silent request.

"I'll get my coat," she said, as she slipped out of the room for a moment, returning quickly with her coat on and an armful of bedding. Raising Amy's head gently, she put a pillow underneath it and draped a blanket over her. "I'll take Duncan with me," she said as she pulled the coat closed over her bloodstained blouse. "Just in case I need a translator."

Methos grabbed a notepad from his luggage and hurriedly wrote out a list after asking Joe what blood type Amy was, passing it to Duncan as he threw his coat on. They left without further ado; they both had seen enough death in their lives to know that time was of the essence.

Hira sighed as she patted Joe gently on the shoulder; watching a loved one suffer while one looked helplessly on was a pain she could well understand. Her husband had passed on three years earlier and she still remembered vividly the agony she went through as he slipped further away day by day. Her eyes caught Methos's across the room. From the haunted expression on his face, she guessed that she wasn't the only one acquainted with death in the room.

The hours passed slowly as they waited for Amanda and Duncan to return. Amy had slipped totally into unconsciousness and Joe seemed to have sunk into an almost unnatural silence. Methos stayed by Amy's side, his fingers glued to her pulse as he watched the rise and fall of her chest while Hira cleared up the glass and draped the broken window with a few blankets to keep the worst of the chill out. Dawn came and went, and eventually they heard the distant sound of a car. Joe struggled to his feet and made for the door, sinking against the doorjamb in relief as he saw Amanda jump out of Methos's jeep.

"Do me a favour, Hira," Methos asked quietly. "Boil me some water, I'm going to need to clean up.

Chapter Seven

It was messy, and Methos would have preferred the safer environs of a surgery theatre, but he eventually got the bullet out without too much extra damage done. It was the repairing of the stomach wall that had made him sweat, but at least the kidneys and intestines were intact. Eventually he was ready to sew up the wound, it was a fairly neat stitching job, even if he said so himself. Quickly, he checked her pulse, it was strong and steady. The blood and saline I.V.s was neatly done by Duncan, his experience as a medic in previous wars showing through.

Lets move her onto something more comfortable, shall we?" Methos suggested as he proceeded to wash up.

"Is she okay?" Joe asked as he approached the table and took Amy's hand in his. "She's still not conscious."

"It's the anaesthetic," Methos assured him as he dried off. "She should come around in a few hours."

Duncan and Hira conversed quietly in the corner and Hira disappeared upstairs. "She went to dust off an old camper bed of hers," Duncan explained. "We're going to set it up in the sitting room beside Joe so that we don't have to move her upstairs. It is one of the few rooms that still has its windows intact.

"All the better for me," Joe agreed. "That way I can keep an eye on her."

For the first time, Methos took a good look around him. "This house took quite a beating," he observed.

"Poor Hira," Amanda said. "The place is wrecked."

Duncan didn't comment but the look on his face said it all. He didn't actually come out and tell him, but his whole expression practically screamed ' told you so'.

"Lets see if there is anything on the farm that we can use to patch these window's up," Methos said as he made for the door. "It'll probably be a few days before we can get a glazier out here. We're going to need a body detail too, there are few in the yard"

"Don't forget the plasterer and decorator," muttered Duncan.

"Yeah, those too," sighed Methos, as he looked around the room, wincing as he noticed the damaged photographs on the wall.

It was then that Hira reappeared in the room. "Could one of you help me set this contraption up in the other room," she asked as gestured behind her. "I'm not as young as I used to be, I'm afraid."

Methos winced yet again as Duncan glared at him, he'll never hear the end of this.

"What did she say," Amanda enquired curiously.

"She needs some help setting up the bed," Duncan said.

"That's my cue then," Amanda said, going to help Hira.

"Hira, where do you keep the tools and shovels," Duncan asked. "I'd like to board up the windows."

IF Hira thought it was strange that he needed a shovel to fix the window, she didn't mention it. "I have some window shutters in the shed on the left," she volunteered. "I haven't had a need for them in years, not since Josef put the double glazing in. The tools are in there too."

With a nod, Duncan made his way out into the yard, Methos following reluctantly behind. He knew he was going to get an earful from the Scot and he wasn't looking forward to it. They made it to the shed before Duncan finally spoke.

"We shouldn't have come here," he stated.

"We didn't have much choice," Methos countered. "There was nowhere else we could go at such short notice."

"All the same, I think we should leave as soon as Amy is well enough to move." Duncan replied, as he rooted around in the shed for the toolbox.

"They're going to come back Mac." Methos retorted. "It doesn't matter whether or not we're here. If we leave, we'd just make it easier for them to harm Hira - and they will hurt her, Mac, they're not going to believe that she knows nothing."

"We could take her with us," Duncan suggested.

"Take her where, Mac?" Methos asked. "No, I think we should stay put, at least we're in a defensible position."

"It's a farmhouse, Methos," Duncan said exasperatedly. "Not a fort!"

"Well someone obviously forgot to tell that to those guys last night," Methos shouted. "Because that looked very like a full scale attack on the walls! These guys are going to war, Mac. I think its time we do too, don't you?"

The shed fell quiet as Methos struggled to contain his temper, while Mac looked at him disbelievingly. Eventually Duncan gently spoke up.

"Feel better now?"

Methos laughed in response. "A bit," he admitted. "Sorry about that, I just didn't see this coming, you know? How the hell did they find us so quickly?"

"Could we have been tailed from the village?" Duncan asked as he puzzled on the question.

"We would have noticed," Methos replied. "Their headlights would have stood out for miles in the countryside and the roads are too dangerous to travel without them."

Duncan nodded in agreement. "What then? We couldn't have been bugged, could we?"

Methos stood upright as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Amy," he breathed.

"No way," Duncan protested. "There is no way in hell she would have brought this upon us."

"Not knowingly," Methos said. "But the watchers knew she was coming out here to find me. They could have bugged her in Paris, or even when she arrived in Sofia."

"The rental car," Duncan concluded as understanding dawned in him.

"That would be my guess," Methos agreed.

"You think you could do the windows by yourself?" Duncan asked as made for the yard. "I want to check this out for myself."

"I think I'll muddle through," Methos said wryly as he watched Duncan's disappearing back.

He had started on the upstairs windows when he heard a triumphant cry from below. Looking down from the ladder, he noticed Duncan hold something small aloft.

"Got it!" he called across the yard. "It looks like your basic tracking device, works on a radio signal I think."

"Give Amanda a look," Methos suggested from his perch. "It's more her area of expertise."

"Shouldn't we destroy it?" Duncan asked uncertainly.

"Why, they already know where we are, Methos pointed out as he descended the ladder. "But it might come in useful later."

A smile hovered on Duncan's lips. "Have something in mind, do we?"

"Lets just say that the next confrontation we have, will be on ground of our choosing," Methos replied with a grin. "Go on in, I'll finish up the windows. We can do the bodies later."

It took Methos another half an hour to board up the rest of the windows. Tucking away the tools and ladder away in the shed, he pulled the bodies in there for later and followed Duncan into the house. The kitchen was a buzz of activity as Hira was bustling around the room preparing a meal while Duncan and Amanda were arguing at the table.

"They have to be near, Duncan, this bug's range doesn't go very far," Amanda said. "It's an antique for God's sake, made in the U.S.S.R.!"

"We have to wait Amanda," Duncan pleaded. "We're not ready."

"And when exactly will we be ready, Duncan. When they come back and finish the job?" asked Amanda. "Half of us here are mortal. Believe it or not, we were lucky last night. Amy could have died, so could have Joe and Hira. Do we wait for the next hail of bullets? I say we strike now."

"What has got into you, woman?" Duncan asked disbelievingly. "This is not you."

"You forget Duncan, the reason Amy is lying unconscious right now is because they're after me," Amanda reminded him. "Even I have my limits, I say we finish this now."

"Children, children," Methos broke in, a smirk on his face. "Lets say we settle this peacefully."

Duncan rolled his eyes at this pronouncement and rose from the table. "There is nothing to settle," he insisted. "I'm saying that we shouldn't rush in there half cocked."

"That's not you said when you jumped off the shed last night!" Methos pointed out.

"That was different!" Duncan explained.

"No it wasn't," retorted Methos. "Amanda has a point, if we don't bring the fight to them, they'll just bring it to us again. They're not going to give up."

"Lets do it then," said a voice from the doorway. "I want those bastards dead." They all turned to see Joe walk into the room, the lines on his face etched deep from worry.

"Hey Joe," uttered Methos. "Has Amy come around yet?"

"Not yet," Joe replied as he sat the table. "So, what is the plan?"

"Well, from what I can make out, it's pretty much a go in there with guns blazing affair!" Duncan said in exasperation.

"Oh, I think we can come up with something with a bit more panache," Methos interjected as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Like what?" Duncan snorted. "A few petrol bombs perhaps?"

"Actually, that isn't a bad idea," Methos said thoughtfully.

"I was being sarcastic!" Duncan said.

"Well, you know what they say, sometimes the best ideas come about by accident," Methos commented placidly.

"Well, that is settled then," Amanda declared. "We're going after them."

"What about waiting until we know all the facts?" Duncan asked as he looked at Methos accusingly.

"I think our time just ran out, Duncan its time to act." With that, Methos disappeared upstairs to clean up.

"I'll check on Amy," Joe said as he tried to struggle to his feet, only to be prevented by Amanda's hand on his arm.

"Sit down Joe, you look worse than Amy. I'll check on our patient while you take a rest."

Duncan watched Amanda leave and then turned his attention to Joe. "Do you really think this is a good idea, Joe?"

"I think that none of this is a good idea, Mac," Joe sighed. "But they're the cards we've been dealt, so we have to deal with it, I suppose."

The sound of dishes being moved caught their attention, and they both turned to look at Hira.

"Here, let me help you with that," Duncan proposed as he rose from the table.

"Thank you, Mr MacLeod, the silverware is in the drawer over yonder," Hira replied as she pointed at a dresser.

"Please, call me Duncan," he said as he placed the plates on the table. "I think we should be on a first name basis after all that has occurred, don't you?"

Hira smiled in reply as she continued to prepare the meal. The table was set by the time Amanda and Methos rejoined the group and they all sat down to eat the stew that Hira had made.

"Its lovely, Hira," Amanda declared in Turkish.

"Thank you," Hira replied quietly.

"I see you two have discovered a common language," smirked Methos. "I didn't know you spoke Turkish, Amanda."

A little something I picked up in the early nineteen hundreds," she shrugged.

"What else did you pick up?" Methos asked devilishly.

Amanda wrinkled her nose in response and Joe tried to smother a laugh. Duncan's eyes softened in response, it was good to see Joe begin to relax. A muffled sound came from down the hall and Joe's head shot up.

"Amy..." he said

"I'll go check," Methos volunteered, as he deserted the table and went into the living room. An I.V. bag was on the floor when Methos entered, he quickly glanced at the camp bed and noticed Amy's eyes flutter.

"Hey, there," he said softly as he crouched beside the bed.

"Hey, yourself," she whispered back. "And I'm telling you now, if you say even once that you told me so, your head won't be safe."

"Glad we got that cleared up then," smirking, he felt for her pulse.

"Where's Joe?" she asked.

"Right here honey," said Joe as he entered the room and hurried to the bed.

"Hi," she replied as she tried to raise her head, only to fall back again with a groan.

"Easy now," Methos scolded her as he looked at her bandages. "We don't want to tear the stitches."

"Whatever you say 'Doc'," she said, as she closed her eyes in pain.

"I've got some painkillers," Methos told her. "I suggest you take them, you'll feel a little bit groggy, but it will take the edge off."

Amy nodded in reply and Methos gave her some codeine through the I.V. drip.

"Ooh, that was quick," she slurred.

"The joys of modern medicine," Methos said with a smile as he stood and left father and daughter by themselves.

"How is she," Duncan asked as Methos rejoined them in the Kitchen.

"Conscious," he said as he sat at the table. "Her pulse is steady and her stitches are holding. She should be okay."

Amanda left out a sigh of relief. "Well that's a bit of good news, at least. How about we discuss making sure this doesn't happen again?"

"We attack just after dark," Methos told them. "No mercy, these guys don't seem to know the meaning of the word anyway."

"In other words, you want to blow them up," Duncan said coolly.

"Pretty much, yes," Methos admitted. "The softly, softly approach doesn't seem to be working."

"We'd still have the immortals to worry about," observed Amanda.

"They we can handle the old fashioned way," Methos replied. "I just want to even the odds a little. I'm just a little sick and tired of tripping over watchers at every turn."

"Right then," Duncan relented. "We move tonight."

"But first," Methos added. "We have a few bodies to take care of."

The other two immortals groaned and Hira looked up from her meal curiously. Methos hurriedly explained what was going on.

"You can bury then in the back field," she told them. "It's never ploughed."

Methos smiled his thanks as they left the house. Quickly, they stripped the bodies of their guns and ammo and buried them, Methos noted that there was only three; he must have just winged one the night before.

"What about the guy you got on the road last night," he asked of Duncan.

"I rolled him into the ditch," Duncan explained. "Nobody will find him before we're gone.

Methos decided to take him at his word and made for the house. "Time to make some petrol bombs then," he declared."

Amanda and Duncan looked at each other and shrugged.

"What do you think? Is he going over the deep end?" Duncan whispered.

"No more than I am," Amanda muttered back. "At least he isn't taking it out on us!"

Duncan decided not to mention the shouting match in the shed earlier on. They caught up with Methos in the yard and all three stepped into the Kitchen as one.

"Hi," said Joe as he supped from a cup at the table. "Amy has dozed off so I thought she'd be okay for a while."

"Sleep is the best thing at the moment," Methos agreed as he took off his gloves and shrugged off his jacket." The codeine should keep the pain at bay for a few hours yet, so she should get a good nap."

Joe looked at him shrewdly from over his cup. "Not to mention the fact that it helped her to nod off in the first place, I've had some experience with those kind of painkillers myself, remember?" Joe tapped his prosthetics and looked at Methos knowingly.

"I thought it was for the best," Methos admitted. "The first couple of days are the worst, I thought she'd be better off if she was out of it."

"I can live with that," Joe replied as he turned his attention to his tea.

Methos turned his gaze to Hira. "I was wondering if you have any glass bottles stashed away, Hira. We have need of them."

Hira looked at him sharply, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. "I have a few under the Kitchen sink," she told him. "I also have a canister of diesel and rags in the tool shed."

Methos just nodded in reply, he knew that it was useless to deny what he was up to. "Lets get started then," he told Duncan, as he rooted under the sink and found the bottles.

The two immortals brought the bottles with them as they went to the tool shed. Amanda cried off, telling them she was in desperate need of a bath.

"Besides," She added. "Two bomb makers are more than enough!"

Dusk was coming when Methos and Duncan returned from their 'activities' in the tool shed. Amanda sat in wait in the kitchen, her backpack slung over the back of her chair.

"So, what's the plan," she asked archly.

"I was thinking about keeping it simple," Methos said. "Leave the bug here so they don't know we're on the move, have Joe stay here armed with the ammo that we liberated from the bodies - just in case. Set fire to the watcher's camps with the petrol bombs, finish off anyone stupid enough to stick around to see what is happening and challenge any immortal that gets in our way."

"Glad to see we've thought this through, then," observed Duncan sarcastically.

"Hey, whom do I look like?" Asked Methos. "James Bond?" It'll work, and that's all that's needed."

"I'll go and tell Joe, then," said Amanda, disappearing into the living room as Methos placed Joe's guns and ammo on the table. A few moments later, she was back. "Joe said he was okay with that, he doesn't want to move from Amy's side, anyway."

"I figured as much," Methos admitted. "Lets move then."

They decided to take Methos's jeep, making their way through the roads until they came to the spot that Methos and Joe had parked when they had rescued Duncan. Jumping out, Methos opened a zip up bag he had stashed under the driver's seat.

"Stick these in your pockets" Methos directed them, as he handed them both a couple of bottles before he zipped the bag up once more.

Silently, they crept through the forest, avoiding the sentries as the moved in on the first camp.

"You two take the larger camp, I'll take the smaller one" hissed Methos as he peeled off and headed for the archaeological site before Duncan could protest. Sliding through the undergrowth, he ignored the cries of confusion caused By Duncan and Amanda behind him. Slowly, he approached the dig, keeping a wary eye out for the buzz of another immortal. He had thought that if there were one squirreled away in the neighbourhood, the din Amanda and Duncan were kicking up would bring him running.

Pulling one of the bottles out of the zip up, he crouched low and peered into the camp. It was a mass of confusion, men were shouting conflicting orders as they panicked and ran for the other back. One of them obviously had a head on his shoulders, as he smelled a rat and called out to them to come back, but they were heedless, running head long for the other camp, guns at the ready. They were probably afraid of a repeat of the other night, he surmised and they weren't far wrong.

Lighting the rag that was stuffed into the bottle, Methos lopped it into the camp. The bottle smashed, splattering the lit petrol over two tents. A blazing form came screaming out of a tent and rolled on the grass. Someone was barked orders to the few remaining guards, trying to get them under control, but Methos threw another petrol bomb before they had time to organise. By this time, five tents were ablaze as well as a few trees; it was obvious that many were beginning to become overpowered by the heat and flames. Methos threw another petrol bomb for good measure and then started to pick off the few that were still on their feet with his gun. They broke, within moments the camp was empty of live bodies, though they were quite a few dead ones lying about.

Cautiously he entered the camp and headed for the underground temple that he had rescued Duncan from a few days before. Slipping down the ladder he covered his mouth with a handkerchief to filter out the smoke, he didn't think that now was a good time to pass out from smoke inhalation. He nearly tripped over a body at the foot of the ladder, reflexively; he checked for a pulse, there was none. Moving slowly forward he squinted through the smoke and made for the altar, nothing there.

On a hunch he rounded the altar and looked at the back wall, running his fingers gently over it, he searched for a seam, it didn't take him long to find it. Taking a step back, he perused the wall, there had to be a pressure point or lever somewhere. The wall was too smooth and flat to hide a lever, so he decided it had to be a pressure point. Inching his finger over the wall, he probed and pushed. Then, all of a sudden; the wall gave, swivelling backwards into a darkened chamber. Methos rooted his flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on. Immediately the beam was reflected onto all the walls of the room, it's light caught and thrown back out again by the fractured pieces of crystal that lay on a crude little altar in the centre of the chamber.

With a cry of triumph, Methos ran forward and started to put the pieces into various pockets. Glancing around to see if there was anything else worth taking, he note of in the room. With exception of the crystals, the cupboard was bare. Deciding that it was best not to loiter, he sprinted back to the ladder and made his way above ground. The moment that he put his head above ground, he felt it, the prickling sensation of another immortal approaching. Not for a minute did he think it was Amanda or Duncan, there was no way in hell that either of them would come within range without signalling, not in this situation. Slithering out of the hole, he gently pulled out his sword and waited, squatting down as he tried to catch a glimpse of the other immortal through the smoke as he tied the handkerchief more firmly around his face. The soft pad of footsteps came from his right and Methos twirled to meet his opponent.

It was Valmont, frozen mid-step as he realised he had lost his advantage. Not wanting to give him time to recover, Methos rushed him, engaging his sword before Valmont had an opportunity to attack to advantage. The swordplay was fast and brutal. Methos not giving an inch as he pushed Valmont back into the smoking embers of the tents. Valmont by now was coughing furiously as he was forced to breathe the smoke directly in. The handkerchief was doing its job, keeping the worst of the smoke from Methos's lungs as he pressed his attack. Distantly, the thought occurred to Methos that he shouldn't be doing this; he should be looking for a way to merely disable Valmont so to get some answers out of him. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to pull his gun and shoot him. He wanted this to continue to its fateful conclusion; this bastard's head was his.

Methos put all the weight of his body into his blows, forcing Valmont to work hard merely to hold ground, his breathing became more erratic as the smoke began to get to him, his parries more clumsy. Finally, Methos slipped through his defences and ran him through. Pausing a heartbeat, he pulled his sword free as Valmont dropped to his knees.

"Its not what you think..." Valmont rasped out.

"I don't care," Methos whispered, as with one, final, stroke, he decapitated him.

Many people talk about sensations that hover between pain and pleasure, and Methos would admit that he had come across a few of them in his time, but a quickening was definitely not one of them. A quickening was one thing, and one thing only, pure unadulterated pain. Gods, how he hated them! Praying that this wouldn't be a bad one, Methos held his ground as Valmont's quickening fizzled and flashed as it rose from his body. For a short second, it just seemed to just hover there, the disembodied essence of Valmont's life force, when all of a sudden, it coiled like a snake and slammed into him. Oh shit, it hurt. All that anger, all that rage beating against his mind as Valmont launched one, final assault. It seemed that it would last forever, but at last, it ended and Methos's body was once again his own.

The quickening had finished off what he had started with the petrol bombs; the campsite was a disaster zone of ash and smoke, the trees blazing hotly around the clearing. Praying inwardly for rain, Methos staggered to his feet and made a fast retreat into the forest, he definitely was not up to another confrontation just yet.

The next hour was a time he had no wish to repeat ever, ever repeat again. Trying to make it out of a forest full of homicidal watchers while recovering from a quickening was not his idea of a picnic. Eventually, though, he reached the road, peering at his surroundings, he figured he was about half a mile away from the jeep. Taking a deep breath, he took off at a canter, not stopping until he found it. Jumping into the driving seat, he hunkered down to wait for Duncan and Amanda.

The sky had begun to lighten with the first fingers of dawn, when Methos began to get worried. That slow sinking feeling, that was beginning to feel like a second skin, settled on him as he watched the sun rise. Amanda and Duncan weren't coming.

Cursing under his breath, he started the engine. It was official, he had come to the end of his patience, these bastards were going to pay - in every painful way possible. Putting his foot to the pedal, he sped down the road to the farm.

Chapter Eight

Joe was waiting for him in the yard when he screeched to a halt in front of the farmhouse. His face darkened when he realised that Methos was alone as he approached the jeep when Methos leaped out.

"Where are they?" he asked, leaning heavily on his cane, as he looked Methos full in the face.

"Not sure," He replied through gritted teeth as he sidestepped Joe and headed into the house.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" Joe shouted at his disappearing back.

Methos didn't bother to answer, stalking through the kitchen without even glancing around; he headed to his room and pulled out his laptop. Luckily, he had a modem, so getting online wasn't a problem. Deciding that he might as well run up the bill in the enemy's name, he rooted out the mobiles that he had 'liberated' from the bodies the day before. He was about to connect the one that wasn't locked, when it suddenly occurred to him that the mobile's phonebook and text messages might have some handy information.

Cursing at his stupidity for not checking earlier, he rooted through the stored phone numbers, jotting them down on the back page of his journal. He was about to check the text messages when he heard a roar from the bottom of the stairs.

"If you don't get you arse down here, you old fart, I'm going to come up there after you, and let me tell you, me, trying to negotiate these steps, not pretty!"

With a groan, Methos grabbed his things and descended the stairs. "Hey, Joe."

"Don't you 'hey' me! Spit it out!" Joe demanded.

"We split up, we attacked, I made it back to the jeep, they didn't. Satisfied?" snarled Methos, as he opened up his laptop on the kitchen table.

"They have them?" asked a stunned Joe.

"That would be my guess, yes," he said absently, turning his attention to the mobile.

"Then what are you doing here sitting down?"

"Two things; one: trying to find out where they would be hiding, now that both of their camps are smouldering heaps, and two: trying to find a place where I can pick up some heavy duty weaponry so I can blow them to pieces," replied Methos, counting off his fingers as he spoke.

Joe blinked at the visceral edge to his voice, but ploughed on nevertheless. "Won't they still be in the forest, guarding the stone?"

Methos reached into his pockets, and threw the crystals onto the table.

"I see," Joe said slowly, levering himself onto a chair. "What can I do to help?"

Flipping his journal to the back page, he showed Joe the phone numbers he had jotted down. "Feel up to making some phone calls? I got those from one of yesterday's bodies."

With a nod, Joe pulled out his mobile and proceeded to dial the first number while Methos turned his attention to the text messages. There was a reference to a meeting at Drakva St, but little else except short meaningless chitchat. The sound of footsteps from the hall broke his concentration. Looking up, he caught Joe motioning Hira to be silent as she walked into the room. Methos tuned into the conversation Joe was having on the phone.

"Yes... thank you... sorry for wasting your time..." with a grimace, Joe hung up. "You'll never guess who that was!"

"No, I probably wouldn't," replied Methos, rolling his eyes. "Now, spill."

"Interpol!" Joe told him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh great, that's all we need," griped Methos. "I don't suppose you found out which department you were speaking to?"

"Well, he asked if I had a theft to report, so I'm guessing they deal with grand larceny and so on. I mean, somehow I don't think you would call them if you had your clock radio stolen!"

Methos snickered. "I suppose that's one way of trying to track down Amanda!"

For a moment, there was a look of puzzlement on Joe's face before he realised that this was Amanda they were talking about. "I thought she'd given that up of late."

"By and large, yes, but she still likes to do the odd job, especially if she thinks it's challenging," Methos explained. "Also, as you went to such pains to explain to me before, it's a good way to dispose of any errant watchers!"

"Yeah," Joe chuckled. "I'd forgotten that."

"Well, I think that we can conclude that he was ringing them on a fact finding mission, and that we don't have to worry about being suddenly surrounded by special police."

"Here's hoping," Joe sighed as he dialled the next number. He was only on the phone a few seconds before he rung off. "Mother house in Istanbul," he explained as he saw Methos's enquiring look.

"Not the guys we want to chat with," Methos said in understanding.

Joe picked up his phone yet again, then hesitated. "I hate to have to ask this, but why do you think they're still alive?"

"For the same reason they kept Duncan alive last time, Joe. Because we have something they want."

As one, they both looked at the crystals scattered across the table.

"They don't look like much, do they?" Joe observed.

Methos shrugged in answer and attached the mobile to his modem. Tapping in a search, he waited for the corresponding pages to come up. Joe continued down the list of numbers, phoning up various countries in the process.

"I'd hate to see this guys phone bill'" he muttered to himself as he rung off yet again. "That was the motherhouse in Russia, in case you were wondering."

"How many does that make it?" asked Methos, looking up from his laptop.

"Eight, in all," Joe replied. "These guys seem to have infiltrated the watchers in every corner in the globe. So - what are you up to?"

"I'm sourcing some 'materials,'" Methos said grimly.

"Hmm," Joe smirked, as he rang the last number on the list. A few moments later, he handed the mobile to Methos. "It's Bulgarian," he whispered.

Taking the phone off Joe, Methos put it to his ear. After mouthing a few platitudes to the person on the other end of the phone, he rung off. "That was a property rental agency for Khaskovo," he told Joe as he handed Joe back his phone. Pausing for a second, he quickly tapped in a new search into the laptop. "And hey, presto," he muttered, looking at the map that downloaded onto the screen.

"What do you have?" Joe asked.

"A map of Khaskovo, the text messages on the mobile mentioned a meeting. They gave a street as the address, Drakva Street to be precise, and here it is, in the eastern quarter of Khaskovo. What are the odds that the rental agency we were just talking to has some property on their books from that street?"

"I don't think I'll take that bet, if it's all the same to you," laughed Joe.

"Anyway," Methos went on. "I think that this is as good a place as anywhere to start our search, don't you?"

"So I'm invited along this time, am I?" Joe retorted.

Methos studied Joe's face a moment before answering. "Yesterday, Duncan said we should leave here and take everyone with us, I refused. Now I'm beginning to think he was right."

"What?" Joe teased. "You're actually admitting you might have been wrong? The world must be ending or something."

"Well... you do have a horseman in the room!"

"Oh man," groaned Joe. "Don't give up the day job, your sense of humour sucks."

"Apocalyptic, is it?"

Joe winced and shook his head. "This is just getting worse and worse..."

"Hey, did you hear about the one when death walked into a bar..."

"Okay, okay, stop already! Can we get back on track, here?"

"You started it!"

"How old are you? Twelve?"

It was Hira's cough that interrupted them; watcher and immortal both turned to look at her.

"Are you alright, Hira?" Methos asked.

"The young lady is a bit restless," she explained. "She wants to get up, I think, but as we don't share a language, it's hard to tell."

"I'll go check on her right now," Methos promised as he stood up.

"What did she say?" Joe enquired.

"Amy has woken up," Methos explained. "I'll go talk with her."

"I'm coming with you," Joe said, getting to his feet. "We probably should all be having this chat together, anyway."

Methos nodded and headed for the living room, Hira and Joe following close behind. Catching Amy trying to get out of bed, he strode across the room and gently pushed her back onto the mattress. "You, m'dear, are not going anywhere."

"But I'm feeling much better," Amy protested.

"That's the drugs talking, believe me," Methos told her. "If I hadn't put enough painkillers in you to down a rhinoceros, you'd be screaming in agony right now."

"Thanks for the pep talk," she grumbled, wriggling uncomfortably in the camp bed.

"I'm just telling it as it is, Amy. You're in no condition to be mobile," Methos sighed as he sat on an armchair.

"I'm going to go out of my mind, just lying here," she pointed out to him.

"Like father, like daughter," Methos grumbled. "You two are the worst patients I've ever had. And coming from me, that's saying a lot!"

"Well, the least you can do is prop me up a bit, maybe then I could read a book or something."

"We'll see. Firstly, though, I think you need to be brought up to date." Quickly, Methos filled her and Joe in on what had happened since she was shot, including the fact that he'd taken Valmont's head.

"Oh my God, do you think they're alright?" Amy asked worriedly.

"For now," Methos reassured her. He then turned to Hira and explained what had transpired. Hira gave him a long hard look and then stood up to leave.

"Where are you going?" Methos asked.

"To pack," Hira replied shortly. "That is what you were going to ask me to do anyway, wasn't it?"

Smiling at Hira's astuteness, Methos nodded.

"I knew I should have shot you," she grumbled as she left the room.

"Trust me, it wouldn't have worked," Methos laughed.

"Maybe not, but it would have felt good, I'd wager," she retorted from the hall.

"What was that about," asked a puzzled Joe.

"She's just a little bit cranky, that's all," Methos explained. Looking at Amy, he contemplated having to move her. He'd have preferred to leave her be, but it wasn't an option. Maybe he could jerry rig a stretcher and lie her down in the back of the car. There'd be room if he put down the seats of her S.U.V. He eyed the camp bed, if he took off the legs... another trip into the tool shed, then. He was beginning to really hate that place. "I wonder if Hira can drive," he thought aloud.

Shaking his head, he stood to go. "Be back in a few ticks," he said. "I just have to get some tools.

It took some doing, but an hour later, they were ready to go. It transpired that Hira could drive, so she was put in charge of the S.U.V. and Amy, while he and Joe took the Jeep and the luggage. The drive to Khaskovo was uneventful and they made good time.

Methos contemplated booking a few hotel rooms, but decided against it. Carrying Amy through the Foyer might raise too many questions; they would have to camp out in the cars. It was probably better that way anyhow, considering Amy's condition it made sense to have a fast pair of wheels under her. He doubted she would survive running for cover if they were caught out.

"My, my, this is going to be very comfy," grumbled Joe as they pulled out of sight into a lane.

"I promise, I'll put you up in the swankiest hotel I can find once this is over," Methos said as he turned off the engine.

"So, what do we do now?" Joe asked.

"We wait for dusk," Methos replied. "And then we pay a little visit to an Army barracks at the other side of town."

"Going shopping, are we?" Joe asked astutely.

"Trust me," Methos smirked. "There is going to be no exchange of monies on this little trip."

Methos found the armoury without much trouble, knocking out the token guard with ease. Rifling through the soldier's pockets, he found the keys and let himself in. Quickly, he filled up the sack and lugged it back to the Jeep. It was a bit awkward getting back over the wall with his booty, but he managed to get back to the jeep before he'd been gone twenty minutes.

"Done this before, have we?" Joe teased, peeking into the large sack while Methos put his foot to the pedal.

Methos didn't even bother to answer as he made his way to the eastern quarter of the city, peering at the street signs as he cruised along. Eventually he found the street he was looking for and pulled to the side. Taking the bag from Joe, he pulled out a few canisters and put them in his pockets.

"What are those?" Joe asked curiously.

"Knockout gas," Methos said shortly as he pulled out two automatic rifles and a half dozen clips. "One for you, one for me," he explained as he pulled out his prize catch.

"You stole a bazooka?" Joe cried disbelievingly, as he stared at the contraption.

"I find that it settles all arguments," was the reply. "Don't worry, Joe, it's a last resort."

Joe looked at Methos suspiciously; he hadn't forgotten that crack he'd made back at the farmhouse about blowing them 'to pieces'.

"Relax Joe, I'm not about to go all Rambo on you. It's not really my style. Besides, I'm going to leave this with you, anyway. I'm not going to use this thing while I'm still in the building, after all."

Lastly, Methos pulled out a few gas masks; hanging one around his neck, he gave Joe one and put the rest in his backpack. "All set then," he pronounced, starting up the jeep and turning onto Drakva St.

They were only half way down the street when Methos felt the presences of other immortals. Looking out the window, he spied a house with all the blinds pulled down. Pulling the jeep to a halt, he jumped out and turned to Joseph. "Listen, Joe, can you manage getting this car to go if you have to?"

"Just about," Joe admitted. "Does this mean I'm the getaway driver?"

"Seems so," Methos grinned as he put a clip into the automatic. "Well, here goes nothing."

Making his way across the street, he took a canister out of his pocket, pulled the pin and lobbed it into the ground floor window. Hearing shouts, he put the mask on and crawled in through the broken window. With satisfaction, he noted the unconscious bodies as he moved into the rest of the house. Moving to the foot of the stairs, he paused as he heard movement from above. The gas had obviously lost its potency by the time it reached the top of the steps. Gun in hand, he slowly crept up the stairs and stepped onto the landing.

The buzz of other immortals became stronger as he made his way down the hall, and for a moment, Methos thought this was going to be easy. Well, you know what they say about famous last words.

"Freeze, you bastard!"

Pain blossomed as a bullet embedded itself in his shoulder, and with a curse, Methos threw himself back onto the stairs and fumbled in his pocket, his hand curling around another canister of gas as he heard feet running toward him. Pulling the ring, he tugged it out of his coat, letting go as another bullet hit him in the gut. Praying that he'd be the first one to reawaken, he lost consciousness.

***********

With a gasp, his eyes flew open, his lungs screaming with pain. Pushing an unconscious body off his legs, he staggered to his feet and looked around. The house was silent and Methos sighed a breath of relief, moving up onto the landing once more, he homed in on the quickenings that he had sensed before.

Spotting the open door that his attackers must have leapt from, he approached cautiously, gingerly pushing the door wide open before he entered. The room was some kind of study; it was also deserted. Methos looked around in puzzlement, where were they? It was then he noticed that one of the bookcases was at an odd angle to the wall. Moving closer, he noticed a space behind it.

Giving the bookcase a nudge, he smiled as the bookcase swung forward on a pair of hinges. Looking into the darkened passageway behind, he rooted around in his backpack and produced a torch. Shining it into the dark, he smirked as he noticed the two sleeping beauties within. Pulling their unresisting bodies out of the passageway, he opened the window and threw them out. He knew they were going to be pissed when they revived and saw the state of their clothing but he really didn't have the time for niceties.

Giving the study one last look, he spotted the laptop on the desk and decided to take it with him. After a moments pause, he pulled the desk drawer out and looked. No such luck, this time he'd have to break the passwords the old- fashioned way.

He ran out of the house, fully aware he was running out of time before the watchers awoke. Wincing as he noticed the state of Amanda's and Duncan's bodies on the pavement, he lifted Amanda into a fireman's lift and sprinted across the street. Throwing Amanda into the backseat, he ran back for Duncan. Cursing and damning, he lugged the Scot's inert form to the jeep and propped him against Amanda. Throwing himself into the drivers seat, he gave Joe a dirty look as he heard him chuckling under his breath.

"Okay, what's so funny then," he demanded.

"You mean, you don't know?" chuckled Joe. "It's not every day I see Amanda thrown out a window!"

Methos smirked. "Yeah, that was funny, wasn't it?" Turning the key in the ignition, he pulled out and drove off at a respectable speed. They had just arrived in the town centre when Methos felt the two immortal quickenings grow stronger. With a splutter, Duncan came alive, his body immediately on the defensive.

"Hey Mac," Methos commented cheerfully. "You're really going to have to cut down on these kidnappings, it's beginning to get old."

Mac opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Amanda's resurrection.

"Damn, I'm never going to get used to that," Joe muttered.

The first comment that came out of Amanda's mouth was predictable. "What in heaven's name happened to my clothes?"

Joe laughed as Methos cringed in the drivers seat. "Sorry about that, unavoidable I'm afraid," Methos explained, keeping his eyes studiously forward so that she couldn't read her face.

"What was unavoidable, exactly?" Amanda asked suspiciously.

"Well... I was rather stuck for time... and... and," Methos replied cagily.

"And what, Methos!" Amanda demanded.

By this stage, Joe was doubled up with laughter in the passenger seat. "Oh man, I can't listen to this."

"I had to throw you out the window, okay?" Methos mumbled.

"You did what?" Amanda screeched.

"I'm guessing that I followed her down," Duncan said sarcastically, taking a look at his own clothes.

"Oh, look," Methos said brightly as he pulled into the lane he'd left Hira and Amy. "We're here already." Jumping out of the jeep before either Amanda or Duncan could say anything more; he tapped on the window of the other car, waking Hira from her doze. Gesturing at her to roll the window down, he leaned against the car door. Refusing to glance at the jeep as he heard his fellow immortals jump out, he smiled at Hira when she got the window down.

"Hell there, everything alright?"

"Just fine," Hira answered. "I see you were successful."

"That remains to be seen," Methos muttered under his breath as he heard footsteps draw near.

"Oh my goodness, Amanda, what happened to you?" Hira exclaimed.

Amanda gave Methos a glowering look before dazzling Hira with a saccharine sweet smile. "Apparently, Adam has never heard of this great new invention called the stairs, so he decided to use gravity instead!"

Wincing at the dire threat inherent in Amanda's words, Methos opened the back door of the SUV and checked on the sleeping Amy; automatically he checked her pulse. Finding that it was satisfactory, he pulled the blanket closer around her ears and shut the door.

"Oh, and another thing Adam," Amanda continued as Methos turned to face her. "Thanks!" With a grin, Amanda threw her arms around him, enveloping him in a surprisingly strong hug.

"You're welcome," uttered a surprised Methos. "I think?"

"Oh, come on," she chided as she pulled back. "You didn't seriously think I'd be that angry with you? The search and rescue was greatly appreciated, honey, believe me. Now, lets see if we can't locate a nice hot shower."

"I'm with you there," chimed in Duncan, examining his clothes in disgust. "And the thanks comes from me as well, though I think I'll skip on the hug if it's all the same to you."

Methos rolled his eyes and pulled a map out of Hira's glove compartment. "It's the middle of the night, Amanda, it's a little late to be booking a room. It looks like we're in for a night under the stars - want to pick out a spot?"

Amanda glared at him as he held out the map. "There must be somewhere we can go, Adam," she insisted. "Maybe Hira knows somewhere." Switching to Turkish, she poked her head into the car and asked her.

"Well... my daughter lives about thirty miles due east of here," she said doubtfully.

"Well, that's where we're going then," Amanda declared brightly as she crawled into the car with her. "Off we go!"

"Eh, Amanda, I don't think this is a good idea. Remember what happened to Hira's house when we stayed," Duncan pointed out.

"Oh, don't be silly," dismissed Amanda. "That was different, this time they have no way of tracking us. Come on, Duncan, hot water awaits."

Duncan looked at Methos, his face full of misgivings, but the elder immortal just shrugged in response and climbed back into the jeep. "I still don't like this..." he muttered as he squeezed in beside Amanda.

Once again, they were on the move, Hira leading the way through the Bulgarian countryside until, eventually, they pulled into the driveway of Hira's daughter's home.

"Give me a few moments to speak with my daughter," Hira asked, getting out of the car as the porch light came on. "I don't want all of us to descend on her at once." The door opened as Hira approached the house, revealing a petite woman who had more than a passing resemblance to her mother. A short heated conversation took place on the doorstep before Hira turned and nodded.

Duncan helped Methos carry the sleeping Amy in through the door as Amanda smiled and made her hellos. Hira's daughter watched anxiously as, gently, they rested the makeshift stretcher in the living room, Duncan tucking the cover around her. A movement behind her skirts caught Methos's eye, and his heart sank as he spotted the little eyes of a child peep into the room.

"Oh shit, I never thought of that..."

Methos prayed that Amanda was right and that they wouldn't be having any visitors. He didn't think he'd be able to look Hira in the eye if anything happened to her grandchildren. Averting his gaze, he sat down on the couch. "We have to talk, this has to stop."

"They've already got my piece of the crystal, Adam," Amanda said with a sigh as she sat down beside him. "I know that it was stupid to keep on wearing it, but I've always done so..."

"It's not going to do them much good, Amanda," Methos replied with a grin. "Because they don't have the rest of it anymore - I do!"

"Let me guess - a secret antechamber to the secret underground temple!" said Duncan with a grin.

"What can I say, when I'm right, I'm right," agreed Methos.

"So what is the plan?" asked a sleepy Amy.

"Oh, you've joined us, have you?" said Methos teasingly.

"Sort of," Amy replied. "I'm still a bit groggy."

"It was a good question, though," added Joe. "What are we going to do?"

"Well, I was thinking that we'd go to Sofia tomorrow and pick up a few things, I managed to liberate a laptop while I was rescuing Duncan and Amanda but I'm going to need a few things to decrypt it." said Methos. "Also, I think we should rent a property, hotels are out of bounds from now on. Plus I think that Hira should go on a long holiday out of the country, all expenses paid - and bring her daughter and grandchildren along with her."

"The sooner, the better," Duncan muttered.

Amanda explained to Hira what Methos had proposed, it took some convincing but she eventually reluctantly agreed.

"Splendid, so, where do you want to go?" Methos asked.

"Well... I always wanted to go to Venice," replied Hira with a small smile.

"Venice it is then," Methos said. "We'll arrange a passport for you at Sofia as well as a new wardrobe, I don't think it is a good idea to go back to your house."

Hira nodded in agreement and went to join her daughter who had already disappeared into her kitchen.

"Well, then, maybe we should bunk down for a few hours," Joe suggested.

"Not before I get that shower," Amanda said as she made for the bathroom. "See you in a few."

"You know, I was thinking that we should call in a few favours from some of our 'older' friends." Duncan said, looking at Methos questioningly.

"I think you mean some of your 'older friends, Mac," said Methos archly. "I have exactly one Boy Scout in my telephone book and that's you."

"Okay then, I'll take out my phone book and make a few phone calls tomorrow." Duncan said as he made himself comfortable in an armchair. "In the meantime, I'm going to catch a couple of winks sleep."

"Now that sounds like a plan," Methos agreed as he stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. "See you at first light."

Chapter Nine

Breakfast was quiet; everyone was too groggy to make idle conversation. Hira's daughter, whose name they discovered was Rosa, was busy bundling her children into their clothes as Hira bustled around the kitchen making sure everyone had something to eat. Eventually, though, they were all ready to leave and were on their way to Sofia before eight. Hira had decided to drive in her daughter's car, so the journey was a little less cramped than the previous night.

They arrived in Sofia just after midday. Methos had already booked flights for Hira and her family on the phone that morning and Amanda volunteered to pick up a few things for them, so Duncan elected to accompany Hira to the passport office, her family in tow.

Methos robbed a telephone booth of its phone book and rejoined Joe in the jeep. Leafing through it until he found the letting agencies, he tore out the page and started the engine, pulling out into the traffic.

"Tut, tut, tut, petty theft and vandalism, what are we going to do with you?" Joe said with a smirk.

A weak laugh came from the back. "Don't do that," Amy protested. "It hurts too much."

"Drugs wearing off, then?" Methos asked with a smirk.

"If this is the moment where you tell me 'I told you so' again - don't," Amy warned.

"The thought never crossed my mind!"

"Yeah, sure it didn't," Amy muttered.

A few minutes later, Methos parked in front of the first letting office on the list. "This shouldn't take long," he promised as he got out. "Be back in a moment." He was as good as his word and he was back in the jeep with a lease and a new set of keys within ten minutes.

"Did you get somewhere nice?" Amy asked hopefully.

"Actually, I did," Methos replied. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable while we're plotting."

Joe snorted as Methos turned on the engine and proceeded to make his way to the rendezvous point that he and Duncan had arranged earlier. Amanda and Duncan were already there when they arrived.

"Hira has already gone on to the airport," Duncan said as he walked up to the car window. "Did you get someplace?"

"Yep," Methos answered. "Follow me."

Half an hour later, they pulled into the drive of a villa that was situated in the leafy outskirts of the city.

"Very nice," Amanda approved as she got out of the car. "I take back all I said about you having no taste, Methos."

"Why, thank you, Amanda," said Methos sarcastically.

Within ten minutes they were all safely ensconced in the house. Duncan and Joe propped Amy up in the couch while Amanda picked up her car keys again and went shopping for a few essentials for the house.

Methos made himself comfortable in the study and proceeded to make a long list of calls to those he knew in the I.T. business. Eventually, he got hold of the name of a supplier in Sofia who specialised in the kind of computer equipment he was hoping to get his hands on. A quick phone call later and he made arrangements for the equipment to be dropped to the door, no questions asked.

Satisfied he had done all he could do until the equipment arrived, he went to check on Amy's dressings. "This looks good," he said approving as he inspected the wound and bandaged it once more. "You should be able to move around, with care, in the next few days."

"Days!" Amy protested. "But that's ages."

"Oh, stop being such a cry-baby. Believe me, there is a big difference between days and ages - and I should know," he joked.

"Hey, I know what we could do to pass the time," Amy said slyly. "I could fill in a few gaps in your chronicles. You know, sit here quietly, not moving a muscle, taking notes as you tell me what really happened during that visit to Rome in the first century - set the record straight and all that."

"Nice try," Methos replied dryly.

"It was worth a go!" Amy answered with a grin.

It was at that moment that Amanda breezed in with her usual truckload of shopping bags. "Food and toiletries!" she announced breezily as she dropped them on the floor.

"All that?" said Methos as he eyed the bags doubtfully.

Amanda rolled her eyes, picked up the bags again and headed to the kitchen, "Men!"

Methos looked at Amy in bewilderment.

"Hey, don't look at me, I'm with her!"

"Traitor," he accused as she burst out laughing.

"Realist," she contradicted him. "If it was up to you, we'd all be hanging around in this house with no soap or bread!"

"I'm not that bad."

"Near enough, I'm your watcher, remember? I've seen your shopping trolley, no wonder you eat out all the time."

"Nitpicker!" he grumbled as he stood.

"Running away, are we?"

"Damned right! Now I remember why I prefer the pleasure of my own company... "

The doorbell rang and Methos went to answer it. His package had arrived. Paying the guy at the door, he retreated into the study and set the equipment up. Soon he had a decryption sequence running for the laptop. Hoping that this would work, he left it to do its job and joined Amanda and Duncan in the kitchen.

"Hey guys, how's tricks?" he asked cheerfully, helping himself to one of the sandwiches on the table.

"I made a few calls," Duncan told him. "The de Valicourts should be here by tomorrow morning. I told them to shake off their watchers before they did so - that is, after I told them what a watcher actually is," he added with a grimace.

"Joe is not going to be happy," observed Methos.

"Joe can live with it," corrected the old watcher as he entered the room. "Desperate times and all that."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Duncan with relief. "I wasn't looking forward to telling you."

"Well, now you don't have to," Joe said comfortably as he took a sandwich and started munching.

"I'll bring a plate into Amy," Amanda said, heaping one with sandwiches and disappearing into the living room.

"So, any luck hacking into the laptop yet?" Duncan enquired.

"The program is still running, we should have a result within the hour," Methos told him as he slouched into his chair.

"Good, then maybe we'll have some answers to this whole mess," Joe sighed. "This situation is beginning to get on my last nerve."

"Right there with you," Duncan muttered. "Being kidnapped twice in the one week is not my idea of a good time. It's positively embarrassing."

"How did they get you this time?" asked Joe.

"I think it was some kind of tranquillizer dart," Duncan replied. "Whatever it was, it was pretty powerful, I actually had a headache for a full hour after I woke up."

"Sounds nasty," sympathised Joe.

"You know, I never figured that out," mused Methos. "How is it that an immortal can take a bullet and wake up right as rain a few minutes later, but dope them up on drugs and it takes hours to wear off?"

"I think it has something to do the fact that we can regenerate more efficiently when we are 'dead'," Duncan ventured. "I mean, I've noticed that when I'm wounded during a challenge, it takes me a while to heal. If I die in the process, however, I wake up totally regenerated."

"I suppose that's as good a theory as any other," Methos admitted. "It also proves that not only is there an immortal involved in this charade, but he's most likely in charge. Only an immortal would know enough about our physiology to realize a tranquillizer would be more effective than a bullet in keeping us quiet for any length of time. A mortal would need that amount of breathing space to take down three immortals simultaneously."

"That's an awful lot of supposition," observed Duncan.

"Oh, I've not even started," replied Methos grimly. "I don't believe that they were merely attempting to kidnap us in the first place, but kill us in one fell swoop. The only reason I believe we're alive is that they expected us all to attack together, not split up and hit both camps concurrently. When they realised they hadn't caught us in the one net, they switched to plan B."

"You know, that makes a scary kind of sense," Joe said. "Watchers killing immortals - I thought that had ended with Horton."

"Not killing immortals, Joe," Methos corrected. "Just putting them under long enough for one of their pet immortals to come along and finish the job. My guess is that Valmont was lurking somewhere out of sensing distance, just waiting for the signal to come in and collect our heads. It would have worked too; if we hadn't split up we'd probably be fish bait by now."

"I suppose that it's a good thing that you took his head, then," said Duncan.

"Joe told you about that, I suppose," Methos said, with amusement.

"He may have mentioned it while you were playing with your new gadget," admitted Duncan.

"It was rather stupid of me, I know," Methos said with a sigh. "I suppose I should have taken a page out of their book and captured him instead. I'm afraid that I let my anger get the best of me."

"All things considered, I think we'll let you away with it, this one time," said Duncan with a grin.

"Nice to know," replied Methos with an answering grin. "Well, I'd better go and check on my 'gadget', it should have cracked it by now." With that, he rose from the table and made his way back into the study.

Sitting down to the laptop, he smiled with relief as he noticed that the 'gadget' had indeed succeeded in decrypting the password. Logging in, he quickly scrolled down the document files. As nothing jumped out at him, he decided to start from the top.

Immediately, he hit pay dirt: inside was a long list of names. He recognised enough of them to realise that it was a list of watchers. The strange thing was that he recognised too many of them. Almost to a man, all the watchers were from the research departments; hardly any of them were field agents.

Usually, in his experience, the watchers that were more likely to go renegade were from the field. Personally, he could understand that; anyone would be sickened if the had to watch an immortal such as Caspian, for instance. These watchers, however, probably hadn't seen a real immortal since their training days. It explained their bad field skills, if nothing else.

He racked his brains to come up with a reason for the predominance of researchers. The only reason that seemed logical was that it had something to do with Tribeau being their ringleader. It made a kind of sense that he would recruit from those watchers he was most familiar with - his fellow researchers.

With a shrug, he decided to leave the whole thing to Joe; it was really his problem anyway. Moving on to the next file, he groaned. It was yet another reference to an ancient text. He very nearly skipped on to the next file when a phrase caught his eye. If he wasn't mistaken, the list of tributes to Ramses that Duncan translated in Constantinople had also mentioned this 'key of Ihmotep'. With a sigh, he read on.

Within moments, he began to giggle as he read about the amazing adventures of Ihmotep the Great while he strived to recover the key created by Tefnut, the water goddess. He had actually known the wily old architect back in that long ago era and he remembered their many conversations with fondness. There was no denying that the man had been a genius, he'd been the Leonardo De Vinci of his day. Not only was he the first to design and build a pyramid, he had also had been a formidable artist, Mathematician and philosopher.

The thing is, Indiana Jones he wasn't! The thought of the stout old architect diving to the bottom of the Nile and wrestling a crocodile in order to retrieve this fabulous key was bloody hilarious. The nearest that old fart got to taking a dip in the Nile was when he took a bath. Methos supposed he shouldn't be surprised. After all, Egyptians had worshipped him as a God in later generations. Compared to that, this was small fry.

It was the appendage at the bottom of the page that really caught his eye, however. It was a short description of the key. With a start, Methos realised that the description fitted the Methuselah stone exactly. Quickly, he did a few mental calculations in his head. Yes, the figures fit, there was about a three hundred year gap between the death of Ramses and Rebecca's first death. Somewhere along the line, the stone made its way from the royal Egyptian treasuries and into Rebecca's teacher's hands.

It was the descriptionion of the stone's powers that really made him sit up, though. Apparently, even Rebecca didn't know the full extent of the stone's abilities. Not only did it have the power to hold back the ravages of time in a mortal, it also could be used to find the 'eternal waters' that flowed within the 'garden of the Gods'. The Sumerian account of the 'pool of lights' in the 'Garden of Dilmun' sprung to mind, the similarities were too many to dismiss.

It was the last piece of information that made him nervous. According to this, the stone really was a key. Whoever held it could literally enter the Garden. It did make a kind of twisted sense - if the Ziusudra of legend was supposed to have returned the stone to the waters, he would have needed a way to get in.

It was as if the carpet had been suddenly pulled from under his feet. Here he had been thinking that the worst he was up against was an immortal that wanted invincibility, but now he realised that the stakes were much higher than that. Someone wanted to get hold of the power to change the fabric of reality. The possibilities were endless; anyone with access to the pool of lights could literally recreate the world in his own image.

Methos shuddered. What sort of lunatic would want to play that kind of game? The only immortal he knew that was that power mad was Kronos, and he was long dead. It was all a legend, of course; there mightn't be any thing to it. For all their talk, no one had ever actually seen the stone perform any of its supposed magical abilities. But then again, the waters in France were no myth; he had actually seen with his own eyes how they could heal.

In the end, Methos came to the conclusion that he couldn't afford not to take it seriously. Even if it weren't true, the fact still stood that there was someone out there who believed that it were - and that someone was crazy enough to do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

With a sigh, Methos clicked onto the next file. It was a list of properties. Methos noted that the building in Kraskava was among them; also, there were properties in Bahrain, Egypt and France, as well as one here in Sofia. Making a metal note to check the latter property out as soon as possible, he went on the next file.

It seemed to be a journal of some kind, a mish-mash of dates, places, and erratic thoughts. Unfortunately, it wasn't signed. He tried to make sense of it, but didn't make much headway. One sentence did stick in his mind, though. 'The last preparations have been made, all we need now is the key'. It was then that Methos thought that carrying the stone's pieces around in his pockets might not be such a good idea. It was definitely time to dig a hole and bury them.

Moving on to the last file, he grinned evilly as he realised what it was: a list of all their financial holdings, bank account after bank account, complete with pass codes and amounts. A picture of the state of Hira's home popped into his mind and, suddenly, he knew what to do. This would need a little of Amanda's expertise, though. Poking his head out of the study door, he hollered her name and went back to his seat.

"No need to shout so loud, Methos," Amanda admonished as she entered the room. "I was just across the hall, you know."

"Believe me, all will be forgiven once you take a look at this," Methos promised as he gestured at the laptop.

"Is that so?" she said, rounding the desk to take a look at the screen. Methos looked on in satisfaction as her eyes rounded in disbelief. "This is a hell of a lot of money, Methos."

"So it is. Looks like Hira is going to be a very rich woman!"

"There is nearly a hundred million British pounds here," Amanda replied. "I wouldn't advise that you give it all to her, it would be too overwhelming."

"You may have a point," Methos admitted reluctantly. "How about we give some to Amy and Joe as well? Seeing as Amy took a bullet, I'd say that she deserved some compensation, and Joe would never have to worry about his retirement again."

"Now that sounds like a plan," Amanda said as she grabbed a chair and sat down beside him. "I presume you didn't call me in here to look at all the pretty numbers. I'm going to have to set up a few Swiss bank accounts first to place the money into. Why don't you go and join the others while I let my fingers do the talking?" Without further ado, she pulled the laptop in front of her, plugged in a phone and went online.

Reluctantly, he let her get on with it as he joined the others who were in the living room.

"What's Amanda up to?" Duncan asked curiously as he entered the room.

"Oh...just a little banking!" Methos replied with a grin, throwing himself into an armchair. "Spreading the wealth, so to speak."

Duncan raised his eyebrow enquiringly. "Care to share the joke?"

With a self-satisfied smirk, Methos quickly filled them in on the Bank accounts.

"Oh my God, you shouldn't have!" gasped Amy.

"Actually, I think it's perfect," replied Duncan, grinning. "Karmic justice at it's finest!"

"Hear, hear," joined in Methos.

"I don't know about this..." said Joe, unsurely. "It's a lot of money."

"Just enjoy it, Joe," Methos advised. "Put it to good use, you could buy out your club from the watchers for a start. Things might get a little sticky in that department when this whole mess leaks out. It would be better if you cut your dependency on them financially."

Joe nodded at this. He had to admit, it did make a lot of sense.

"All that money..." Amy said wonderingly. "Wow!"

"I'm afraid that's all of my good news," Methos warned them. "I've also found out a few things that you're not going to like."

"How bad is it?" Duncan asked.

"If we're going to give any credence to the legend of the stone, very bad," Methos admitted.

"Oh dear," muttered Amy. "Of all the times to get shot."

Amanda paused at the door as she looked into the room. "What's wrong? I leave the room for a few minutes and when I come back, you all look as if someone had died. Did I miss something?"

"Those bank accounts weren't the only things I found on the laptop," Methos explained as he gestured for her to sit. "I also found out something new about the stone's supposed properties."

"Something tells me I'm not going to like this," Amanda sighed as she made herself comfortable. "Carry on, then, tell us the bad news."

Ten minutes later, the room was shrouded in a stunned silence.

"Now that I wasn't expecting," remarked Duncan, at last.

"They're crazy!" burst out Joe. "They're out of their tiny minds, I tell you. What the hell could they've been thinking!"

"I warned you that Valmont was secretly plotting world denomination," Amanda half-heartedly joked. "Though, I didn't have something on this scale in mind when I said it..."

"But they can't do anything without the rest of the stone - right?" asked Amy uncertainly.

"Exactly," remarked Methos grimly. "I think we can assume that even if we decide to lie low for a while, these guys are not going to go away. They've got too much invested in this. No matter what we do, they'll always be willing to take it that one step further."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Joe asked.

"What I mean is that, if these guys truly believe what the legends say about the origin of the stone, there is no telling what lengths they are prepared to go to, not when they think that they can fix it all later with just one sweep of the hand. Think about it, they could launch a full-out assault, no holds barred, all the while believing that if anything goes wrong, they can magic it right once they've got what they wanted - they could be capable of killing half this city without blinking an eye just to get to us."

"Christ, he's right," Duncan said softly.

Methos decided to get down to the brass tacks. "First thing we'll do is dump the rental cars, we'll worry about the consequences later. They might have taken note of our number plates the other night when they attacked Hira's farm. They also might be keeping tabs on all the car rental outlets, so I think that it might be better idea to buy a couple of vehicles this time 'round. I'm thinking an SUV and a small minivan would be smart choices.

"Then we have to bury what we have of the crystal, I suggest we each take a piece and bury it separately, not telling each other our location - that way, if one of us is captured and tortured we can only give up our respective pieces. It also might keep us alive a little bit longer if they think they might need leverage - it worked before."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Amy said dryly.

"Nothing like a sharp dose of terror to get the synapses firing," admitted Methos as he sunk back into his chair.

"Okay, then," Amanda announced, galvanising herself out of her chair. "Duncan and I will be on car disposal."

"I'll buy our new ones, then," suggested Methos. "I think I'm the only one here who is carrying a second set of identification papers anyway, it might buy us some time if they think to check for any recent car purchases. We really don't know how far their reach extends."

"But we've got all this money now," Joe protested. " How about I buy them?"

"Forget it, Joe - though you can always write off my bar tab, if you're feeling generous," Methos said with a smirk.

"Done!" said Joe promptly.

By the time Methos was ready to leave the house, Amanda and Duncan were already gone. Putting his hands into his pockets, he felt the sharp edges of the stone fragment within. Quickly, he looked around the kitchen: where could he hide them in the meantime?

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Looking under the kitchen sink, he found a large bottle of bleach and unscrewed the top. Forcing the shards through the narrow opening, he quickly screwed the top back on and was on his way. "I won't be long, watch your back," he called into the living room before he closed the front door behind him.

Taking a bus, he soon found himself back in the city centre. It didn't take long to stumble across a car dealership which had what he wanted. Telling the dealer he'd be back to collect the SUV the next morning, he drove off in his new minivan. He was driving down one of those 'trendy' streets when he noticed a little shop that specialised in new age products. A devious thought entered his mind; it wouldn't hurt to have some kind of decoy, would it?

Pulling in, he ran into the shop and looked around. By the counter, he spotted a small display case full of quartz crystals. Calling over a shop assistant, he pointed out a few pieces that were the right shape and colour and soon he was on his way with his new purchase snuggled safely in his inside pocket.

It was already a full house when he arrived back at the villa. Joe and Amy were comfortably established in front of the satellite television while Amanda and Duncan were busy cooking in the kitchen.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, trying to sneak a look into the pot.

"It's a surprise," Duncan told him, slapping his hand away.

Methos shrugged, perching himself in the kitchen counter as they buzzed around him. "Want to take a little trip later on?" he asked him as he watched Duncan lay out the table.

"What? To bury the crystals?" Duncan asked.

"No, after that," Methos replied. "I found an address for a property in Sofia while I was browsing on the laptop. I thought we might go for a look."

"I'm in," Duncan agreed.

"I am, too," Amanda chipped in. "You're probably going to need my skills anyway - unless you were planning to use that bazooka you have stashed in your boot," she added pointedly.

Oh, I forgot about that," he said sheepishly as he jumped off the counter and sat at the table. "Was it a problem?"

"We managed, it's in the garage now," Duncan told him.

"That's all right, then," Methos said breezily. "We'll take it along with us, just in case - what's for dessert?"

Chapter Ten

It was nearing midnight before they were all gathered in the living room, back from burying their shares of the crystal.

"So, do you need a getaway driver?" asked Joe after Methos explained the plan.

"It might be better if you stayed here, Joe," replied Methos, tilting his head towards Amy.

"This is becoming very old, very quickly," muttered Amy as she caught the gesture.

"Don't fret about it, dear," advised Amanda. "You'll be up and around on your feet any day now."

"If I live that long," she replied cynically.

"Don't talk like that, kid," her father admonished. "We'll figure out how to stop these guys, don't you worry."

Amy slumped back on the couch in answer.

"Tell you what," Methos suggested. "I came across some journal entries in the laptop. I couldn't make much sense of them but seeing as you've got time on your hands, maybe you could have a look at them and see what you make of it."

A glimmer of interest sparked in Amy's eyes. "Sounds interesting, I'll have a go."

"Right then," Methos said as he rose to go. "Joe will bring it into you."

Taking that as their cue, the other immortals got ready to leave. Soon they were in the van and on their way.

"Turn left here," Amanda directed, peering at the map on her lap.

"How much further is it?" Duncan asked from the back.

"It's three streets over," Amanda replied absently, taking another look at the map.

"Maybe we should park here and walk the rest of the way, then," Duncan suggested. "We wouldn't want them to have a good look at our brand new vehicle."

"You have a point," Methos said, looking around for a parking spot. "I'll pull in here." He pulled into the kerb and they all spilled out onto the pavement.

"Right, then," Duncan said grimly. "I suggest we split up and hit the building from both the front and back."

"We haven't had much luck with the two pronged attack of late, Duncan," Amanda pointed out. "Maybe we should stick together."

"No, Duncan is right," interrupted Methos. "We don't want to come at them in one group. It would make it too easy for them to turn the tables if they're expecting us."

"I suppose so," conceded Amanda. "Okay, here's what I suggest. You two go in through the front and kick the door down, make a lot of threatening noises and so on. Meanwhile, I'll creep around the back and let myself in quietly. That way, if they have something planned, I'll be able to catch them off guard and hit them from behind."

"Or, we could just use these," Methos said smugly, producing a couple of knockout gas canisters from his pocket.

"Well, you could have mentioned those before," Amanda said exasperatedly.

"But you were having so much fun," protested Methos with a smirk.

"Oh, you're so witty," grumbled Amanda, pulling her woollen cap on and tucking her hair in. "So, what do we do? Take a canister each and lob them through the windows? Not very neat, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Actually, I was thinking about being a little bit more discreet this time," commented Methos. "Which is why I was glad that you decided to come along, Amanda. I was hoping that you could quietly slip in the back and drop the canisters then let us in through the front."

"Hmm, I could live with that," Amanda agreed, holding her hands out for the canisters.

"Great, here's a gas mask as well," Methos replied as he handed them over and rooted around in his backpack for the other masks. "Here's one for you too, Duncan."

Once they were all suitably armed, they made their way to the house, Amanda slinking off down the back lane behind the street row. Methos and Duncan were within a hundred yards of the house before the felt the presence of another immortal.

"It could be Amanda around the back," Duncan suggested uncertainly, pausing mid-step.

"If it isn't, here's hoping that she manages to put him under before he raises the alarm," Methos muttered as he quickened his step.

They had just stepped in the front gate when they heard the sounds of a struggle inside. The two immortals ran up the garden path, only to come to a halt again when they reached the front door - the house had once again fallen silent.

"What do you think?" Duncan asked, looking sideways at Methos as his hand hovered on the doorknob.

"Don't look at me," hissed Methos as he strained to listen to what was going on inside. Suddenly, the door opened with a soft click, causing the two immortals to jump back in alarm.

"Hi, guys," Amanda said as she poked her head out through the door. "Sorry I took so long, I had an unexpected complication: our friend from the hotel the other night was in residence."

"You don't say," Methos said dryly, putting on his mask as he stepped up.

"He's having a nap in the hall as we speak," she replied, holding the door open for them.

The three immortals stood over the unconscious body. "Aw, how cute," Methos sneered. "Lets tie him up and bring him with us."

Duncan grinned. " Turnabout is fair play, I suppose," he said as he looked around for something with which to bind his hands.

"Here, use these," suggested Amanda, handing him a pair of handcuffs.

Duncan looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"Well, a lady has to be prepared," she replied primly to his silent question.

Methos sniggered. "Whatever you say, Amanda."

Duncan rolled the body over and relieved it of his weapons before handcuffing his wrists. Methos rooted around in his pockets and produced the van keys, throwing them to the highlander. "I'll leave it up to you to get him safely stashed away in the van," he said. "I'm going to have a quick look around. Coming, Amanda?"

With a nod, Amanda followed him up the stairs. Luckily, all the watchers had been downstairs when Amanda had broken in, probably because their mysterious immortal had informed them that they were about to get a visitor.

"What exactly are you hoping to find, Methos?" asked Amanda as they reached the landing.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think that we should at least see if our new 'guest' has left any personal effects around. We might turn up something useful."

"We better work quickly, then," observed Amanda. "We only have another quarter an hour or so before those watchers wake up."

Methos nodded in agreement. "You take the room on the right and I'll check out the one on the left. Hopefully, we'll stumble across something interesting before they start to awaken."

The first pair of rooms didn't have anything helpful for them, but the next room Amanda entered showed a little more promise.

"Methos," she called out. "I may have found what you were hoping for, get your ass in here."

Amanda was already dislodging a painting from the wall when Methos entered. "I don't think we have time to do a reprise of your earlier exploits as an art thief, Amanda."

"Oh, you're so funny, not," snorted Amanda. "It seems that our resident immortal is a classicist, he still hides his safe behind a painting.

"Very obliging of him, I'm sure," Methos said absently, running his finger along the book titles on the mantelpiece behind the desk.

"Though I'll have to admit," she said as she put her ear to the safe. "It's a very nice portrait of our captive - a Gainsborough, too. It would pick up a pretty penny at Sotheby's."

"I think we've picked up enough baggage on this trip, Amanda," Methos answered as he sat down at the desk and began to rifle through it.

"It was just a thought," she replied with a smirk, her nimble fingers fiddling with the safe's dial as she strove to crack the code. Eventually, she made a small sound of satisfaction. "Got it."

"Throw it all into your backpack, we'll have a closer look at it later." Standing to go, Methos took a last look at the desk. His eyes rested on a blank envelope that lay propped against the reading lamp. Picking it up, he felt its weight in his hand. Ripping the envelope, he shook its contents onto his hand.

"What have you got there?" Amanda asked curiously.

"A safety deposit key," said Methos, pocketing it as he left the room. They made it out of the building with time to spare, quickly piling into the van that Duncan had brought around the back. Stepping into the back, Methos noticed the accusing eyes of their captive.

"Well, well, well, we're awake, are we?" Methos said grimly. The immortal did not answer - though that may have had something to do with the electrical tape that now covered his mouth.

"He was creating a racket," explained Duncan from behind the wheel.

"No need to explain," replied Methos with a shrug. "Lets get out of here."

Quickly, they drove through the deserted streets of Sofia; the city had long shut down for the night. Soon, they had made it out to the suburbs and pulled into the driveway of the villa. The veranda light came on as they slid the van door open and manhandled their captive towards the house.

"I see you've brought us a present," Joe said sarcastically as he opened the door. "What are you... oh..."

Duncan watched as Joe stopped mid-sentence, and stared at their captive with a flabbergasted look on his face. "You recognise him, Joe?"

"That's Alain Tribeau," Joe informed them as he stared at the gagged man.

Methos started laughing. "You really should be more careful about who you enlist into the watchers, Joe," he said. "Or soon you won't be able to move for all the immortals!"

"You're kidding me, right?" asked Joe with a groan.

"I'm afraid not, Joe," Amanda told him. "He's one of us."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Joe grumbled, retreating back into the house as they bundled their prisoner inside.

"So, where do we put him?" Duncan asked, looking around for a likely place.

"The wine cellar?" suggested Amanda.

"Perfect," Methos said, giving Tribeau a push in the cellar's direction and earning himself yet another glare from their captive. "Amanda, could you get the door for me?" Amanda obliged and Methos pushed him down the stairs. "Don't trip on your way down," he muttered to himself as he kicked the door closed.

Duncan glared accusing at him. "Was that really necessary? You've probably broken his neck."

"What? He'll live," Methos protested. "He'll be right as rain in half an hour, which is more than I can say about Amy." Grumbling under his breath, Methos made his way into the kitchen.

"The horseman rides again," Duncan said sarcastically.

"Relax, honey, I don't think he's going to go looking for his saddle just yet!" Amanda reassured him. "Come on, let's go join him."

Methos was already in the process of raiding the fridge when they entered.

"Hey," he mumbled as pulled out a beer. "Let's have a look at the contents of the safe."

Amanda emptied the contents of the safe on the table and they all gathered around to have a look. "This is the deed to the house," she said, giving a sheaf of papers a cursory look.

"And this is a receipt for a security box at a bank," Duncan said, reading the sheet in his hand.

Methos's ears pricked up. "Here, let me have a look at that." The other two immortals waited patiently as Methos read the document through.

"Well, what do you think?" Amanda asked.

"I think that it's more than just a coincidence that Tribeau rented out a security box the very same day he kidnapped you," Methos replied. "What do you think are the odds that this is where your piece of the stone is kept, Amanda?"

Amanda's eyes glowed in response. "Ooh, a bank heist, I always liked bank heists!"

"I think we can skip 'The Italian Job' this time, Amanda," Methos said dryly. "You know I found the box's key while we were in Tribeau's office and now we know which bank it's in."

"You're no fun," Amanda pouted.

Duncan rested his hand on her arm. "I'll go and empty the box in the morning."

"But we could go and get it now, though," protested Amanda.

Methos and Duncan turned, as one, to look at her.

"It was just a thought," she muttered under her breath.

"Chill, Amanda, its still going to be there in the morning," Methos told her with a grin.

"I know, I know, it's just that I feel naked without it," Amanda explained. "It's been my touchstone for over a thousand years and now that Rebecca's gone... well... let's say that I like to carry around a piece of her with me."

Methos and Duncan nodded in understanding. Duncan especially remembered the pain of loosing one's teacher; Conor's death was still very fresh in his mind. Footsteps alerted them that someone was entering the room and they all looked up to see Joe enter the room.

"Our 'guest' is kicking up quite a fuss in the cellar," he said, parking himself at the table.

"Up and about so soon," mused Methos. "He's not a young one, then. Pity, that would have been so much easier."

"Well," said Duncan. "Shall we get on with it, then."

As one, the three immortals stood. "So, who gets to play 'bad' cop?" Amanda asked jokingly.

"I think I've already auditioned for that part," Methos said.

"Does that mean I get to be 'good' cop?" Amanda asked brightly. "Oh, go on, let me!"

Duncan sniggered. "Okay, just this once, then. I'll play the part of the 'mysterious observer' hovering at the edges."

"I don't think I've ever come across that part before," Joe said with a laugh. "What exactly does your part entail?"

"Oh, you know," he said with a shrug. "Lean against the wall, looking on ominously as the others interrogate him."

"Now that's all settled, let's get on with the opening act," said Methos, making his way to the cellar door. The threesome descended and observed the scowling immortal who had managed to prop himself up in the corner.

Casually, Methos strolled up to him and ripped the tape off his face. Tribeau gave a hiss of pain but otherwise was silent. Hunkering down, Methos looked Tribeau in the eye and smiled unpleasantly.

"Hello there. I can't tell you how much we've been looking forward to introducing ourselves properly - seeing as our last meeting was cut off so suddenly."

"Now, now, Adam," Amanda purred. "Why don't you step back and give the poor man some air?"

With a shrug and a grin, Methos got his feet again and rejoined the others. "I was only being... polite."

"You can do what you like with me, nothing will make me talk," Tribeau said hoarsely.

"Ooh, a challenge, I like a challenge," Methos pronounced cheerfully. "How about you, Amanda?"

"They have their attractions," she admitted. "But there is no reason that we can't settle this civilly."

"I believe, however, that Mr. Tribeau is not a very civil gentleman," Methos said coolly as he produced his dagger and tested its point carefully. "Mr. Tribeau strikes me as the kind of man who likes to terrorize old women by shooting up their homes."

"Oh dear, I think you may be right, Adam," Amanda replied, shaking her head sorrowfully. "I suppose we may have to be a bit more forceful."

"What exactly are you going to do to me?" Tribeau sneered. "Talk me to death?"

"He has a point," said Methos.

"He does at that," agreed Amanda.

"Well then, let's get down to business," Methos said briskly, lifting Tribeau onto his feet. Turning to the others, he raised his eyebrows enquiringly. "Which hand first - left or right?"

"I'm not sure, which one is his sword hand?" Amanda asked.

"Good idea, right hand it is," declared Methos as he turned Tribeau around and pushed him into the wall. "Now, hold still, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

Duncan rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief; sometimes the old man could be so damned camp.

A gasp of pain came from Tribeau's lips as Methos wrenched his shoulders back, raising his arms by his handcuffed wrists. Gritting his teeth, Tribeau tried to shift position to ease the pressure.

"Now, now, none of that," Methos warned, jerking the arms higher. A loud snap filled the room as one shoulder gave way. "Oops," said Methos softly. "I was hoping to leave the arm breaking until later.

"Well, you still have one arm left," Amanda chipped in.

Tribeau tried to buck against Methos's hold, but only managed to worsen the damage to his arm, instead.

"Why did you have to do that?" asked Methos reproachfully. "Now you've sprayed blood all over my shirt." Slamming Tribeau back into the wall, Methos craned his head to have a good look at Tribeau's face. "Oh dear, it seems that I've broken your jaw as well..."

"Okay, okay, I'll talk. What do you want to know?" Tribeau mumbled, wincing from the effort of speaking through his mangled mouth.

"Which one of you dreamed up this plan, you or Valmont?" Methos asked.

"Valmont?" Tribeau said. "Don't make me laugh, Valmont was only along for the ride."

"Why?" asked Amanda. "I mean, Valmont struck me as the quiet type. Why would he get mixed up with a crazy like you?"

"Everyone has their price, didn't you know that?" Tribeau said nastily. "Valmont's price was the life of his little stepdaughter. Leukaemia is a hard disease to cure and his little girl is losing her battle. When I approached him about the stone, he thought I was a godsend."

Amanda looked at Methos worriedly as he backed off Tribeau as if he'd been stung. "So, Valmont didn't know about your plan to use the 'pool of life'?" she probed, watching Methos's reaction to this new turn of events.

"Not 'til right at the end, no," Tribeau admitted. "And by then, well, his daughter was already in intensive care. He was too desperate to back out."

"I've had enough of this fool," burst out Duncan.

"He speaks," Tribeau muttered caustically.

"Enough!" Amanda said sharply. "Lets just stay on topic here, I want to know how long you've been planning this little operation of yours."

"What does it matter?" said Tribeau with a shrug. "The only thing that matters is that I've got the upper hand."

"Oh, and do tell us how you came to that startling conclusion," Amanda snorted. "I was under the impression that it was you who was in a bind here."

"What? You think that just because you've captured me that all your problems are over?" Tribeau said with a smirk. "Think again, little girl. Too many people have too much time invested in this. You kill me and another will rise to replace me."

"Well, aren't you the walking cliché," said Methos darkly as he slowly approached Tribeau once again. "Tell me, is this the point when you tell us we are all going to die horribly?" Pulling Tribeau's head back by the hair, Methos looked him in the eye. "Tell me about Jackson."

"Oooh, you liked the little present I left you, did you, Pierson?" Tribeau sneered. "Or didn't you appreciate the way I disposed of your informant?"

"Informant?"

"Aw, don't be coy. I was having him followed; I suspected that his heart wasn't with us for weeks. When I found out that his old mentor was that idiot Philip Turner, I followed the breadcrumbs to you. How do you think I found out about your little rendezvous in the woods?" he said snidely.

Methos let his words sink in for a few moments before he asked his final question. "Why didn't you take my head?"

"I had more important things to do," Tribeau said tightly.

Methos's eyes narrowed at the obvious lie, turning the question over his head, the answer came to him in a flash. "You weren't alone." Tribeau flinched and Methos knew that he had stumbled along the truth. "They don't know you're immortal, do they? That's why you couldn't take my head, it would have given the game away."

Tribeau's silence answered his question. Letting go of his hair, Methos pushed him back into the corner. "You've told us all we need to know." Gesturing at Amanda and Duncan to follow him, he climbed the stairs and stalked into the living room. Joe and Amy were still up, waiting for them.

"Well, what did he say?" asked Joe. Methos shrugged his shoulders as he slumped into an armchair. Joe raised an eyebrow at his silent demeanour. "What exactly happened down there?"

"He filled in a few blanks," Duncan said. "Mostly about Valmont." Quickly, he filled Amy and Joe in on what Tribeau had told them.

"This guy sounds like a real piece of work," observed Amy.

"And then some," agreed Amanda.

Joe slumped back into his seat. "So, what are we going to do with him?"

"Don't ask questions when you already know the answer, Joe," Methos replied ominously. "He's going to die, of course."

"That's a little cold blooded, isn't it?" said Amy unsurely.

Methos raised his head and looked at her levelly. "What would be the alternative, Amy? Give him a slap on the back of the hand, perhaps? Maybe we should give him a rousing speech about how he should mend his ways; do you think that would work?"

"We could do with less of the sarcasm, Methos," Joe interceded.

"And I could do with less of the moralizing jingoisms," retorted Methos. "This guy is a psychopath, you said so yourself, remember? We have two choices; we either lock him up for life or take his head. Even you, I'm sure, can see how there might be a few logistical problems with the first option."

"So, are you going to kill him execution style or are you going to hand him a weapon and challenge him?" asked Amy.

"That depends on how 'helpful' he is the next time I talk to him," Methos admitted. "They are still a few things that I want to know."

"Like what, exactly," enquired Amanda.

"Like if they're any other immortals involved in this scheme or are all of them mortal, like how far up the watcher echelons does this little conspiracy go, like is there any way we can walk away from this mess with our heads still attached?" he said impatiently. "Don't forget what is at stake here, Amanda."

"I haven't, Methos," Amanda replied softly. "Not for a second."

"This isn't going to end pretty, no matter what way you look at it," Joe added glumly. "I took a long look at that list of renegade watchers while you were gone. There are over two hundred names on it and I don't relish the outcome of having to deal with the consequences of all those tribunals. The best and the brightest of our research departments are on that list, it's going to take decades for the ranks of the watchers to recover."

"That is the least of our problems, Joe," said Methos dryly. "Though, if you're going to contact the watchers council about this, I would like you to enquire about Philip Turner's whereabouts. I'm a bit concerned about his welfare."

"Turner? Isn't he the guy who sent you that video tape?" asked Joe.

Methos nodded. "Tribeau mentioned his name downstairs, which means the renegades probably know that he tipped me off. That means that his life is in danger."

"I'll look into it first thing in the morning," promised Joe.

"You know... there might be a third option for dealing with Tribeau," Amy said thoughtfully. "We could incarcerate him in the sanctuary."

"There is still a sanctuary?" asked Duncan. "I thought that it had been shut down after that attempt to put me in it."

"No," Joe admitted. "It's up and running again. Though this time it's being run along the original guide lines, volunteers only."

"Well, that rules out Tribeau, then," pointed out Methos. "Somehow I don't think he's the volunteering type."

"He might be if he knew that the only alternative was decapitation," said Amy hopefully.

Methos looked at Amy with something akin to pity. "Amy, honey, he has to die. He's too dangerous to be left alive, to all of us." Amy didn't reply but Methos could see the resigned look in her eyes.

"Listen," said Amanda. "We're all tired, how about we catch some sleep. The de Valicourts are arriving in the morning; we'll all work out a game plan then. Okay?"

Everyone nodded in agreement and they all stood to go to bed, Duncan and Methos helping Amy to her room.

"I still think there must be a different way of containing Tribeau," Amy said quietly as they tucked her in. Methos's lips thinned, but he said nothing as he left the room.

Duncan sat down beside her on the bed. "Amy, both Methos and I have been in this situation before. When you come across an immortal like Tribeau, this is the only thing you can do. The mortal justice system isn't equipped to deal with him; he'd be out again within the week. Even the Sanctuary isn't a sure bet; that mess with Kane a few years back should have taught you that."

Amy smiled at him, but Duncan could still see the troubled look in her eyes. With a sigh, he decided to drop the subject. "Good night, Amy."

"Goodnight," she mumbled as he turned off the light.

Chapter Eleven

It was the combination of a car door slamming, with the introduction of two extra quickenings impinging on his senses, which wakened Methos the next morning. The sound of Gina's pretty, French, accent caught his ear and he relaxed back into the bed. The de Valicourts had arrived. With a smirk, he remembered the first time he'd met the intrepid duo. Hopefully, they weren't having any marital difficulties at the moment; he really didn't relish the idea of having Gina after his head again. That was definitely one of Duncan's more hair brained ideas!

The events of the previous day came rushing back as he closed his eyes; the truth about Valmont and Jackson still preyed on his mind and the revelation that he was supposed to have known Jackson had thrown him yesterday. He had been trying so hard the last couple of days to ignore his memory loss; he had even begun to convince himself that it didn't matter. What other surprises were out there? Methos winced as the image of Jackson's head passed through his mind; he had been so young.

Deciding that going back to sleep wasn't an option anymore, Methos threw back his covers and leapt out of bed. He knew that he'd cut short his interrogation of Tribeau before he had all the information they needed, maybe now would the right time to rectify that...or maybe not. Suddenly, it occurred to him, that maybe he was coming at this problem from the wrong angle. He should be considering the solution, not the problem. Filled with a new sense of purpose; he quickly showered and threw on some clothes.

Everyone had already congregated in the living room when he joined them. The conversation was loud and animated, with Amanda and Gina doing most of the talking. Methos caught Robert's eye and the French aristocrat smiled bashfully as he raised his hand in greeting.

"Hello there, Adam," he said. "How are things?"

"Oh, just fine," Methos drawled. "So, how is wedded bliss?"

Giving Gina a sideways glance, Robert smirked. "Well, let's just say that I think my head's safe for a while yet."

"Just as long as that means my head is safe, too," Methos said, grinning as he stretched out in an armchair.

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" replied Robert wryly.

"Any reason that I should? That little episode is good for at least a couple of centuries of mileage," Methos told him gleefully.

"Now, now, Adam. Leave my poor husband alone," said Gina with a twinkle in her eye. "It's not as if you didn't agree to Duncan's little plan. You got what you deserved, as far as I'm concerned."

"And I thought you liked me," teased Methos. "Does this mean I'm not invited to the next wedding?"

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Me...Adam, stop being so infantile."

Methos inwardly winced at Amanda's little slip. Looking at Gina from the corner of his eye, he saw the thoughtful ex-pression that flitted across her face. Methos had to admit to himself that he might have to tell them his true name before this escapade was over. At least Robert would have to stop referring to him as the 'kid'. Looking over at Amanda, he noted that she at least had the grace to look embarrassed. He had evil, evil, things planned for her future.

"So, Duncan tells us that you've got a prisoner in the cellar." Gina asked as she studied Adam's face.

"Yes, he goes by the name of Tribeau but I doubt that is his true name. He strikes me as one of the older ones," said Methos with a shrug.

"What makes you think that?" asked an amused Robert.

"Just call it a hunch," Methos said dryly.

"Or an educated guess," Gina said with a questioning tilt of the head.

Busted! Gina was always the brighter one of the two; hopefully she wouldn't push the subject too much.

"Well, he's not on the watcher database," said Joe.

"We can't be sure of that," disagreed Methos. "It could be a just a question of not knowing where to look, especially if the chronicles have no picture ID of him."

"That doesn't really help us, you know," commented Amy. "They're hundreds of entries in the database that don't have a picture or a decent description."

"But they're still might be a way of tracking his true name down," said Amanda thoughtfully. "We just have to approach it from the right angle."

"You have an idea," stated Duncan.

"Well, I was thinking that he had rather a beautiful Gainsborough in his study," said Amanda. "A magnificent portrait like that must have documentation. The British Museum of Art probably has it listed."

"It still mightn't be his true name," pointed out Methos. "Besides, that seems an awful lot of work when we've got him stashed in the cellar. It might be a lot easier just to 'convince' him to tell us."

"Tell me, 'Adam', would you give your true name up if you were in the same position?" asked Gina slyly.

"He's not me," answered Methos, ignoring the undertones in Gina's question. "Tribeau is an egomaniac, sooner or later he'll tell us everything, he won't be able to help himself."

"I still think I should check it out," said Amanda. "Just let me make a few phone calls. Even if it doesn't turn up his true name, it might give us some insight into his past."

"If it makes you happy, then, by all means, go ahead," Methos reluctantly said. "Just be circumspect about it, we don't want to bring attention to ourselves."

"That reminds me," Joe said. "I checked on that Turner guy, nobody seems to know his whereabouts. Apparently, he disappeared from his home last week and nobody has seen him since. No body has turned up either, so he mightn't have been caught, just in hiding."

"It mightn't be such a good idea to investigate his whereabouts further, then," Duncan said. "We don't want to lead anybody to his door by accident."

Joe nodded his head in agreement. "I was thinking the same thing, actually."

"Well, I should be on my way," Duncan said. "I have a bank to visit."

"And an SUV to pick up from a car dealership," added Methos, grinning as he handed Duncan the receipt. "The address is on the top."

"I'll come with you, then. You'll need a second person to drive it home," said Amanda, fleeing the room before Methos could object. "Just give me a moment to get my coat."

A few minutes later, Amanda and Duncan were on their way and Joe decided to help Amy into the kitchen, so that they could rustle up something to eat. Methos noted happily that she was able to get to her feet without too much trouble. Turning his gaze back to the couch, it suddenly dawned on Methos that he had been left alone in the room with the de Valicourts - and by the glint in Gina's eye, he could tell she wasn't going to let this opportunity go by."

"So, Adam, is there anything you wish to tell us," she asked. "Normally I wouldn't pry but considering the situation, I think it might be better to share. I don't want any unpleasant surprises along the way, do we?"

"What is it that you want to know, exactly?" Methos asked cautiously.

"Well, your real name would make a good start," Gina said, a touch of steel colouring her voice.

"Umm, yes, well...that has a rather long story attached to it," hedged Methos.

"You don't say," Robert retorted.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," urged Gina. "That wouldn't be so difficult, would it?"

Methos couldn't help himself, he started laughing. "I don't know how to put this, Gina, except to say that I hope you'll settle for the cliff notes version."

"How come?" asked Robert, his curiosity clearly peaked by the way this conversation was going.

Methos took a deep breath and bit the bullet. "Maybe I should start with my true name - How do you do, my name is Methos."

Methos watched as, lost for words, they slumped back into their seats. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that Robert might have gone into shock. Gina was only in a slightly better state, she had opened and closed her mouth at least four times in the last minute, but no sound was coming out. "So, I'm guessing that you're familiar with the name, then," he said dryly, breaking the silence.

At last, Robert regained her voice. "But that's impossible...you're just a kid! Duncan told me so himself."

"I think that if you rewind that little conversation in your head, you'll find that he said no such thing," replied an amused Methos. "I've a funny feeling that it went more along the lines of you assuming I was a kid and he not contradicting you!"

"Sacre bleu," gasped Gina. "Ce n'est pas possible...it can't be true! That would mean that you're over five thousand years old, you're supposed to be a myth." Gina paused, her eyes narrowing as she pinned him with a glare. "This isn't a hoax, is it? You're not trying to wriggle out of telling us your true name by giving us a tall tale."

Methos smirked. "I'm afraid not, Gina. Its true, Duncan will verify it when he gets back, if you wish."

"No. That's okay," she sighed. "I believe you. Its just that you're not what I was expecting, I always thought that Methos would be more...well, more."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you but what you see is what you get," Methos said good-humouredly, he was used to this reaction.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that," said a flustered Gina.

"Its alright, Gina, I know what you meant," Methos assured her. "Lets just drop the subject, shall we."

The de Valicourts nodded in response and Methos sighed a breath of relief. He knew it wouldn't last long, of course. Soon, they would come to terms with what he had told them and then the questions would start - they always did.

"Well, then, I'll just go and check on breakfast," he said, leaping out of his chair. "You're welcome to join us?"

"Yes...I think I'd like that," responded Gina. "By the way, who else here knows?"

"Everyone," Methos admitted. "I'm the worst kept secret in immortal history!"

"How about that guy...what's his name...Tribeau?" asked Robert.

"No, he just knows me as Pierson," he told them. "Only a select few among the watchers know my true name and none of those are on the list of renegade watchers."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," mused Gina, following him into the kitchen.

The smell of fresh coffee and croissants filled the kitchen and Methos's stomach growled in response.

"Watch out, here comes the human dustbin," Amy said with a smile as she watched him grab two croissants from the basket.

Methos stuck his tongue out in response.

"Are you sure you're five thousand years old?" asked Robert as he caught this display.

"And counting," Methos replied through a full mouth.

Amy rolled her eyes in response. "If you think that is bad, you should see him at a buffet - he has the worst table manners I've ever come across."

"My table manners are more than adequate, thank you very much," sniffed Methos putting three sugars into his coffee before he dipped his croissant into it. Okay, he admits it; he was hamming it up a bit. But it was worth it just to see the look on Amy's face. He had noticed how she hadn't even flinched when Robert called him by his true name, which meant that she and Joe had left him to the de Valicourt's mercies in the full knowledge of what was going to happen.

"Adequate? Maybe in ancient Rome they were, but they've invented these little things called forks and knives since," retorted Amy.

"Hey! I'm not that bad!" protested Methos. "I do know how to cut my own food, I'll have you know!"

"Just about," teased Amy.

"So, known each other long?" Gina asked, sitting down to the table.

"Amy is my watcher," explained Methos. "Which means she has the dubious honour of figuring out what I get up to, on any given day..."

All three immortals suddenly went rigid as they sensed the approach of another immortal. "I suppose its Amanda and Duncan," Robert said unsurely as he glanced out into the hall. The sound of a key entering the lock reached their ears and they relaxed.

"Hi Guys, we're back," cooed Amanda as she entered the hall. "You were right, my crystal was in the security box." Amanda's face was glowing with happiness as she entered the kitchen, her hand fingering the chain around her neck from which her crystal now dangled.

It might be a good idea to tuck that inside your blouse, Amanda," Methos pointedly told her. "You never know who you might bump into."

"I know, I know," sighed Amanda. "Just let me admire it for a while first."

Methos shrugged as he helped himself to a second cup of coffee and stood up from the table. "I'm just going to pop into the study and check my e-mail, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"What about Tribeau?" asked Duncan.

Methos hesitated before answering. "Tribeau can wait," he eventually said, retreating out of the room before anybody could question him on the subject.

"He's up to something," declared Amy.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Duncan replied. "Give him a little time before you call him on it though, its always easier if you let him tell you what's on his mind rather than trying to pry it out of him."

There was a murmur of agreement at the table.

Meanwhile, Methos was hastily plugging online in the study. It had just occurred to him, as he was sitting at the kitchen table, that he may be able to get them all out of this mess alive. If the only reason that they were targets was because they had possession of the stone, all they had to do was convince the renegades that they don't have it anymore. Of course, they would have to do it in such a way that the renegades don't go looking elsewhere for it. Destroy it, perhaps? Preferably in a spectacular and public manner - make a big show out of it so that they couldn't possibly think that they could get it back. A small smile curved his lips as he typed into the search engine. Moments later, the results popped up on the screen - 'active volcanoes worldwide'. Oh yes, he was beginning to like this plan.

Scrolling down the screen, he found an ideal spot for his plan, the Karymsky volcano on the Kamchatka peninsula in Russia. It was active, had a lava flow at the top, and was relatively young - which meant it was short enough to be a manageable climb, even for the most unfit renegade watcher. It wouldn't be much of a show if the audience couldn't make it.

Quickly, he made reservations for a flight the next day to Petropavlovsk and went off-line. It was time to rejoin the others and let them in on his plan - well, most of it, anyway. The others were just finishing up their morning meal when he rejoined them in the kitchen.

"So, any interesting e-mails?" asked Amanda in a neutral voice.

"Not as such, no," admitted Methos. "But I may have come up with a feasible plan. Lets go into the living room and I'll explain."

Once they were all comfortable in the other room, Methos began to explain his plan. "I think we are all well aware, at this stage, that we have got ourselves into a situation that could turn very nasty. Although we have a list of the conspirators, we can't be sure that the list is complete; this makes it hard to eradicate them as a threat because we can't be sure what will come out of the woodwork. So, what we need to do instead, is eradicate their reason for coming after us - the Methuselah stone." Methos paused, waiting for what he said to sink in.

"You want to destroy the stone," Amanda said slowly.

Methos nodded in reply. "And I want to do it in the most public, dramatic and final way possible," he replied.

"What exactly do you have in mind," Duncan asked cautiously.

"I want to drop it into the lava flow of an active volcano, "he told them. "Its my belief that merely smashing it further wouldn't do the trick, as long as those waters in France exist, it could be put back together. We need to not only break it down into its most basic components, we have to contaminate it to such a degree that it is impossible to reconstitute it, even if they did manage to find a way to retrieve it all from the volcano."

"It all seems pretty final," observed Amy.

"It has to be," Methos explained. "For this to work, we have to convince them that there is no way on earth that they can get it back."

"I don't know how I feel about this," said an unsure Amanda. "Somehow, it feels like I'd be betraying Rebecca's memory if I agreed to this."

Methos leaned forward in his chair. "I understand your reservations, Amanda. Nevertheless, I believe that if Rebecca realised the true extent of the stone's power and what lengths these guys were prepared to go to in order to get their hands on it, she'd be the first to agree to this plan."

"He's right, Amanda," said Duncan. "There is no way on earth that Rebecca would want the stone to fall into the wrong hands, she'd rather destroy it first."

"I suppose you're right," admitted Amanda. "Okay then, how do we go about this?"

We stage the whole thing for effect," said Methos. "We let them find us, drop some breadcrumbs that they can follow, but we won't make it too easy for them. We don't want them to catch up with us until they're too late to stop us. We'll lead them unto the top of the volcano and then, when we're sure they've figured out exactly what we're up to, we drop it in."

"No more stone, no more key," Joe concluded.

Methos leaned back into his chair again. "That's the idea, yes."

"And where exactly do you wish to hold this little performance?" asked Gina.

"I was thinking Russia," supplied Methos. "There is a volcano there that is active as we speak."

"When do we leave?" asked Duncan.

"I've got flights booked for this evening," Methos told him. "We've got until then to drop enough clues for them to figure out where we're going."

"And how do you plan to do that," asked Amy.

"I not going to," said Methos with a grin. "You are."

"Huh, what are you talking about?" huffed Amy.

"You're going to file a report, Amy, a very long and detailed report. Full of all sorts of exciting titbits and information, including our destination," replied Methos.

For a few moments, Amy just stared at him. "You do know you're crazy, don't you?" she eventually said. "That has to be the most half baked idea I've come across in a long time."

"Have you got a better idea?" he asked.

"Well...no, but that's beside the point!" Amy protested. "Once I file a report at headquarters, we'll have every Tom, Dick and Harry on our tail. Not exactly a controllable situation."

"That's why you're going to fudge a few of the facts, slow them down a bit. Tell them we're going to Russia, but don't tell them why. By the same token, I'd also suggest that you'd be vague about our mode of transport."

"What ever way you cut this, Methos, it's going to be risky," pointed out Gina.

"Not half as risky as the alternative," disagreed Methos. "I've thought long and hard about this and this is the only feasible option we have - the only one that has reasonable chance of us getting out of this alive, anyway."

"Russia it is, then," Robert said as he rose from his chair.

"But what about Tribeau?" asked Amy from her perch on the couch.

Methos gave her an inscrutable look. "What about him?"

"Oh don't give me that, you know exactly what I mean," retorted an exasperated Amy.

"We'll let him live for the time being, I think," said Methos, watching Amy's reaction carefully. "He might make a good bargaining chip if our renegade watchers get a little frisky."

"Right, then, lets start packing," Amanda interrupted. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"I'll start writing up my 'report'" said Amy. "Complete with fudging."

Breathing a sigh of relief that Amy wasn't going to push the subject of Tribeau's fate, Methos rose from his seat. "We'll dig up our respective pieces of the stone on our way to the airport," he suggested to the room. "Its probably better not to have them about our person until the last moment."

With that, the group split up to get ready for their flight and Methos took the opportunity to retreat into his room. He really didn't have much packing to do as he'd never really unpacked in the first place, but it did give him some space to think. Truth be told, he was as wary as the rest of them about what they were about to do. Timing was everything, especially as he had an extra few twists to the plan in mind.

Zipping up his carryall, Methos made his way into the front hall once more, bumping into Duncan as he emerged from the cellar. "Just supplying him with some food and water," explained Duncan as he noticed Methos's raised eyebrow.

"You didn't, by any chance, give him a last cigarette while you were at it?" Methos asked sarcastically.

Duncan shrugged embarrassedly. "It just didn't seem right to leave him down there without supplies. I don't know about you, but starving to death was never one of my favourite ways to go," he explained.

"Fair enough," sighed Methos. "I'll see you at the airport, then."

"Are Amy and Joe going with you?" asked Duncan.

"I assume so," said Methos with a shrug.

"You assume right," cried out Amy from the kitchen. "Just hold your horses, we'll be there in a moment."

"I suppose that's the answer to your question," snorted Methos before shouting back to Amy. "I'll wait for you in the car." Giving Duncan a wry nod, he made his way out to the SUV.

It didn't take long for Amy and Joe to make their way to the car. Methos noted, with amusement, that somewhere along the way Amy had acquired a cane. With some effort, she managed to climb into the car. "How are your stitches holding up, by the way," he asked of her as she made herself comfortable in the passenger seat.

"Fine, I think," Amy replied, pulling her safety belt across. "They haven't torn or anything, if that's what you're asking."

"More or less," admitted Methos as he started the engine and pulled out of the drive. After a short detour to collect Methos's part of the Methuselah stone from where he buried it, they drove on to the Airport. Soon, they were in the air and on their way to Petropavlovsk.

A thick drift of snow covered the city that stretched out before them, and they reluctantly left the warmth of the airport lobby behind. "Great," muttered Joe. "If the weather is this bad here, what is it going to be like once we've gained the top of that darned volcano."

"Look on the bright side, Joe," Methos joked as he tried in vain to hail a cab. "Maybe the volcano will erupt and warm you up."

"Lame as your attempts are at humour, old man," said Joe, smirking. "There is one thing that you are even worse at."

"And what is that, pray tell?" asked Methos distractedly, waving his hand at yet another cab that whizzed by.

"Hitching a ride," said the smug watcher, putting his thumb out. Sure enough, a cab slowed to halt in front of him.

"Not a word, Joe," warned Methos as he helped Amy into the passenger seat.

"Yes, Joe," sniggered Duncan. "Not a word."

"Duncan, stop gloating and get in the cab, there's a dear," called Amanda, hopping into the one she had hailed.

"Oh yes, Duncan, run along dear," mimicked Methos.

"You're still not funny, you know," Duncan shouted over his shoulder as he got into his taxi.

Rolling his eyes, Methos got in beside Joe and gave the driver their hotel's name. "Something tells me that it's going to be a long few days," he muttered to himself.

Chapter Twelve

"Maybe it's a case of too many immortals in the one room," Methos mused inwardly, trying to tune out the raised voices that were coming from the other side of the room. The arguments had started at the breakfast table; at first they had been good-natured enough. A polite disagreement had broken out about what kind of tactics they would use to keep their pursuers at arms length while they reached the volcano's summit. By the time they had reached Duncan's suite, however, all attempts at civility had gone out the window. Methos winced as Duncan's voice rose a few decibels when Robert suggested they make a clean sweep of things and take 'care' of the watcher problem once and for all by taking out their motherhouses.

Methos decided that enough was enough; leaping off the couch, he roared, "For crying out loud, would you please BE QUIET!" Like a flick of a switch, the room suddenly fell silent as they all turned to look at Methos in amazement. "That's better," Methos continued, his voice returning to normal as he sat back down.

A sulky frown spread across Robert's face as he threw himself into an armchair. "I still say that my idea is a good one," he protested sullenly, crossing his arms and pouting.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Robert, do you have any idea of how many motherhouses they are?" Silently, Robert shook his head. Turning his gaze to Amy, Methos raised an eyebrow." Amy, could you tell him?"

"Twenty-three," Amy replied softly.

"Thank you, Amy," Methos said dryly before returning his attention to Robert. "And how many watchers reside in those motherhouses, do you think, Robert?"

"How the heck should I know?" Robert complained grumpily.

"Joe, would you care to fill him in?" asked Methos acidly.

"About six hundred," replied the watcher promptly.

"Six hundred," Methos repeated slowly as he pinned Robert with a glare. "So how do you propose we go about it, Robert? A few well-placed explosives, perhaps, or maybe you prefer a more personal approach? How about a gun to the head...?"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture," interrupted Robert. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all."

With a sigh, Methos promptly changed the subject; he didn't see any point in belabouring the point. "Lets stick to the plan at hand, shall we?" he asked rhetorically as he spread out a map on the coffee table. "This is way we're approaching the volcano," he explained, pointing at the location on the map. "As you can see, it is in a relatively unpopulated area so we're going to have stock up before we leave. I inquired at the desk and apparently, there is a store that specialises in camping and climbing gear not so far from here. I suggest that you do the shopping for this, Duncan, as you're probably the one best able to gauge what we'll need."

Duncan looked up at Methos and gave a nod. "We're going to need quite a lot of equipment," he said aloud. "This climb mightn't be that steep but there has been heavy snowfall in that region for the last few days; that's going to cause a few problems."

A chorus of groans filled the room. "Sounds like a real pleasure trip," commented Amanda with a wry twist to her mouth. "Why couldn't there have been an active volcano on Bora Bora?"

"Oh yes, I can see it now - sun, sand, sea...lava beds," replied Methos with a smirk. "Which reminds me, I need to pick up some new toys to blow up watchers with, want to come along and watch my back?"

"But of course, darling," Amanda drawled.

Robert leaned forward in his chair. "What about Gina and I?"

"I want you two to arrange transport. We'll need two vehicles, four wheel drive if you can get it...and snow chains too."

"That leaves the food supplies for Amy and I," added Joe. "Any requests?"

"Anything but baked beans," Gina piped up. "I can't stand them."

"Consider it done," Joe said as he levered himself out of his chair and donned his coat. Amy followed suit and accompanied Joe as he left the room.

"Robert and I should be making a move too," said Gina, glancing at her husband as she spoke. "Is there any time you want us back by?"

"Well, I'd like us to be on our way before dark, so let's arrange to meet here at about two," said Methos after a few moments of consideration. "That way we should make it to the foot of the volcano before it gets too dark to set up camp. I'd like to start out on our climb at first light."

"See you at two, then," said Robert as he shrugged on his coat and helped Gina into hers.

"'Til then," Methos replied as he watched them depart.

"You may have been a bit harsh with him, earlier on," observed Duncan when the De Valimonts had left."

"Perhaps," Methos answered with a shrug. "But it seemed the easiest way, at the time, to nip his plan in the bud."

"Oh, well, what's done is done," said Amanda as she rose from her seat and picked up her coat. "You can't take it back, can you?"

The other two immortals threw on their coats silently and followed Amanda to the reception area.

"Well, off I go," said Duncan after he got directions to the store from the reception desk. "You two be careful, the arms dealers around theses parts don't play nice."

Methos and Amanda glanced at each other and smirked. "Yes, mother dear," replied Methos with a snigger.

Rolling his eyes, Duncan left them at the reception desk.

"When do we meet them?" asked Amanda as they watched him leave.

"Midday," Methos answered shortly.

"Cutting it a bit fine aren't we?" she asked as she turned to look at her companion.

"I'm still trying to figure out how to lose that guy sitting in the foyer and trying to be discreet as he spies on us from behind his newspaper," muttered Methos.

"You spotted him too, eh?" answered Amanda nonchalantly. "I wouldn't worry, he looks like a watcher, I thought that the whole idea was that they would be following us..."

"Sssh!"

"What?" asked Amanda.

"He's coming this way. Quick, let's get out of here, I don't want another shoot-out on my hands, I have an appointment to keep."

Running out onto the street, they hailed a cab and jumped in, glancing out the rear window at the watcher who had run out after them, but couldn't find a cab to hail.

"Seems that Amy's 'report' worked" said Amanda as she settled back into her seat.

"Mmm, there is a slight hitch, though," commented Methos.

Amanda turned to look at him "And what's that?"

"Amy hasn't sent her report off yet."

"Oh...that could be a problem."

"You're telling me," muttered Methos worriedly. "Obviously, we haven't been careful enough."

"I'd better warn the others," said Amanda as she pulled her mobile out of her bag and began to dial. "We mightn't have been the only one's they've tried to tail today."

"Good idea," replied Methos distantly, his mind already mentally reviewing their plan. After a few minutes' introspection, he came to the conclusion that they didn't need to change their original idea; they just needed to be a bit more wary.

They cab slowed and Methos looked out the car window. "Why do these guys always want to meet in a warehouse, for crying out loud?" he grumbled under his breath, paying off the driver and jumping out of the cab after Amanda.

Amanda looked up from her phone and shrugged. "One of the mysteries of the world, I suppose," she supplied after she finished off her brief conversation with Duncan and tucked her phone away. "Which warehouse are we supposed to meet them in?"

"That one over there," Methos told her, pointing to a dilapidated blue building across the street.

"I see," said Amanda as she eyed the warehouse with a frown. "So, how trustworthy are these arms dealers, exactly?"

"About as trustworthy as you'd expect, given their profession," Methos admitted. "I'd advise you to keep your back to the wall."

"You really know how to wine and dine a lady, Methos," Amanda said sarcastically as she followed him across the street. "You bring them to all the right places..."

"Ha, ha...and Joe complains about my sense of humour," muttered Methos as he pulled his gun out of his leg holster and put it in his pocket.

"Stop complaining, dear, and knock on the door," replied Amanda smugly as she did a quick check on her own weapons. "We wouldn't want to be late."

Throwing Amanda a dirty look, Methos knocked at the door. A split second later, a slot in the door slid open and a pair of suspicious eyes glared out.

"Good day," said Methos as he stepped back from the door and flashed an urbane smile. "My name is Mr Rogers; I've an appointment with Mr Milkavich."

With a snap, the slot closed and Amanda sniggered. "Mr Rogers? Your first name wouldn't be Buck, would it?"

"It was the first name that came to mind," Methos muttered lowly as, with a creak, the door opened.

Smothering a grin, Amanda composed her face as the guard's head poked out of the doorway and, after a quick glance down the street, ushered them into the warehouse.

"Ah, Mr Rogers, so glad you could join us." A tall, slender man stepped out of a shadowy corner and crossed the empty warehouse to greet them. Grasping Methos's hand in a firm handshake, he nodded towards the back of the storage area. "Your goods are awaiting your inspection. If you will step this way?"

Following their 'host', they approached the table set up at the other side of the hollow warehouse. Eyeing the weaponry laid out in a line on the counter, Amanda began to have a few misgivings; Methos had skipped the basics and had moved straight onto the high-tech stuff.

Seeing the look on Amanda's face, he gave her a small smile. "Later," he mouthed before turning to address the dealer.

"We'll take it," he pronounced.

"Very well, to where do you wish it delivered?"

"Wrap it up, we'll take them with us," Methos informed him as he picked up one of the timer charges and examined it.

With a small frown, the dealer played with the cuffs on his shirt. "This is most unorthodox..."

Returning the timer to the table, Methos gave the dealer his full attention. "It won't be a problem, will it?" he asked rhetorically. "We're in a bit of a hurry, you see."

"Of course, I understand," the dealer said hurriedly, as if afraid Methos was about to tell him why he was in a hurry.

Amanda gave a derisive snort; she'd got the impression that the dealer was a bit squeamish about hearing what happened to his 'merchandise' after they left his hands.

Snapping his fingers, the dealer glared at the guard and nodded at the table. Reluctantly, the dour guard retrieved a box and began to pack the weaponry gently inside it.

"And now there is the matter of payment," the dealer informed them in his oily voice. "I believe we discussed the means of the money transfer earlier..."

Taking the dealers cue, Methos produced a small slip of paper from his inside pocket. "Here is the account number, I'm sure you'll find it all in order."

"Yes, indeed," the dealer said absently as he pulled a laptop out of his brief case and propped it up on the edge of the table.

"Obviously, nobody has ever mentioned to this guy that he's supposed to wait until we're gone to count the money," Amanda whispered into Methos's ear as the dealer eagerly went online and checked the account.

"Just as long as we get what we need," Methos whispered back as he eyed the guard packing his new purchases.

With a soft snap, the dealer closed his laptop and graced them with a beaming smile. "All seems to be in order...and, as you can see, your merchandise is now ready to go," he told them as he gestured at the box which the guard was now taping up. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

"Indeed," murmured Methos as he picked up the box and headed for the door without a backward glance. Giving the dealer an ironic little wave, Amanda followed him out.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Amanda pronounced as the door slammed behind them. "That guy gave me the creeps."

"This comes from the woman who has spent the best part of her life consorting with the shadier side of life," Methos observed.

"That's different," Amanda insisted. "At least they didn't pretend to be something other than they were. Mr 'Armani' in there acted like he was selling us Tupperware and, well, that's just plain sleazy. I still have a bad taste in my mouth..."

The gun shot took them both by surprise; with a look of astonishment on her face, Amanda looked down at her bloodied chest and slipped to the ground.

Throwing himself onto the ground beside her, Methos searched the empty street with his eyes as his hand checked Amanda's wrist for her pulse. There was none.

"Oh great," he muttered as he reached for his gun and waited for the next shot. He wasn't long waiting: with a yelp of surprise, he felt the sting of a bullet in his leg. Rolling over onto his back, he peered at the rooftops across the street and eventually spotted what he was looking for: the glint of a telescopic lens from the roof of the warehouse across the street.

"This week just gets better and better," he complained under his breath as he took aim and fired, ducking his head reflexively as the shooter returned fire and hit the pavement a scant few inches from his face. A gasp came from beside him as Amanda came back to life. "Glad to see you're back with us," Methos told her. "I wasn't relishing dragging your dead corpse to shelter."

"Gee, thanks, Methos," she retorted as she fumbled in her coat for her gun.

"You're welcome. Grab the box, we're going to make for that building there," Methos explained as he gestured at the warehouse from which the gunfire was coming for. "I'll cover you."

Snatching up the box, Amanda sprinted across the road, spreading herself flat against the wall when her hand touched the building. With a curse, Methos tried to dodge the spray of gunfire as he chased after her, wincing as another bullet hit him - this time in his shoulder. Thankfully, the wound in his leg had already healed and he managed to reach the wall before being hit again. "This is becoming very old, very quickly," he grunted as he checked his shoulder; his quickening was already flashing around the wound's edges as it closed.

"You really do heal very quickly, don't you?" observed Amanda.

"One of the advantages of my advanced age," Methos answered glibly as he shrugged his coat back into place. "You ready?"

"For what?" Amanda asked distractedly.

"I feel the need to pay our shooter a visit," Methos replied grimly, filling the empty chamber in his gun as he inched closer to the door.

"Do you think he's a watcher?"

"That, or our dealer friend wanted to have his cake and eat it," surmised Methos. "Either way, I'm going to have a little chat with him." Leaning forward, he tried the handle of the door and, finding it unlocked, glanced back at Amanda. With a nod, she slipped to the other side of the door and pulled out her gun as she rested the box on the ground.

Pushing the door ajar with his foot, he poked his head in quickly before dodging back.

"Well?" Amanda hissed.

Shrugging in answer, Methos stepped into the warehouse. "Still here," he called out. "Come on in, the waters fine." Snorting, Amanda slipped in behind him. "He's probably still on the roof," she said as she pointed to the ladder rungs attached the back of the warehouse which rose to a hatch in the ceiling.

"Figures," Methos muttered. "Why couldn't there have been a nice, comfortable, flight of stairs. I hate this...we're going to be easy pickings on those rungs."

"Tell you what," Amanda proposed slyly. "How about you climb up and I'll cover you."

Methos glared at her evilly. "Why thank you, Amanda," he drawled. "For your generous offer."

"You're welcome," she replied with aplomb. "Now...up you go."

Grimacing, he tackled the ladder. "Just remember, keep your gun trained on the hatch," he warned her as he clambered up.

"Trust me, I'm all over it," Amanda reassured him from below.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he grumbled.

"What's that?"

"Nothing, nothing..." Putting his hand on the hatch's lid, he looked down. "Want to lay odds on whether or not I'm going to get my head blown off when I open this?"

"Nah, that would be unsporting," she replied with a grin. "Now, quit putting off the inevitable and push it up."

Gingerly, he tilted up the door a couple of inches and waited for a reaction, nothing happened. Methos frowned worriedly, could there have been a back way off the roof? Cursing that he hadn't checked for a fire escape before he entered the building, he shoved the door open and raised his head above it.

It was the whir of a blade slicing through air that alerted him a moment before the sword hit his neck. Ducking, he cursed as he lost his footing and found himself dangling off the ladder from one arm...it was then that Amanda decided to open fire.

He moved onto the Latin expletives when the guy from above started firing back, bullets ricocheted around him as he grabbed the rung with his other hand and regained his footing. "That's it," he shouted over the din. "From now on, I'm going to leave this good guy bullshit to that bloody Highlander... its bad for my health."

"Oh quit complaining and get your ass back down here," Amanda shouted back. "I'm not made of bullets, you know!"

"You're not supposed to broadcast that fact, Amanda," he roared back angrily.

"Well, it's true," she insisted as she took another pot shot at the hatch.

"Then maybe you shouldn't be wasting them on an empty doorway...aw hell..." With a grimace, Methos glanced down at the now gaping hole in his chest. "Definitely not my week," he murmured weakly as he felt the world fade around him.

The dull roar of blood flooded his ears as he lost consciousness and let the rungs slipped from his fingers. Amanda dodged his body as he plummeted to the ground and grimly took aim at the watcher grinning through the hatchway.

"Say bye-bye, sweetheart," she said softly as she shot him in the chest.

*****************

Two minutes later, Methos awoke with a start and rolled to his feet with a shudder. Disorientated, he crouched as he glared around the warehouse, his unease only abating when his eyes found Amanda hunching over a body.

"Glad to see you're back," she said, rifling through the dead man's pockets as she spoke. "That was quite a fall you took, I think you may have managed to break all your major bones on impact.

"You think?" Methos asked sarcastically, wincing as he felt his still mending bones. "Did you find anything interesting?"

Amanda raised the dead man's left arm and displayed the corpse's wrist. "Watcher tattoo," she elaborated. "Other than that, nothing much. I was going to have a look up on the roof and see if he left anything there."

"You go ahead and do that, then," Methos said tiredly. "I'll just sit here and…wait,"

Giving Methos a sympathetic glance, she climbed the rungs and slipped through the hatch as Methos eased himself onto the floor. A few moments later, she descended them once more.

"Nada," she said as she joined him on the floor. "Just the sword and his sniper rifle," she added as she placed the offending weapons on the floor. "Do you think you're ready to make a move now?"

With a nod, Methos got to his feet and tried to put his clothes in order. Ruefully, he realised that neither he, nor Amanda, looked very presentable. "There is no way in Hades that any taxi will stop for us," he said as his eyes took in the bullet holes and blood on their clothing.

"It's better than being headless," Amanda pointed out, taking his arm as they stepped out into the daylight

"You have a point," Methos admitted with a small grin.

"Of course I do," she said softly as he patted his arm. "Now where did I leave that box…ah, there it is!" Bending down, she picked it up and handed it to Methos to hold. "Here, hold the box to your chest, it should hide most of the damage," she explained as she closed her coat over her own bloodied top.

Strolling slowly until the made it out of the warehouse district, they stopped at the first main street they came across.

"You'd better do the hailing," Methos joked. "I have it on good authority that I'm useless at hitching a ride!"

Grinning, Amanda obligingly held out her thumb. Sure enough, a cab slid smoothly to the kerb.

They made it back to the hotel without incident and traipsed into the Hotel a little before two. Looking around the lobby, Methos's eyes grew round with outrage as he spotted the watcher they had evaded earlier.

"I don't believe him," Methos muttered, stalking up to him before Amanda could stop him. Grabbing the watcher roughly by the arm, he hissed into his ear, "Come along quietly or you won't live to regret it."

Fearfully, the watcher trotted along beside him as they headed to the elevator with Amanda following closely on their heels. The elevator ride seemed to take an age but they eventually arrived at their floor. Goose-stepping their captive to his room, Methos flung open his door and pushed the watcher through it.

"Who the heck are you and how the hell did you find us?" he ground out as he advanced on him. Stumbling back, the watcher fell onto the bed.

"I traced Joe Dawson's e-mails," he stuttered. "It wasn't so hard, really…"

"So, you're the one that's responsible for our little welcoming party in the warehouse district, then," Methos interrupted.

"Who me? No!" the Watcher said, aghast. "Why would I do that?"

"I think you're supposed to be the one to tell me that," Methos replied sarcastically. "Seeing as you're in league with them."

"No, I'm not!" the watcher declared with an affronted ex-pression on his face. "I'm the one who warned you about them in the first place."

Pausing, Methos stared at the watcher's face, understanding dawning. "You're Philip Turner?"

"At your service!" Turner replied with a relieved grin.

Chapter Thirteen

Amanda yawned. Methos had been quizzing Turner for a full hour, and he still wasn't satisfied. Lazing back onto the bed, Amanda studied Methos' ex-pression and came to the conclusion that watching Methos was akin to having double vision. On the one hand, you saw Adam Pierson, mild mannered…whatever; then you blink and Methos is standing there - or, as in this case - glowering there.

What was making her uneasy, however, was the ex-pression on his face. It was one with which she was familiar but hadn't seen in a very long time, over a millennia to be exact.

It was funny, really. Methos was still under the impression that the first time they'd met had been through Rebecca while Amanda had yet been her student. He still teased her about her initial intense dislike of him. Of course, Amanda knew that it hadn't been their first meeting; that had been a couple of decades earlier, on the streets of London, although he could be forgiven for not recognising her - she had been only eight at the time.

The world into which she had been born had been a very harsh place, and dubbed with good reason "The Dark Ages". Poverty and plague had been rampant in the London of her youth and the memory still left her with a bittersweet aftertaste. On the streets by the age of four, a thief at five years and a budding con artist by six, Amanda's childhood had definitely been spent at the school of hard knocks.

Methos' and Amanda's first meeting had been ignominious to say the least; he had caught her with her hand on his purse! At the time she had been astounded - she had always prided herself on being one of the best purse-snatchers in the city. What she hadn't realised then was, thanks to her preimmortal hum, Methos had sensed her presence the moment she had stepped onto the street behind him.

He had seemed like the perfect target, appearing both harried and hurried. Methos had looked preoccupied, as if his mind was somewhere else. It had been, of course - he'd been concentrating on the immortal presence that had been dogging him all morning. With Amanda's presence added to the mix, his sense of self-preservation had kicked into overdrive.

"What do we have here?" he asked with a smirk as his hand snaked out and grabbed her by the shoulder and holding her at arm's length as he looked her over.

"Lemme go!" Wriggling in his iron grip, Amanda shied away from the 'mark's' strangely intense scrutiny. She had heard stories about men who took too much of an interest in the younger street kids.

"Oh, I don't think so," Methos had drawled, keeping his grip firm as he pulled her into an alleyway. "You and I are going to have a little talk about your misspent ways!" Redoubling her struggles, Amanda kicked him the shin. "Easy, child," he winced. "I just have a little proposition for you."

"What!" she squeaked. "Lemme go …quot; or I'll scream!"

For a moment, Methos stared at her blankly before his eyes widened in understanding. "Not that kind of proposition, girl," he said exasperatedly. "I just want you to run a little errand for me."

Dumbfounded, Amanda stared at him. Having been caught red-handed stealing his purse, the best she had hoped for was a severe hiding. Glaring at him suspiciously, she stopped struggling. "What kind of errand?" she eventually asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Glancing out onto the street, as if looking for someone, Methos eventually pointed out a man that had just turned down the street. "See that gentleman?" Amanda nodded silently. "I want you to tail him," he told her. "Nothing fancy, I just want you to keep him within your sights and, whatever you do, don't let him get within arms reach of you. Do you understand?"

Amanda studied carefully the man pointed out to her. Richly dressed and of middling years, he looked like a rich merchant, or maybe a noble of low peerage. Normally when she saw such a person on the streets, she would make a beeline for his purse, but there was something about him that made Amanda nervous. Perhaps it was the scar that marred one of his eyes and ran down his cheek… she dithered, afraid this was some sort of trap but then again, she hadn't eaten yet that day. She had hoped that Methos's purse would rectify that, but that was not to be, it seemed. She came to a decision. "What's in it for me?" she asked shrewdly.

Jangling his purse, Methos pressed his lips together as if deciding what would be a good price. "I'll give you five shillings for your troubles."

Five shillings! Amanda could scarcely believe it. That amount of money would feed her for weeks! For a split second, Amanda felt a pang of remorse that she hadn't managed to steal his purse, if he was willing to pay her that to follow this man. Lord knew what fortune he kept in that seductively jangling bag. "I'll do it," she declared, holding out her hand.

Giving his new employee a wry smile, he pulled five shillings out of his purse and pressed them into her palm. "Do you know the tavern on Canterbury Street? It's called the 'Kings Arms'." Amanda nodded. "I want you to meet me there tonight and report where he went."

By then, the man had neared the alley in which they lurked; the stranger's steps faltered, as if he had heard something. Cursing under his breath, Methos drew them further back into the alley's shadows. A few heartbeats later, the stranger continued down the street. "Off you go," Methos had whispered into her ear as he pushed her towards her new quarry.

Stumbling forward, Amanda glanced back at her unlikely benefactor's face before she slipped into the crowd after the man, whom she had already dubbed in her mind as 'Scarface'. She had no intention of following him all afternoon, of course. As soon as she was out of spying distance of the alley she was going peel off and get something to eat. She couldn't believe the man had been so stupid as to pay her beforehand. There's a fool born every minute, she concluded gleefully.

Scarface was very peculiar, she soon discovered. Every few moments he would glare around him, slowing down whenever anybody stepped too near, and once he stopped dead in the street and cocked his head, as if listening to a conversation that only he could hear. Yes, he really was most peculiar.

Impatiently, Amanda looked up the street ahead of him; at this rate he'd never turn the corner, she thought sourly. Once again he stopped and, ducking into the doorway of a bakery, her stomach rumbled hungrily as she eyed the breads in their baskets.

At last, Scarface turned the corner and Amanda skipped after him. Any minute now, she would be free to desert him and eat her fill. Slinking around the corner, she came to a halt at the realization that her mark had disappeared. Turning around on her bare heels, she scanned the street.

"Looking for me, little girl?" a silky voice said from behind her. Turning around, she took a step back as Scarface emerged from a darkened doorway. Whatever you do, don't let yourself get within arms reach of him…with a sharp intake of breath, she ran for it.

His steps rung loudly on the cobblestone street as he chased after her. She was only a hair's breath beyond his reach as they turned around the next corner. Desperately, her eyes darted around her, looking for a way to escape, but saw none. A whimper escaped her lips as she tried to stay ahead of him, her little frame dodging around the other pedestrians. How had he known she was there?

It was then that she noticed the boarded-up house ahead. There were a lot of those in London that summer; the plague had taken a heavy toll amongst the population and many houses stood empty as entire families died off in one go. With a gasp of relief she noticed that one of the boards sealing off the doorway had been pried off, leaving a gap that was big enough for her slight body to slip through, but too small for him to follow. In a last mad dash, she headed for the opening and slid through it just as his hand reached out to grab her.

"Come out, little girl!" Pressing his face up to the gap, Scarface smiled nastily at her as he stretched his hand through the gap. Backing away instinctively, Amanda tumbled over a coal bucket and landed on her bum on the flagstone floor. Scrambling to her feet, she peered into the murky surroundings as Scarface rattled at the boarded-up door. "I'm coming to get you, child," he hissed through the gap while he pulled on the next plank. "My brother has done you a disservice."

Tears of fear and panic ran down her face as she looked for a way out. The house was a humble affair, one big room with a small loft at the far end for sleeping. Her eyes roved higher as she searched the roof for a way out, but there was none. In desperation, she sprang over to the fireplace, hoping to find a poker, anything, to defend herself with.

Stepping into the large, open, fire pit, she pulled a heavy iron ladle off the cooking bar, pausing as she felt the breeze. Looking up, her eyes took in the dim light at the top of the chimney and her quick mind worked overtime. Why not? she reasoned. Chimney sweeps did it all the time.

Hoisting herself up, she placed an arm and a leg on either side of the chimney and inched her way up. It was slow going; she was tired and hungry and, for all her experience, still a child. Eventually, though, she broke free of the flue. Crying with relief as she clambered out, she tested her footing on the roof and found it was sound. Without so much as a backward glance, she trotted as quickly as she could along the apex of the roof with her arms flung out to balance herself. Years later, looking back on it, she would joke to herself that it had been her first taste of the high wire.

With little effort, she jumped onto the roof of the next house and kept going, continuing on until she came to an adjoining wall that she could jump down to. With a snort of disgust, she broke her fall from the wall with a well-stocked midden. Wrinkling her nose, she examined her clothes, though not the sweetest scented child in the world, she did try to make an effort to keep herself relatively clean. One does not make a very good living at being a pick pocket if they can smell you coming!

Now that the first flush of fear was over, anger began to set in. Scarface's words came back to her as she stalked down the back alley; the man had set her up. With a determined look on her face, she made her way to Canterbury Street and the tavern. She had a few choice words to share with her 'benefactor'.

He wasn't there, of course, though it had taken a while for her to make sure of this. The inn keeper hadn't taken too well to her new 'perfume' and had ousted her almost immediately when she had entered. When she had protested that she was supposed to meet a 'gentleman' there, the inn keeper had not been impressed, especially as she did not know her 'benefactor's' name.

After lurking across the street for the bulk of the evening, the young Amanda had come to the grim conclusion that he had no more intention of meeting her here that night than she had of following Scarface all afternoon.

Time went by and Amanda's first death came and went. She had already been Rebecca's student for a number of years when Methos decided to pay his old friend a visit.

"Amanda, you're back, darling," called out Rebecca when she spied Amanda cantering into the courtyard from her morning ride. "Come and meet a very old friend of mine!"

Knowing what Rebecca's definition of an old friend was, Amanda cautiously followed Rebecca to her library, her senses picking up the foreign quickening before she entered the room.

Methos had played every inch the gentleman when Rebecca introduced him as 'her old friend, Guy De Courtenay', his smile only faltering a little when he saw the ex-pression on her face. More importantly, though, was the fact that she didn't see even a glimmer of recognition. For a moment, she entertained the idea of telling Rebecca of her previous encounter with her friend but hesitated when she noticed the pleased ex-pression on her face. In the end, she never did tell Rebecca. After a while, it just didn't seem to be important anymore.

Over the years, her mistrust and dislike of Methos faded, so much so that they became lovers for a brief time during the Renaissance. It didn't last long, but the affair cemented their friendship and it was during that time that Methos told her his true name.

But it was funny how old wounds never truly healed. Upon Rebecca's death, when everybody and their uncle seemed to be hunting for the Methuselah stone, something inside Amanda snapped when she learned that Methos also sought it. All those old memories came rushing back with a sharpness that was nearly frightening, and an unreasoning fear of what Methos might be capable of, came to the fore.

Looking back on it, Amanda couldn't believe that she'd allowed herself to believe that Methos could have had anything to do with Rebecca's death, but grief sometimes could work like that, distorting everything around you until you couldn't see straight.

What you had to remember about Methos was that, in many ways, he saw the world as simplistically as Duncan. The difference was that while Duncan divided the world up into 'good' and 'evil', Methos divided it up into 'him and his' and 'everybody else'. The moment Rebecca introduced them in that draughty library all those centuries ago, Amanda had leapt from the latter category into the former.

Which brought her back to the problem at hand: the ex-pression on Methos's face, the one that said Turner had been relegated to the category of 'everybody else'.

Stretching as she yawned once more, she let her hand rest on the phone beside the bed. Lifting it onto her lap, she dialled the desk and asked to be put through to her room.

"Duncan MacLeod," said the softly burred voice on the phone.

Amanda smiled into the receiver. "Glad to see you're back, darling," she purred. "I'm in… Adam's room, we have a visitor. Why don't you come and meet him …quot; and bring everybody with you." With that, she rung off and turned her attention to the heated discussion between Turner and Methos.

Turner had just finished explaining how he'd gotten the tape that originally raised his suspicions anonymously through the mail. Unsure about what to do because he didn't know how pervasive the conspiracy was within the watchers, he had turned to Methos because he remembered Don talking so glowingly about his new assistant, and also remembered his surprise when he learned that Methos was an immortal not long after Don's death. Methos seemed to be a little mollified by Turner's explanation because, for the first time since he entered the room, he sat down.

A wash of quickenings flowed over them and the two immortals turned to look at the door. On cue, there was a small, sharp knock at the door.

"Enter," called out Methos as he gestured for Turner to sit. The room filled and everyone was brimming with questions about the new addition. Methos briefly introduced them before he retreated into the bathroom to clean up.

"I'm glad to see you're alive," observed Joe as he shook Turner's hand. "When we couldn't track you down, we got a bit worried."

"It was touch-and-go there, for a while," Turner admitted. "But I eventually managed to give them the slip."

Everybody seemed to take Turner's appearance at face value and Amanda let out her bated breath, if the gang accepted him, Methos would be more reluctant to use him as bait. Congratulating herself on a job well done, Amanda rose from the bed; she was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes.

As she reached the door, a clean Methos wandered out of the bathroom, still towelling his damp hair. "You're off?" he asked.

"You're not the only bullet-ridden one here," she pointed out amiably. "I need a shower."

Methos nodded before he smirked at her knowingly. "Are you sure? You could wait a little longer and really make sure they all become best pals. Throw a party, perhaps," he teased her in a low voice.

Deciding to brazen it out, Amanda raised her chin as she looked him imperiously. "Whatever do you mean, Adam?" she asked archly as she opened the door.

In answer, Methos raised an eyebrow and nodded towards Turner. "Despite what you may believe, I wasn't about to throw him into the lion's den."

Amanda studied his face, then smiled. "I just wanted to make sure," she told him softly.

Methos looked at her intently before he turned away. "I can live with that."

He had been hurt, to tell the truth, but he really couldn't call her on it because, to a certain extent, she was right. For a split moment, while he stood there listening to Turner explain how he got his hands on the tape, he did consider using his presence in the city as a decoy while they got a head start on the watchers that he was sure were, right now, camped on their doorstep. The moment, however, had been fleeting and he had already decided against it long before the others had turned up.

Sighing, he decided to let it go as he turned to the rest of the room, disconcerted for a moment as he caught Amy watching him closely. Wondering how much of that brief exchange of words with Amanda she had heard, he gave her a small mile before raising his voice to address the room.

"People, we have things to do," he reminded them. "I'd like to be on the road in the next hour, so get your bags packed and ready to go. If you want something to eat before you go, do it now …quot; order room service," he added.

"What about me?" piped up Turner.

"Are you checked in here?" asked Methos. Turner nodded. "Then pack your bags, you're coming with us. With a grin, Turner stood and left for his room. "Meet us down in reception in one hour," he called out after him.

"Sure thing," Turner answered from down the hall.

Within moments, the room was deserted and Methos was left alone with his packing. Calling down to the restaurant for some room service, he busied himself as he waited for the light meal he had ordered. Everything was neatly stowed away by the time the waiter knocked on the door.

An hour later, he stood waiting for the others to arrive in the lobby. In dribs and drabs they joined him, Amanda hurriedly bringing up the rear.

Luckily, they made it out of the city before the evening rush and, after a few hours driving through breathtaking scenery on heart-stopping roads that bent on the turn of a dime, they made it to the volcano just in time to see the sun set behind it.

"It's beautiful!" Amy exclaimed, hopping out of the SUV, her breath clouding the air as she spoke.

"Its cold!" remarked Amanda as she shivered in her sheepskin coat.

"We'll set up camp soon," Methos told her as he shouldered some of the climbing gear. "We just have to gain some altitude first."

"We're going to start climbing now?" asked Turner nervously.

"Everybody but Amy and Joe, who are going to camp further down the road. They're not coming with us to the summit. We're going to need them to keep an eye on our transport in case those watchers stumble upon the vehicles and decide to take them on a joy ride. We need to make a move, I want to ensure that we have the advantage of higher ground if we have any surprise visitors during the night," Methos explained.

A look of resignation spread over Turner's face as he bent to pick up some of the camping gear that Duncan was busy offloading from the cars. As soon as they had distributed the supplies among themselves, Amy and Joe fired up their respective engines and meandered back down the road.

"How do they know when to come back for us?" Turner asked worriedly.

"Well, you see, there is this nifty new invention called the mobile phone…" an amused Methos replied as he set the pace for the climb.

"Oh…yes…how silly of me," the watcher said, laughing nervously while he fell in behind him.

The short climb wasn't that steep, as they were still only on the foothills of the volcano and the really difficult terrain would be kept for first light. Nevertheless, it was no picnic; the entire volcano was thickly covered in snow, the only exception being the summit looming ominously above them. Presumably, the heat at the top was enough to melt whatever snow that fell, and it gave the volcano a strangely upside-down effect as one usually expected snow at the top, not the bottom. More so, the snow hadn't settled yet and was still powdery and difficult to walk in. Duncan cursed softly, berating himself for not thinking to buy snow shoes.

"Forget about it, Duncan," Richard told him as he apologised for the third time. "What's done is done."

At last, they reached an altitude that Methos was happy with and, after a little fumbling and much blowing on hands, they eventually managed to make camp. Duncan decided to make up for his gaffe with the snowshoes by starting a small cooking fire and throwing together, from the rations, a meal fit for a king.

"Definitely better than baked beans," Gina pronounced as she finished off her plate of winter stew. "My compliments to the chef."

A chorus of agreement went around the circle as they sat back and enjoyed the afterglow around the fire. Duncan began to reminisce about the last time he had camped in such weather and regaled the group with an amusing anecdote involving Conor, a mule, and the Rocky Mountains. Once the laughter died down, it was deemed time to turn in. A short but ridiculous game of rock-paper-scissors ensued as they decided who was to take first watch. Amanda lost.

"The game was rigged, I tell you," she grumbled only half-jokingly as the others made for their tents.

"But, of course," Methos told her mockingly. "Didn't you know? I had a third hand tucked up my sleeve all the time."

Sticking her tongue out in an unladylike fashion, Amanda made herself comfortable on her perch, which consisted of her rucksack. "You'd better toddle off, Methos," she whispered lowly so that Turner couldn't overhear. "You're on the next watch, remember?"

Giving her a mocking salute, Methos retreated into his tent.

"Do you want me to keep you company?" asked the ever-solicitous Highlander, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

Amanda's eyes softened in response. "Get your sleep, Duncan," she told him gently as she pushed him towards his tent. "We all need to be rested tomorrow."

Soon, Amanda was alone with the stars. "It is pretty," she admitted to herself. "For a place with no shops."

Chapter Fourteen

Dawn broke coldly across the landscape and Robert De Valicourt rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to warm his fingers. Cursing under his breath about having pulled the coldest watch of the night, he decided it was time to for everybody to join him in his misery.

"Rise and shine!" he roared, clattering two of the cook pots together as circuited the camp. "We've got a volcano to climb and all that jazz."

Methos poked his head out of his tent, sporting a singularly unattractive example of bed-head. "Enough, already," he growled. "Why don't you make better use of those pots you're banging together and brew up some coffee …quot; strong coffee," he added before retreating back into the tent.

"Yes, mein capitant," Robert grumbled, stalking over to the dying embers of the campfire. "It's not my fault that you're not a morning person…no need to bite my head off…"

"He's like that with everybody in the morning," said a laughing voice and Robert looked up to see Duncan emerge from his tent. "It kind of goes with the Methos package, here, let me stir up the fire while you unpack the coffee."

Nodding gratefully, Robert unearthed the coffee and began to spoon it into a pot he had filled with water as Duncan cajoled a small flame from the embers before adding some of their precious fuel. The coffee was brewing merrily by the time everyone had roused and joined them around the fire.

"Ooh, you're a lifesaver, Robert," Amanda sighed, sipping appreciatively from her mug.

"I second that," Methos told him with a small smile. "It almost makes up for the rude awakening."

"Glad to hear it," Robert responded easily. He had already come to the wry conclusion that Methos' should be taken with a pinch of salt …quot; unless he spoke with the point of his sword, of course.

The smell of scrambled eggs filled the air as Duncan rustled up some breakfast and they all eagerly toasted bread on the end of their forks to go with it. Once everybody had eaten their fill, the more serious business of the climb became their conversation point. "We should begin our climb as soon as possible," Duncan surmised. "The watchers have had a full night to prepare; we need as much of a head start as we can possibly manage."

"I agree," said Methos with a sigh. "We should pull up camp as quick as possible."

Without protest, they quickly dissembled the camp and repacked their rucksacks. It was still early morning when they began their climb.

"At least it's not snowing," Gina gasped out as she stumbled through another drift of snow. A collective groan rose from the group. "What! What did I say?" she asked confusedly.

"You do realise that you've just jinxed us, don't you dear?" her husband explained dolefully.

"Oh please!" Gina protested. "You can't possibly believe that just because I mentioned snow that…" Gina's voice faded mid-sentence as a small snowflake drifted onto her nose. "Oh no," she uttered disbelievingly as the others turned to look at her accusingly. "There is no way in hell I'm going to take the fall for this blasted weather!" With that, she stomped on ahead.

"You better go after her and smooth things over, darling," Amanda muttered into Robert's ear as he stood there gaping after his wife's disappearing back.

"I think you may be right," he said before chasing after his spouse.

"Try to keep together, folks," Duncan called out after them. "We don't want to lose anybody in this snowfall."

"There is also another problem to consider," Methos said lowly as he stepped in beside Duncan. "With this low visibility, we're not going to be able to see the Watchers coming if they manage to catch up with us."

With a groan, Duncan realised he was right. "Well, they will be in the same boat," he said in a hopeful voice. "That should even the odds a little."

"That's the point," Methos complained. "I didn't want to even the odds; I wanted a clear and overwhelming advantage!"

Duncan tried in vain to smother a grin. "Ah well, you know what they say, best laid plans and all that." As if mocking them, the snowfall grew thicker. "Hold up everyone," Duncan called out as he unravelled the rope he had draped across his shoulders. "We need to tie ourselves together before this storm gets out of hand."

Once Duncan was satisfied that they were all securely attached to his security line, they resumed their climb. It was midday when Duncan indicated that they should stop again. Unscrewing one of the flasks of hot soup he had prepared, he passed it around. "The climb is going to get a lot more difficult from now on," he explained as they huddled around in a circle, straining to hear him above the howling storm.

"You mean it hasn't been difficult up 'til now?" asked Turner, his tone half-surprised, half-sarcastic.

"Not compared to what lays ahead of us, no," Duncan shouted above the storm. The climb gets a lot steeper from now on, it's not bad enough to need serious climbing tackle but we will have to watch our step …quot; especially with this poor visibility."

"Let's get cracking, then," Robert said. "I want this over and done with."

There was a murmur of agreement as the shrugged on their rucksacks once more and resumed their climb. The hours went by slowly as they trudged upwards, their backs hunched over against the storm. Eventually though, Methos called them to a halt. "Maybe we should make camp here, we wouldn't want set up base too near the danger zone now, would we?" Raising his hand in acknowledgement, Duncan circled back.

Setting up camp amidst a blizzard was a back breaking business. Luckily, Duncan had thought to bring a peg-punch to drill holes with or they would have never managed to erect the tents.

A campfire was out of the question, so Duncan produced a small methane cooking ring and set it up within his tent. In unspoken agreement, everybody piled into his tent after him and Duncan uncomplainingly made room for them. He was well aware that even the warmth from a cooker ring was a welcome change from the bruising cold outside.

Small talk broke out over the hot stew that he prepared, everybody studiously avoiding the subject of what was to come until the end of the meal. Eventually, however, the settled down to discuss the matter at hand while the supped at their coffee.

"We can't be sure how far they are behind us," Methos told the assembled group, resting his cup beside him as he leaned forward. "Therefore, I think that it may be prudent to set up a perimeter as soon as possible."

"You want to use the charges, then," Amanda guessed.

"Methos nodded in reply. I know it may seem a little over the top but we're stumbling around in a blizzard up here and I've a funny feeling that the watchers are going to outnumber us significantly," he explained. "We're going to need every advantage we can muster and its not as if they're going to be innocents …quot; it was they who came after our heads, after all, not the other way around.

Grimly, the others voiced their assent and Amanda pulled her rucksack in front of her. Unearthing a carefully insulated package from within it, she unwrapped its contents and placed them on her lap. "The timers are going to be of little use to us," she concluded after a moments thought. "And the sensor triggers are too volatile to be trusted in his blizzard. We're going to have to detonate them by remote …quot; which means we're going to need a lookout."

"I'll take first shift," Duncan volunteered. Taking their cue, the others organised who would take which shift. After a little tinkering, Amanda pronounced she was satisfied with the explosives and produced a remote control from the side pocket of her pack. After a little tweaking, she handed it over to Duncan.

"They're four triggers," she explained as he studied the controls. "Attached to each trigger are three explosives, I'm going to allot each grouping to a compass direction …quot; north, south, east, west," she continued, indicating with her finger which trigger went with which direction as she spoke. "Try not to press any of the triggers in the next ten minutes; however…most of them will still be in my pocket!" With that, she rose and hurried outside.

"Well, from now on it's a case of hurry up and wait, I suppose," observed Gina.

"It would seem so," Methos replied tiredly. "The rest of us should get some rest; we want to be on top of our game when our visitors arrive." Grabbing his mug, he slipped out of the tent.

Robert eyed the space that Methos had just vacated worriedly. "Is it just me or is Methos a bit grumpier than usual today…oh, I say Turner, are you okay?" Patting the back of the spluttering watcher, he gently took the cup out of his hands.

"M…M…Methos?" Turner eventually gasped out as he stared at Robert with round eyes.

"Why yes," replied a puzzled Robert. "Who else would I be…oh!" Too late, Robert noticed his gaffe.

"Yes Robert …quot; oh!" Duncan repeated dryly.

"I suppose that's torn it," Robert muttered apologetically as he threw Turner a surreptitious glance.

"You think?" growled Duncan sarcastically.

"M…Methos?" stuttered Turner again, as if unsure of what he'd heard.

"I don't have to tell you that you're not to breathe a word about it, do I?" Duncan asked him pointedly

"I'm not?" he asked back before recollecting himself. "Oh…yes…of course…I suppose he wouldn't like that." Staring at his hands, Turner studiously avoided their eyes.

Duncan glanced at the watcher suspiciously. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Who…me? No, of course not. No problem here." The words tumbled out of Turner's mouth in a rush as he stood up abruptly, hitting his head off the canvas of the low tent. "If you'll excuse me." Stumbling out of the tent, Turner left two bemused and uncomfortable immortals behind him.

"Methinks I see trouble ahead," commented Robert.

"And I think that it'll be your task to warn Methos about it," Duncan informed him. "He's not going to be happy."

For a moment, Robert looked like he was going to object, but one look at Duncan's face changed his mind. "I'd better do that now, then," he said, heading for the tent flap as he spoke.

"Yes, you'd better," Duncan echoed softly as he watched him go.

~~*~~

Robert bounced on his feet outside Methos's tent, trying to fend off the cold, while he rehearsed what he was going to say. "I say, old chap, you'll never guess what happened…no…that won't do…Hey Methos, I've got something to tell you…damn!" Cursing furiously under his breath, he squared his shoulders as he faced Methos's tent. "Time to get this over with, Robert," he told himself. "His disposition isn't about to get any sweeter, after all."

A head poked out of the tent. "Are you just going to stand there all day muttering to yourself?" began Methos. "Or are you going to come in here and tell me what's happened.

With a tremulous smile, Robert ducked into his tent. "Um…hi…" he said, crouching down beside Methos's bedroll. "I may have caused a bit of a problem."

"Well, spit it out," Methos irritably asked him, jumping into his sleeping bag once more and burrowing into it.

"Turner knows your name," Robert told him abruptly. "Duncan and I don't think he took the revelation too well."

"I see," the elder immortal bit out. "And how, exactly, did he stumble along this revelation."

"Well…I may have let something slip," Robert admitted bashfully.

Silently, Methos looked outside, his eyes searching for Turner. "I don't see him," he observed, pulling his head back in. "Did he go back to his tent?"

"I don't know," Robert said. "I presume so …quot; I mean, there isn't exactly anywhere else to go, is there?"

"Nowhere but down," Methos grunted under his breath, pulling on his boots and hunting for his gloves. "Lets go have a look, shall we?"

Grateful that he'd gotten off so lightly, he nodded eagerly. "Listen, I'm sorry about this," he offered cautiously.

"Forget it," replied Methos dismissively. "No good crying over spilled milk …quot; besides, Gina would kill me if I took your head!" he added with a sly grin.

Squinting through the heavy snowfall, Methos tried to pick out where the errant watcher was. "Now, where could that idiot have wandered off to," he muttered frowningly as he pulled the collar of his anorak up against the cold.

"His tent, perhaps?" suggested Robert. His tent was empty, however.

"Bloody hell," muttered Methos. "I've got a bad feeling about this…"

A small shudder ran down Robert's back at those words and he eyed his companion warily. "A bad feeling, did you say?"

Methos didn't answer, too involved in his inner worries about the whereabouts of Turner. The approach of another immortal caught his attention, however.

"What in lord's name are you two doing, wandering around in the snow?" asked Amanda as she trudged up to them.

"Looking for your best buddy, Turner," replied Methos, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"What's happened?" she asked anxiously, stepping in beside them. In terse tones, Methos filled her in. "I see," she eventually answered. "Well, there's still no need to believe the worst, he may just need to clear his head."

Methos looked at her disbelievingly. "In the middle of a blizzard, Amanda? I don't think so."

"I'm just saying, that's all," she protested.

"Well, don't - don't say one word more, Amanda," Methos growled. "Just help us find him." Their search was cut short, however, by Turners reappearance from beyond the tents. "Where the hell have you been," yelled Methos.

"Um, taking a leak?" the watcher piped up him nervously.

"In this blizzard?" asked an incredulous Methos. "Are you mad? It's a bloody miracle that your private parts didn't freeze to your zipper!"

"I didn't know what else to do," Turner protested.

"You could have done what any guy with half a brain would do, in this weather …quot;use a bottle," roared Methos.

"Oh… I see…well, I'll keep that in mind for the next time," the watcher offered in answer as he stepped in the direction of his tent. "I better be off to my tent, now. To get some rest, that is."

Methos watched Turners retreating back suspiciously. "It's official," he said, turning to Amanda and Robert. "My funny feeling has just turned into a full-blown premonition - we've definitely got trouble."

"I hate to say it, but I think you may be right," Amanda said grimly. "I distinctly remember Duncan explaining to him this morning about the dangers of this freezing climate. He was quite graphic about it, too; he'd have to be an idiot to forget."

"Well, maybe he is," Robert suggested. "An idiot, that is."

"The only idiots around here are us," said Methos sourly. "We're going to need to keep an eye on him. Damn it! As if we didn't have enough problems worrying about the enemy without, now it looks like we have to deal with the enemy within as well."

"I wish this blizzard would clear up," Amanda muttered. "I'd feel a lot better if I could shake the feeling that we're being watched. I keep getting funny images in my mind of homicidal watchers lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce when we least expect it."

"Where's Mac?" Methos asked abruptly.

"Still in the tent, I presume," Robert said. "Waiting for Amanda to come back and give him the all clear about the explosives."

"Let's go then, I think its time we had a little war council," Methos told them, heading for the tent.

Throwing back the flap of the tent, Methos looked at the grim face of the Highlander. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Duncan asked rhetorically, making way for them as they crowded into the tent.

"We've got a mole," confirmed Methos as he helped himself to a cup of coffee from the pot.

"But how can you be so sure, chérie?" asked Gina. "After all, is this not the gentleman that told you about the conspiracy in the first place?"

"That Turner was the one who told me is not to be disputed," Methos said heavily. "Whether or not the man in that tent is actually Turner is another matter."

"You think he's a fake," surmised Amanda.

"I think that the real Turner is most probably at the bottom of some river, yes," Methos replied. "Probably after being tortured and interrogated by Tribeau and his cronies."

"That would explain how he knew so much about why Turner helped you," Duncan said dryly.

"Yes…it would," Methos replied softly.

"You don't think he was out there reporting to somebody, do you," asked a worried Robert. "Because that would mean that they were right on top of us …quot; he couldn't have gone far in this weather."

"I think the answer is a bit more prosaic," Methos wryly answered him. "As I told him the other day, technology is a wonderful thing!"

"Of course, he has a phone," groaned Gina.

"He mightn't have got a dialling tone," said Robert hopefully. "We're in the middle of nowhere, after all. Sometimes those phones can't get reception in these areas."

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Methos glumly told him. "There's a tower on the top of the next mountain - for the old military base. It was one of the reasons I picked this place, I wanted to make sure I could keep in contact with Joe and Amy at all times."

"So what do we do now?" asked Gina. "Not only do they know exactly where we are and what we're up to, they now also know about our defence perimeter."

"And they also know where Joe and Amy are camped," realised Methos, pulling out his own phone hastily. The others looked on worriedly as he punched in Joe's phone number, only breathing a sigh of relief as they saw from the ex-pression on his face that the old watcher had answered. "Hey Joe, it's me," Methos said with a smile. "No, we're not finished yet…listen; you may have to move camp…it's a long story but we think that the watchers may be onto your location…okay…talk to you later." Ringing off, he turned his attention to the others once more. "That just leaves us," he said.

"And the Turner impostor," Duncan reminded him. "What the hell are we going to do with him?"

"Let's throw him into the volcano," suggested Robert. "I don't know about you, but I could do it cheerfully."

Cocking his head as if considering it, Methos eventually shook it. "I've got a better idea," he said. "How about a little misdirection?"

"Like what the British did during World War two," Duncan said, nodding his head in understanding. "We feed the enemy false information."

"Even better," Robert said with a grin. "We can always throw him into the volcano afterwards…" This earned him an appreciative laugh from his companions.

"Oh my!" exclaimed Gina, sitting up bolt right as she stared at Methos worriedly. "He knows your name."

"Please, don't remind me," groaned Methos. "Let's just stick to our immediate problem, shall we?"

"Okay then, misdirection…" prompted Amanda. "How can we use this mole to our advantage?"

"Well, in a way, we already have," Methos joked. "Somehow I don't think that we're going to have any surprise visits, now that they know about our 'explosive' welcome mat! "

"I think that's a given," replied Duncan with a small smile. "The question is, what information can we pass on that will give us an advantage.

"Well I was thinking of dragging Turner in here for a little parley about our 'plans' and filling him with a load of baloney about waiting until dawn to make our move, maybe we'll be able to retain some of the element of surprise that way."

"So we're moving tonight, then?" asked Robert.

"Looks like it, yes," Methos told him with a sigh.

"Well then, I'll go and get him shall I?" said Amanda, rising to her feet.

"Be on your guard," Methos warned her.

"I always am," was her brief rejoinder as she left the tent.

The group shuffled uneasily within the tent when she left. Nobody wanted 'Turner' to suspect that they were onto them so they tried to act as if this was a normal group meeting. Duncan put on a fresh pot of coffee while they waited. It was almost with relief that they sensed the returning presence of Amanda.

"About bloody time," muttered Robert, plastering a smile on his face as the tent flap was thrown up.

"Hi guys, we're back," Amanda announced cheerfully as she made way for Turner to enter the tent.

"So, there's a new plan?" Turner asked, hunching down in the tent. "How come?"

"The blizzard is lasting longer than we'd hoped," Methos told him. "It looks like we're going to have to wait 'til morning in order to get some visibility."

"I see," Turner replied, a thoughtful look on his face. "But what if get they're waiting for us at the top and see us coming?"

Methos smiled stiffly, realising that Turner had inadvertently given them the watcher's location. "I think we may have to risk that, Turner, it's too late to back out now."

Helping himself to the coffee mug that Duncan held out to him, Turner nodded. "I suppose it's all or nothing," he agreed. "After all, we can't let these guys get away with what they're planning, can we?"

"Oh, I think we're all in agreement on that," Methos replied dryly, a spark of humour in his eyes. "These 'guys' definitely need to be stopped."

"Well then," Turner said, finishing off his coffee. "I'd better get some shuteye; I want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the morning."

Sounds like a good idea," agreed Methos. "I intend to do the same. We'll see you at first light."

Nodding seriously, 'Turner' got to his feet and ducked out of the tent. A few moments later, Duncan raised an eyebrow meaningfully as he looked over at Methos. "I'll go and see what he's up to, shall I?" he said, slipping through the flap after 'Turner'.

"Well, I'm glad that's over and done with," Robert commented as they waited for Duncan's return. "It was all I could do not to throttle him."

"I know how you feel," admitted Amanda. "My advice is to think of something else …quot; something that involves a lot of sunny weather," she added with a small shiver.

"I wish Duncan would hurry up and come back," mumbled Gina. "I'm feeling a tad anxious about him."

"Don't worry, m'dear," her husband consoled her. "Duncan can look after himself."

Shortly afterwards, they felt Duncan's return and a flurry of snow entered the tent as he ducked inside. "He went for another stroll," he told them, plopping down on his bedroll. "He stopped about 40 yards beyond the perimeter and pulled out a phone. I couldn't make out what he said but I'm sure we can all guess. I came back as soon as he popped inside his tent again."

"Right!" Robert declared, purposefully rising to his feet. "Let's go get him!"

"After you," Methos said with a smirk, sketching a bow from where he sat.

"My pleasure, old chap." The group trailed after him as Robert pushed his way out of the tent and strode towards 'Turner's'.

"Have you got the rope?" Methos muttered into Duncan's ear when they came to a stop outside the other tent.

"I picked it up on my way out," Duncan replied, pulling the said rope out of his jacket while he watched Robert tear the tent's flap open and step inside. The tent wobbled as a struggle ensued within.

"Maybe I should go and help him," Gina piped up nervously, watching with trepidation as the tent tilted precariously to one side.

"Oh…I think he can manage," drawled Methos, turning his head to one side as the tent righted itself before it veered in the other direction. Sure enough, a triumphant Robert emerged, holding a squealing 'Turner' by the ear.

"What is the meaning of this?" 'Turner' blustered. "I demand an explanation, damn it."

In answer, Methos stepped forward and rooted around in his coat pocket until he found the phone. "I wonder whom I'd find on the other end if I pressed the redial button, Turner," Methos asked, turning the phone around in his hand. "Your mother, perhaps?" The impostor glared at him sullenly, clamping shut his mouth as he realised which way the conversation was heading. "I see," Methos said, his eyes narrowing as he studied the watcher's face. "Tie him up, Duncan,"

Duncan needed no more encouragement and made short work of binding the impostor. "You'd better gag him as well," suggested Amanda, holding up a handkerchief. "We wouldn't want him calling out for help while we're gone, would we?"

Grinning, Duncan obliged and then stood back to admire his handiwork. "A very professional job, even if I say so myself," he pronounced.

"I couldn't have done better myself," Methos agreed. "But let's his boots off for good measure …quot; just in case he manages to wriggle out of that multitude of knots." Shoving 'Turner' back into his tent, Methos ignored the muffled cry of protest as the watcher landed on his back inside. Leaning down, he quickly pulled off the watcher's boots and retreated outside. "There, - that should keep him safely under wraps until we get back," he declared, the boots dangling from his hand. "Let's move."

Scrambling for their respective tents, the group gathered their weaponry together. "It's now or never, I suppose," said Amanda with a sigh, peering upward through. "Up we go."

Trudging slowly through the snow, the immortal's stopped as they hit ice. "What's this?" asked a puzzled Amanda, her feet sliding over the glassy surface.

"Don't worry," Methos reassured her. "It's normal, we've just reached the ice ring, it happens when the heat of the volcano melts the snow on top - the water runs down and freezes into ice once the ground temperature lowers."

"And there ends our lesson in vulcanology," joked Duncan as his feet slid on the ice.

"Don't worry, the ring is not broad," Methos said. Sure enough, they crossed it quickly. Breathing a collective sigh of relief, the group continued their ascent on the now snow-free surface. Their relief was short lived, however, as they noticed the steam rising from the ground below their feet.

"Maybe we should slow down," Amanda suggested uneasily. "I wouldn't want to topple into the lava bowl by accident."

"There's no chance of that," Methos told her with a grin. "By the time you'd neared the rim, your eyebrows would've already warned you - they'd be singed!"

"Now you tell me!" Amanda grumbled. "Maybe you should have warned me before you convinced me to climb this godforsaken thing."

"Now, where would the fun be in that," he answered, hopping back before she could hit him.

"Jumped up, senile old goat…" Amanda muttered sourly to herself as she tried to peer through the falling snow. "How much further is it to the top?" she asked in a louder voice.

"About another hundred and fifty yards, give or take an inch," Methos answered back. "It might be better to…" his voice trailed off as he felt the creeping presence of another immortal, looking around, he saw his companions stiffen as the new quickening impinged on their senses. "Oh, for crying out loud…there goes the element of surprise," he muttered, pulling out his sword as he eyed the blurry landscape warily. The others followed suit and, wordlessly, they formed a loose circle, their swords pointed outward.

A muffled laugh came from their left and Methos squinted as he saw an outline through the falling snow. "Glad to see you that you and your little friends could join us Mr Pierson…or should I call you Methos?" a familiar voice called out.

Methos bristled as he recognised the voice. "I knew I should have killed you," he snarled as Tribeau stepped closer, gun in hand.

"Yes, you should have," agreed Tribeau, pointing the gun at his head as his henchmen materialised beside him. "But look on the bright side; it's a mistake you're never going to repeat."

Chapter Fifteen

Methos's mind worked furiously as he scanned the watchers that encircled them. There were at least thirty, all armed, although mostly with pistols, he saw with relief. Sensing Duncan tense beside him, he knew that the Highlander was about to make his move. The scrape of a boot from his left caught his attention and, glancing sideways, he acknowledged Amanda's questioning glance with a shrug. Things went downhill from there.

With a yell, Duncan leapt forward and knocked the gun out of Tribeau's hand with the hilt of his sword. Taking this as his cue, Methos dropped to the ground as the bullets started flying, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as a bullet hit home. Glancing up, he saw Gina and Robert join Duncan in the fray and observed with amusement the watcher's dismay as they realised that they couldn't use their guns in the scuffle for fear of killing one of their own.

"But they can shoot you, old man, if you don't get off the ground and out of the open…" With that thought, Methos rolled to one side …quot; and came face to face with Amanda.

"So, what's next, oh fearless leader?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically. "A re-enactment of Custer's last stand, perhaps?"

"Sorry, no can do…I forgot to bring the arrows," he retorted. "Have you, perhaps, a better suggestion?"

Eyeing the morass around them, Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "Well, you know what I always say, if in doubt…"

"…Decapitate?" Methos asked helpfully.

"No! Well…yes…that too, but in this case I was thinking more along the lines of 'run away'…"

Methos smirked. "Sounds like a plan to me," he told her, pulling out his pistol. "Just give me a moment to set up a distraction." Peering through the snow, he eventually spotted Duncan, who was still wrestling with Tribeau. In typical Highlander fashion, Duncan had sheathed his sword when Tribeau refused to produce his …quot; the result was a rather messy display of fisticuffs.

"Sometimes I really wished that idiot would stow his ridiculous sense of honour for half an hour," he muttered. "It's such a pain in the ass." Taking aim, he looked for his opening; he wasn't long waiting. "At last," he grumbled, firing a bullet into Tribeau's chest as Duncan moved out of the way.

The immortal dropped like a stone and, for a moment, the watchers froze as they saw their ringleader die.

"Now!" Methos cried, dashing uphill in a furious spurt of energy. For a moment, the watchers hesitated, unsure what to do. Eventually, though, the group split, one half following him while the other half milled about.

Looking back, Methos smiled grimly as he realised that Tribeau's followers were going to get the surprise of their lives when he came back from the dead, he wondered if their loyalty would survive the shock.

"Hopefully, they'll chop his head off on the spot!"

Redoubling his efforts as he neared the rim, he tried to ignore the pursuing watcher's calls as they chased him. Luckily, it took all four limbs to scramble up the volcano at this speed, or he'd have to contend with gunfire as well. The sounds of the skirmish below faded away as he gained the top, the heat nearly unbearable as he stepped up to the caldera's edge.

Glancing back, Methos spotted the nearest watcher stumble in his tracks as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a clear plastic bag. "Do you know what I have in my hand?"

They watcher pulled out his gun but hesitated as his eyes rested on the bag.

"Do you know that we've got you completely surrounded, you bastard!" Another watcher came to a stop to his left, brandishing his gun threateningly. "

"Be quiet, Hawkins!" the first watcher snarled, his eyes never leaving the bag as he spoke.

"He killed Tribeau, Peterson," Hawkins ground out. "Shot him right through the chest..."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Tribeau," drawled Methos. "It's not as if it's permanent, he should be waking up any minute now…"

Peterson smiled grimly. "Don't listen to him," he called out the others that just caught up to him. "He's just trying to distract us, spread out and surround him."

"Suit yourself," Methos told him as he swung his hand out over the sweltering heat of the lava. "It's of no great consequence to me, after all. I just thought you should know who you're really working for."

Some of the watchers began to mutter among themselves, eyeing the bag in Methos' hand warily. "That's right, gentleman," Methos called out cheerfully, rustling the bag in his hand. "The Methuselah stone …quot; doesn't look like much, does it? Just a few useless lumps of crystal, its amazing what a man will kill for, really. "

"Shoot him!" Hawkins ordered.

"No, don't!" Peterson interjected. "If we shoot him, he might go over the edge and take the stone with him. Hawkins muttered hostilely but lowered his gun.

Methos looked uneasily about him, they were at a stand off; the watchers wouldn't shoot as long as he held the stone over the lava and Methos couldn't drop it without dying in the process. More had joined the watchers that surrounded him; he could count at least ten in the ruddy light given off by the volcano. Where the hell was Amanda, he wondered, he had thought she would have been right behind him as he ran, but she was nowhere to be seen.

The crunch of gravel caught his attention; Methos's head snapped to his left and caught yet another watcher trying to sneak up on him. "Now, now, none of that," he warned. "Back away or I'll drop the stone. "

Peterson took a step forward. "No you won't," he said confidently. "You know as well as I that the moment you drop it, you're a dead man …quot; and I mean that in the permanent sense," he added, making a slashing motion to his neck as he spoke.

Methos turned to glare at Peterson, his mouth already open to make a smart retort. He hesitated, however, when a small fleeting movement caught his eye. Was it his imagination or was somebody sneaking up behind Peterson and Hawkins?

"What, cat got your, Pierson, or whatever the hell your name really is?"

Methos gave him a sparse smile, his eyes narrowing coldly as he studied the watcher's face. "I'm just wondering what the hell you think you're going to get out of this?"

"He's got a point," one of the watchers muttered. "Tribeau is dead. Without him, we don't know how to use the stone."

"We've still got his notes, you fool," Hawkins spat out. "It may take a little longer than we thought, but we'll still get our immortality."

Methos' eyes widened as he realised that none of the watchers before him knew of Tribeau's true intentions. "So Tribeau didn't trust his little helpers with the truth," he muttered to himself.

"What was that you said?" Hawkins demanded suspiciously. "Speak up."

"Oh, nothing," Methos replied laconically as he felt the presence of another immortal wash over him. "I'm just contemplating your unbelievable idiocy."

"Why you…" Hawkins's sentence was left unfinished as he suddenly stiffened, a look of terror flashing through his eyes as he slowly raised his hands.

"Hello gentlemen, mind if I join the party?" Amanda stepped out from behind him, her gun still pressed to Hawkin's head.

"So glad you that could join us, Amanda," Methos said, the relief obvious in his voice.

I've also brought company," she purred. "Gentleman, I want you to give a warm welcome to Madame De Valicourt, who has also so graciously consented to join us this evening!" On cue, Gina stepped from the shadows and raised a gun to Peterson's head, obviously they'd both been watching the proceedings long enough to figure out which ones were the ringleaders. "Now that we're all here," Amanda continued. "I think its time we got on with the main attraction of the evening …quot; the fatal demise of the Methuselah stone." Amanda's lips were curved in a smile, but there was a sadness in her eyes as she looked up at Methos; she gave him a nod of encouragement, but it was so slight he almost missed it.

With a sigh, he tore open the bag and upended its contents into the volcano.

"No!" cried out Peterson. "Dear God, I don't believe you just did that... why?" The watcher was on his knees, disbelief and shock evident on his face.

For a moment, Methos hesitated, should he tell the watcher the truth about Tribeau's plans? No, he decided, it was better to let that secret die in peace. "Lets just say that…the alternative was unthinkable," he told the watcher, unconsciously echoing the words he had spoken to Duncan so many years ago, when he'd first met Alexa.

Looking around, he noticed that the other watchers had melted away, leaving only the three immortals, with Hawkins and Peterson, on the volcano top. The volcano rumbled beneath his feet, reminding him that an active volcano was not a place one should linger on. "Let's go," he said as he stepped away from the rim. "I've had enough of this gods forsaken place. "

"What about us?" piped up Hawkins.

Methos paused, gracing the two watchers with a cold look that was disturbingly reminiscent of his days as a horseman. "What indeed," he mused, his voice deceptively calm. Looking up, he caught Amanda's eye. "What do you think?"

Amanda, hesitated, she knew what Methos was asking. "He's a watcher," she eventually said. "Let Joe take care of it."

"Yes, that's probably for the best," muttered Methos, turning his gaze to the two watchers once more, he glared at them. "You heard the woman, get out of here!"

"You…you're just going to let us go?" Peterson asked uncertainly, getting to his feet.

"It would seem so," Methos told him grimly. "But I wouldn't count your blessings just yet; I've a funny feeling that the watcher's tribunal won't be so forgiving. If my memory serves me correctly, they're rather fond of the executions …quot; you'd better start running now."

The two watchers needed no further encouragement. Hastily, they stumbled away and disappeared into the night. Gina sighed into the silence they had left behind. "Well, at least the blizzard has died down," she said.

Methos looked up at the sky in surprise. "So it has, fancy that, I never even noticed."

"Yes, well, I've heard that teetering on the edge of a volcano will do that to you," Amanda joked, her heart wasn't in it, however, and Methos glanced over at her, his face a picture of wary commiseration.

"It had to be done, you know," he told her gently.

"I know," she sighed. "It doesn't make me feel any better about it, though," she added softly.

Methos put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go see what that Highlander of yours has been up to," he suggested, steering her away from the rim.

"Not to mention that husband of mine," interjected Gina as she followed them downwards.

Before long, they felt the quickening of another immortal approaching. Robert and Duncan stepped out of the darkness, their clothes were a little bloodied, but they looked otherwise unharmed - despite the annoyed looks on their faces.

"Did you destroy the stone?" Duncan asked urgently.

"Yes," answered Methos briefly. "Why…what's up?"

"Tribeau got away," Robert informed them disgustedly. "When Tribeau was killed, the other watchers lost it and one of them shot Duncan. Luckily, Tribeau came to before they could get a clear shot at me."

"How did his little watcher buddies take the news that he was immortal," asked an amused Methos.

"Not too well," admitted Robert with a smile. "The last we saw of them, they were chasing Tribeau down the volcano."

"Here's hoping that they catch him," pronounced Methos, a small grin lurking on his lips.

Duncan gave him a wry look. "And if they don't?" he asked pointedly. "What then?"

"No Methuselah stone …quot; no problem," Methos told him with a shrug of his shoulders. "Now he's just another psychotic killer immortal on the loose; nothing more, nothing less."

"Pardon me, if I don't find that thought very comforting," Gina said. "I'd feel a whole lot better if he was dead."

"So would I," Methos replied. "But at least now we don't have to worry about a ticking time bomb under our feet. If one of us comes across him again, we'll naturally take his head, if not…well…his type never stay hidden for long, it's not in their nature." Reluctantly, the others agreed with him.

Their progress downhill was slow, each immortal lost in their own thoughts as they descended. Eventually, however, they made it back to the camp. "Turner is gone," Robert announced to the others after he pulled his head out of their former captive's tent.

"Surprise, surprise," muttered Methos, finishing off his phone call with Joe before he gave his full attention to Robert. "I should be annoyed, but I can't seem to stir up enough energy to care." With a snort, Robert rolled his eyes before he wandered off to help Gina pack their tent.

By dawn they were making their way down the slope, the return trip was a lot more pleasant because of the lack of snowfall, nobody commented on it, however. In unspoken agreement, they decided it was better not to tempt the gods a second time.

They reached the vehicles by late afternoon and were treated to an enthusiastic welcome by Joe and Amy. "Any sign of the watchers?" Methos asked as he threw his equipment into the back of the SUV.

"Not a glimmer," Joe informed him. "They must have cleared out before we arrived. Don't worry, though, I've already contacted the watcher's tribunal in Paris, they're being hunted down as we speak."

"So…it's over?" Robert asked uncertainly.

"It would seem so, yes," Duncan said. "Its time to go home."

"Home," sighed Amy. "Music to my ears, lets get going, then. I can hear my bath calling to me as we speak!"

They set off into the night.

EPILOGUE

Methos peered into the murky waters that flowed inside the pool before him. He knew that he shouldn't have come here, but the temptation proved too great. It hadn't been the first time he had come to these waters looking for answers but he had always pulled back before he took the final step. And this time, he realised, was no exception. As tempting as he sometimes found the idea, he knew he wasn't going to step into the waters this time, either.

Why, he didn't know. According to Darius, these waters had the power to heal his memory problem and Tribeau's research seemed to back that theory up. All he had to do was step into it. Perhaps he had gotten used to the gaps in his memory, he had suffered from the problem for so long it was now as much a part of him as his name. If it was his name, he reminded himself, he sometimes had the vague sense that he'd been born with another one. A not so surprising concept, considering that his name, Methos, was a Greek one and that he'd been born well before the dawn of such a language.

Grimacing, he pulled his mind away from that thought and tugged a small, velvet bag out of his pocket. Dumping the contents onto his lap, he studied the glittering crystals carefully; his nose twitching as he caught the faint odour of bleach that still clung to them. "I wonder if you were worth all that trouble," he muttered out loud as he picked up one of the pieces and studied it. With a sigh, he dropped the piece back into the velvet bag before scooping up the rest of the pieces and dropping them inside also.

It had been a week since they'd climbed off that volcano and Methos had spent most of that time worrying about what he would do with contents of this bag. Originally, he had truly meant to destroy the stone but some inkling of caution held him back. If the stone was truly as powerful as Tribeau had thought, what would have happened if he had really thrown it into the volcano's caldera? Methos had decided he'd rather not find out.

So now he found himself lurking around the edges of a dank pool in France, holding the means to end the world within his hand. Methos paused to give up a brief prayer of thanks to the God's for the fact that Kronos was dead, at least he didn't have to worry about his departed his brother popping up and getting his hands on it …quot; but there was still Tribeau, Methos mused.

And there was the crux of his dilemma, Methos realised. He had lied to the others when he had said that Tribeau was no longer a problem. With a soft groan, he got to his feet and pocketed the stone once more. He had originally planned to give Amanda her piece of the stone back, along with an explanation, once things had died down…perhaps in forty or fifty years time, when he knew that all the mortals involved in this escapade were dead. But Tribeau had escaped and now he found himself lumbered with a secret that he couldn't share; it was simply too dangerous. Reluctantly, he came to the conclusion that he may have to hunt down Tribeau.

Muttering under his breath, he stepped out of the cave and away from the temptations of the water. Deep in his thoughts, he hadn't realised that he was being followed until he heard the breaking of a twig behind him. Straightening his shoulders, he raised his voice so that she could hear him. "You can come out now, Amy."

Sheepishly, Amy stepped out from behind a hedge and joined him. "Hi there."

"Hi yourself," he grumbled as he eyed her suspiciously. "So…how much did you see?"

"Enough," she admitted. "But don't worry; there is no way in hell that I'm going to put it in my report."

Methos folded his arms, shaking his head in defeat. "You can't tell anybody, Amy, not even your father," he warned her.

"Scouts honour," she told him, a small smile hovering on her lips. "Dib, dib."

"Amy, you were never in the Boy Scouts," he reminded her.

"Yeah, well…Brownie's honour, then," she said with a shrug. "Same difference."

Methos studied her silently for a moment. "Do you understand why I did it?"

"Oh, I understand it, alright …quot; I just don't agree with it," she said wryly. "You should have told them.

"Too many know of its existence and what it could do, Amy," he told her. "I had to make everybody believe that I'd destroyed it. As for you lot, well, what you don't know can't hurt you."

"But now I do know," Amy reminded him.

"And it's a secret that you're going to have to carry to your grave," he insisted. "I'm not kidding here, Amy, nobody is to know that it still exists…nobody."

"Okay, okay, I get it," she protested. "Never shall I speak of it as long as I live …quot; I'll just make a short note of it in my will…"

"Amy!"

"Just kidding." Giving Methos a cheeky grin, she backed away. "I parked about a half mile down the road," she informed him. "I didn't want you to catch me following you."

"You succeeded," Methos said dryly. "A little too well, as a matter of fact."

"It's from all that practice you give me …quot; keeping me on my toes, I believe you called it."

"Amanda has a big mouth," muttered Methos as he watched Amy disappear down the road. Getting into his car, he fired up the engine and pulled out into the road. It was a good hundred miles to Paris and he wished to get there before the evening traffic…he felt a sudden urge to have a beer at Joe's.

~~FINIS~~