Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 13 – Revelations

Disclaimer: Of course the WK and Schwarz boys don't belong to me, we just have fun together. I write this stuff for pleasure not profit.

Author's Notes: As always I give thanks to my fabulous beta, Iron Dog.


Crawford settled into his customary leather chair and waited with barely concealed impatience.

There’d been no time to enjoy being home again. Stärke had followed Schwarz and gathered in the front room for the long-overdue meeting between the two teams. Crawford was of the opinion that Stein and his team knew little more than they’d already divulged. He was hoping to be proved wrong, and expecting that he wouldn’t be. He watched without interest as extra chairs were brought into the room and set about. Tea and coffee were provided for those who’d wanted it.

Nagi was sitting in the other armchair, his gaze downcast. He seemed as disinterested in proceedings as Crawford. Between the two armchairs was the love seat, where Schuldig and Farfarello sat, one looking tired, the other alert. Of more importance to the American was the fact they’d chosen to sit at either ends of the two-seater couch. It didn’t put much distance between them, but at least they weren’t almost sitting in each other’s laps. That was something to be thankful for, he reasoned, as his gaze drifted to Schuldig.

The telepath sprawled on the couch, one arm laying along its back, the other on the arm rest. He had a bit more colour back in his face, but he still looked tired, Crawford observed. Being dragged out of bed so early clearly did not agree with the German. Perhaps he ought to be allowed to sleep this afternoon. If he napped in the afternoon, he’d be wide awake later in the night, when Nagi was safely ensconced in his room, and Farfarello was confined to his cell. That thought alone almost made Crawford smile.

Sensing that Schuldig was becoming aware of his gaze, Crawford shifted his attention to Farfarello, who appeared to be watching the general activity in the room. However, closer observation of the Irishman revealed that his whole focus was directed at Stein. His gaze never left the Austrian, who seemed oblivious to the attention, as he watched his team organize themselves.

Crawford couldn’t guess at why the Irishman would be fixating on Stein, but he didn’t think the Austrian was at risk – for now, anyway. Even as he watched, Farfarello withdrew a knife from inside his vest. There was a soft, startled sound from one of the Stärke team – Clara, no doubt; still traumatized by the previous night and her sojourn into the madness that was Farfarello’s mind in full psychotic mode.

Stein had turned his head and spotted what had caused his telepath’s reaction. Now, he looked to Crawford.

“Do you suppose you might have him put that away? It will be a distraction when we’re discussing business,” he said coldly.

“As soon as you’re ready to begin, he’ll put it away,” Crawford replied reassuringly.

Stein held his gaze a moment longer then turned away, repositioning his chair a little further away from Farfarfello’s end of the love seat before sitting down. Crawford bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at the move. Within seconds, all of Stärke were seated.

“Farfarello,” Crawford said.

The Irishman slipped the knife back inside his vest, his gaze once again riveted on Stein, who sat almost opposite him now.

“Shall we start?” Crawford enquired of the Stärke leader.

Stein looked around at all of them gathered there.

“Since the first attack there have been many more questions than answers,” he began. “Investigations proved less than helpful and we were left to rely on theories. There are several theories as to cause and implementation. As is often the case, theories are disproved and others are formulated to take their place. The unfortunate truth is that theories are all we have for the moment.”

He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it to Jerry, who was sitting beside him. “Pass that around to Mr. Crawford,” he instructed. Within seconds Crawford was looking down at a map upon which several locations were numbered and highlighted by red dots. “Those dots are where the attacks took place and the numbers indicate the order in which they occurred,” Stein explained.

His gaze still on the map, Crawford knew what Stein was going to say next. The Austrian didn’t disappoint him.

“Taking into account that map and the location of the attacks,” Stein continued, “and allowing for a perspective we lacked at the time of the first attacks, we now believe that Schwarz were the target right from the beginning.” He paused, looking to the members of Schwarz for reaction.

Crawford didn’t look to his team. He fixed his gaze on Stein and, when that man’s attention was directed his way, he asked in a cold voice, “Exactly how long have you known this?”

“We don’t know anything for certain; this is a theory,” Stein demurred.

“How long have you known about this current theory, then?” Crawford enquired in his politest and deadliest tone.

“A few days now,” Stein admitted.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to us?” Crawford enquired.

“There was no need,” Stein replied dismissively.

“We should have been told,” Crawford insisted, anger coloring his words.

“How would it have helped?” Stein asked calmly. “We were doing the most we could in regards to protection and safety of your team.”

Crawford knew he was flogging a dead horse. He didn’t want to, but he let the matter drop. His report to Eszett would mention his strong dissatisfaction with the way information was being passed on. Crawford didn’t think much would come of that but, as petty as it was, he would at least get the satisfaction of knowing it would be a black mark against Stein’s handling of the whole affair.

“So,” Schuldig said slowly, “if we were the target, the other teams were what? Practice?”

“We believe so,” Stein nodded. “The first team taken down was very small fry. After that, each team was stronger than the one before it. It seems their plan was to test their strength and tackle Schwarz when they believed they were strong enough. However,” Stein gestured broadly with both hands, “as is clear, they…or he or she…failed. Perhaps they were overly confident, or perhaps they underestimated the strength of Schwarz.” He caught Crawford’s gaze and held it. “Either way, we do believe they mean to try again.”

“Why would they think they’d be successful a second time, especially since we’re now aware of them and exercising caution?” Crawford frowned. Stein was still holding back information and his next words confirmed that.

“They’ve resorted to practicing again,” Stein revealed.

Crawford bit down on the anger rising within him. “When?” he asked.

“Two days ago,” Stein answered.

“Where was the team located?”

“Amursk, in Russia.”

“Amursk,” Crawford repeated. “It’s not that far away.”

“Indeed not,” Stein agreed.

“The team?” Crawford prompted.

“Macht. They were bodyguards to an industrialist; an associate of Mr Takatori’s, as it happens. No need to point out that Macht were not small fry. They were a very strong team.”

“Survivors?” Crawford asked.

Stein made a face, which said all they needed to know. “We had hoped their telepath might pull through, but,” he shook his head, “he wasn’t so lucky. Eszett sent another telepath to see if anything was salvageable of Macht’s telepath, but it was such a mess in there…” Stein trailed off on a sigh. “Not even his core personality could be retrieved.”

Clara made a small sound of distress. Schuldig swore softly in German. Both telepaths were aware that to completely scramble a person’s mind to such a degree required considerable mental powers. Whoever was trying to take out Schwarz wasn’t fooling around.

“Given their importance, surely Eszett had sent a team to help protect Macht,” Crawford said.

“They did,” Stein confirmed. “However,” he took a deep breath, “there was little they could do.”

“Did they happen to witness the attack?” Crawford enquired.

“One of them did,” Stein replied. “From their report, it would appear that the team died as one. I have a copy of the report, if you want to read it.”

“I would,” Crawford nodded.

Stein looked to Jerry again and gave a nod. With Stein distracted, Crawford flicked a surreptitious glance at Schuldig. The German’s expression gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Crawford hoped he was running true to form and doing what he’d been told not to do in regards to mind-reading.

Now he looked across at Jerry, who was withdrawing a jewelled CD case from his pocket. He offered it to Crawford, who accepted it and placed it on the arm of the chair before returning his attention to Stein and asking, “What’s being done about the leak?”

“Eszett doesn’t believe there is a leak,” Stein replied.

“The information on the teams is coming from somewhere,” Crawford pointed out.

“Indeed,” Stein agreed. “But the information seems to be old – at least a couple of years out of date. Eszett is on it, as you Americans like to say.”

Crawford could well imagine the effort being put in to find the renegade or renegades who’d dared to tackle Eszett’s own. Crawford found himself of a like mind with the organization he despised. He wanted to find the attackers, too; not out of any sense of compassion, although he knew that death at the hands of Eszett wouldn’t be quick or kind. But Crawford wanted to exact his own revenge against whoever had dared tackle Schwarz.

“However,” Stein went on, “even with the passage of years, some things don’t change. Given their special interest in Japan, it’s natural Eszett would appoint their top team to protect their primary interest here. That one fact has not changed: Schwarz is still Eszett’s top team in the field.” Stein paused briefly before going on. “Given that Schwarz appears to be the target, we have to wonder; do the perpetrators have a grudge against Eszett and/or Schwarz, or are they politically motivated? That is always a possibility, given the man you protect. But until we know more about the assailants, it’s difficult to know what motivates them and what their ultimate goal may be.”

“They’re using psionic powers,” Crawford pointed out. “That smacks of Eszett not politics.”

Stein nodded slowly as he considered the situation. “So it would seem,” he agreed quietly.

Crawford watched him. The Schwarz leader was having a hard time believing that an organization with the resources and talent possessed by Eszett was still clueless in this matter. Something still wasn’t sitting right with Crawford about these attacks.

“Does Eszett know anything at all in regards to these attacks?” he wanted to know.

Raising his gaze to meet the American’s, Stein gave a lazy shrug. “We know they use psionic power to attack. We had assumed they used the links.” Here he stopped and looked at Schuldig. “Perhaps you might enlighten us as to what you remember about the attack on you?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Schuldig replied. “I felt something in the links and, as soon as I realized something was wrong, I shut the links down. After that, I don’t remember much at all.”

Stein frowned deeply. Crawford knew he had to be puzzled by the mention of the links.

“What did you feel?” Stein enquired of Schuldig.

“Mental static – a shitload of it.”

“And you felt nothing prior to that? There was no indication anything was amiss?”

“No.”

Stein frowned again. “It fits with our ‘links’ theory,” he said slowly. “But, as we know, that theory was discounted.”

“Why?” Schuldig asked.

“Because it doesn’t explain why Crawford’s precognitive talent was affected before the attack,” Stein explained.

Crawford felt the telepath’s gaze, and looked across at him. He hadn’t had time to clue Schuldig in on all the circumstances and effects of the attack, but the telepath didn’t seem surprised by this news. Farfarello, Crawford thought to himself. Farfarello must have told him.

“How soon before the attack?” Schuldig asked.

Crawford felt all eyes on him, but kept his attention on Schuldig. “I didn’t See the attack on you,” he replied to the telepath’s question.

“I told him about it,” Stein butted in. “The news seemed to distress him.”

“Losing your Talent? I’d be distressed, too. I’m sure any one of us would be upset at losing our Talent,” Schuldig said, deliberately ignoring the implication of Stein’s remark.

“We’re getting off track,” Crawford interrupted before Stein could respond. “The fact is that my Talent vanished prior to the attack, and that doesn’t fit in with the links theory.”

“I felt them in the links, not in my mind,” Schuldig insisted with a shake of his head.

Stein looked at Crawford. “We may have to reconsider the links as a theory,” he suggested.

“That theory doesn’t explain what happened to me,” Crawford said firmly.

Clara took a short, sharp breath and exhaled it as a whine of pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together, as though to stop herself from throwing up. The sick, greenish look on her face said that vomiting might still be an attractive option.

“Clara?” Stein queried.

She frowned, keeping her eyes closed as she took slow and steady breaths.

“Clara?” Stein tried again, more forcefully.

She opened her eyes and directed a venomous glare at Schuldig.

“I warned you before, sweetheart, don’t do that,” he chided.

“Bastard,” she spat out.

“Stay out of my head,” Schuldig warned her.

Crawford suppressed the smile that tried to form. Christ almighty! How many times had Schuldig heard those words? Life had an ironic sense of humor sometimes.

“I was just checking…” Clara began to whine in her defence.

“There’s nothing to check,” Schuldig cut her off. “I’m fine. My head’s fine. I don’t need you fucking around in there, so stay out.”

Crawford, who’d been watching Stein throughout the brief altercation, saw the fleeting look of annoyance the Austrian gave Clara. The Stärke leader had not been impressed with his telepath’s performance throughout this mission, and there appeared to be another black mark against her. At this rate, she might even find herself demoted.

Clara stood up from her seat, looking ill. “Excuse me,” she said quietly and departed hastily.

Schuldig was smirking as he watched her go.

“I doubt there was any need to be quite so vicious,” Stein said, his gaze on the German. “We are on the same side, after all.”

“She should remember that,” Schuldig replied. “However,” he added before Stein could say anything more. His lazy gaze moved to Crawford, who was made immediately wary by the attention. “It does give me an idea.”

Crawford fought to retain his neutral expression. Schuldig and ideas were not always a good mix, especially not when the telepath had cause to be miffed. Schuldig may have given the appearance that he’d put the incident in the bathroom behind him, but Crawford knew better. He’d known Schuldig was simply biding his time, waiting for the perfect pay-back opportunity. Now the telepath directed his attention at Stein.

“What happens if his Talent continues to fail?” the German asked with a wave of his hand towards Crawford.

Stein made a face. “That would be for Eszett to say,” he answered.

“Hmm,” Schuldig mused. He looked back at Crawford. “That might mean a trip to Rosenkreuz.”

Bastard! Schuldig knew full well what Crawford thought of returning to that hell-hole.

“Perhaps,” the American agreed. His tone was expressionless but he was ready to throttle the telepath for even daring to mention a possibility that included a return to Rosenkreuz.

Being aware that he was sharing the attention of the others in the room, he refrained from directing his best death-glare at the German prick. Schuldig had something in mind, and he was dragging it out, no doubt enjoying every second of his leader’s mental squirming.

“Of course, there may be another way,” Schuldig continued. He spoke slowly, as though getting his thoughts in order but Crawford knew the telepath already had his plan formulated. Blue eyes, with the devil in their depths, held his gaze. “If you’d let your shields down, someone could take a look and maybe see what the problem is.”

Crawford drew a slow, deep, steadying breath and it didn’t help calm him down one bit. If there hadn’t been so many witnesses, he would have gladly strangled Schuldig right there and then. He wasn’t entirely convinced that it would be a bad idea to choke the life right out of the German. Crawford could always claim to have been provoked. Everybody knew Schuldig was Eszett’s problem child.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Stein agreed.

That was the worst of it, Crawford acknowledged. He knew it was a good idea. It might provide answers that couldn’t be obtained any other way. But…the thought of Schuldig in his head…. Crawford had spent so long keeping the telepath out that he couldn’t imagine inviting him in. He could hardly bear the thought of the nosey German poking around in his head. There were things he did not want Schuldig to know – his thoughts about the telepath’s involvement with their Irish Berserker, not the least of them.

“Crawford?” Stein prompted.

How could he refuse? He couldn’t excuse himself on the grounds that Schuldig was obnoxiously nosey and would wander into places he had no right to be, digging up information he had no right to know and delving into memories that weren’t any of his business. He couldn’t admit to everyone that he didn’t trust one of his team mates to run loose in his head. The endless mirth he read in the telepath’s eyes gave him his answer. He couldn’t refuse. He had to allow it. Oh God, but Schuldig was going to pay for this – and pay dearly.

“I have no objection,” he replied.

How Schuldig managed to contain his glee was beyond Crawford. Mentally, the damned telepath had to be jumping for joy. For so long he’d been irritated by the fact that, for all his Talent, he could not get inside the American’s head, and now… Crawford could hardly bear the thought. The telepath wasn’t only being allowed in but actually invited inside. Well, Crawford thought, there may be no way to stop him; however, he was going to remind the telepath that this was not an access-all-areas visit.

“Ready?” Schuldig asked, his tone containing none of the excitement he had to be feeling.

Crawford took a deep breath. “Ready.”

Schuldig closed his eyes and, fighting every instinct in his body, Crawford lowered his shields.

He felt Schuldig immediately. The telepath swarmed into his mind, his jubilation almost making Crawford dizzy. Crawford fought against instincts that screamed at him to slam his shields into place.

I’ll give you one warning, Schuldig. If you stray from your target, I will put my shields back up and trap you here, and I will make your stay a living hell.

Aww, Brad, why so mean? I’m only here to help.

Brad Crawford was not the type to be shocked but he was shocked now; shocked by the intimacy of hearing that voice in his head. He suppressed a shiver. He’d heard Schuldig’s voice in his head thousands of times, but it had never sounded like this; so low and sensual, slithering over his senses like the finest silk. Maybe they ought to have conducted this session in private, Crawford considered as he resisted the urge to shift in his seat.

It’s different when we use the links, Schuldig informed him.

Damn it! He’d forgotten Schuldig could hear his thoughts now.

It’s like the difference between sex with a condom and sex without a condom – but more so, Schuldig continued.

Invisible hands stroked his pleasure centers and Crawford jerked sharply in his chair, drawing concerned looks from the others in the room. He wanted to moan with the sensual touch and forced the sound back down his throat with iron will.

Crawford held up a hand. “It’s all right,” he assured them in a low voice.

Fuck it, Schuldig, don’t do that! he warned.

He heard the annoying laugh. Telepathy obviously didn’t soften everything about the German, he mused.

With his gaze resting on the telepath’s still body, it occurred to him that it was rare to see Schuldig like this these days. At Rosenkreuz, it was routine to see telepaths closing their eyes and losing themselves in another’s mind. But it had been some time now since he’d seen Schuldig tackle mind-reading in this way. The German’s Talent was so strong that he could invade a mind and carry out a normal conversation at the same time. Seeing him like this – so still and pale and barely breathing – was an unpleasant reminder of the four days he’d spent comatose, but it was also an indication of just how focused he was on his task, despite the way he was delighting in irritating his leader… Crawford’s thoughts ground to a halt.

Now the bastard was humming.

Schuldig, find what you’re after and get out! Crawford ordered.

Well, you’d think that would be easy in a mind as orderly as yours, but it’s proving a little troublesome, Schuldig replied.

Even without the added bonus of mental stroking, the sound of the telepath’s voice in his head was a huge turn-on for Crawford. That this was true surprised – and annoyed – him. He didn’t want to keep thinking along those lines with the subject of those thoughts still roaming around in his head. But the fact was, he’d have gladly put up his shields, picked up Schuldig’s mindless body from the couch and taken him to the bedroom. Once there, he’d have lowered his shields again, but allowed the telepath to continue to mind speak while they indulged in some slow, steamy sex.

I like the way you think, Schuldig purred in approval.

Damn it all! You’re putting thoughts in my head, Crawford accused.

Schuldig gave a short laugh. Stop pretending you’ve never had a raunchy thought in your life, Brad, he chided. That thought was all yours and you know it.

Just get on with it!

Schuldig laughed again then was thankfully silent. Crawford closed his eyes and focused on mundane matters. His original concerns about where the telepath’s cat-like curiosity might take him had become secondary to his concern that if Schuldig didn’t shut up, get on with his task and get out of his head, he was going to have a very obvious hard-on.

Crawford relaxed back further in the chair, using the movement as an excuse to cross his legs and place his hands in his lap. In his head, Schuldig became almost hysterical with laughter.

Shut. The. Fuck. Up, Crawford warned.

Oh, Brad, it’s such fun being in your head, Schuldig gasped. We really have to do this again soon.

You’ve got five minutes to find what you came here to find, Crawford told him.

I can get you hard in under five, even without telepathy. Schuldig’s reminder was delivered in a whisper that was more erotic and more of a turn-on than his normal mind-speaking.

Crawford could feel the hairs rising all over his body, and his cock twitching as blood rushed to his groin. His nipples tightened and his balls suddenly felt full and heavy. Crawford could have almost sworn that he could taste the German on his tongue. He ground his teeth in annoyance.

Damn it, Schuldig, just do what you came here to do and get the fuck out!

The telepath laughed again; a low, sensual laugh that only inflamed Crawford’s discomfort. The American had had enough. He’d lost control of what was happening and, after the last few days, he’d vowed and determined not to lose control of himself or situations again. Short of killing the telepath, which wasn’t a real option, no matter how tempting the thought might be, he had only one defence.

I won’t warn you again, Schuldig. Next time, the shields go up.

Fuck, you’re pissy when you don’t have your Talent. Actually…

Don’t, Crawford warned.

Schuldig muttered lowly but, on this occasion, was smart enough to know when he’d pushed his leader far enough. Either that, or he’d grown bored with taunting the American. Whatever the reason, Schuldig grew quiet. Crawford could still feel him but was spared having to listen to him. Perhaps his libido could settle down now. He was certain he heard a faint snicker at that thought, but chose to ignore it.

For long minutes he sat there, keeping track of the telepath and ensuring he didn’t stray into forbidden territory. A couple of warnings were all that were required to keep Schuldig at his appointed task and, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt the spike of curiosity even before Schuldig spoke.

Ah, what’s this?

Crawford hoped Schuldig had found the cause of his problem and sat, waiting patiently for further information. Seconds seemed like an eternity to him right then.

Schuldig? he prompted when he could wait no longer.

Just a minute. The telepath sounded distracted. Crawford tried to exercise patience, but he was itching to know what Schuldig had found. Bare seconds later he felt Schuldig’s surprise and heard the low whistle. Well, this is interesting, the telepath said lowly. Very interesting, in fact.

What is it? Crawford wanted to know.

Hold still a moment, Schuldig instructed.

Forcing himself into silence, Crawford waited, wondering just what the German had found. If he’d discovered the cause of his problem, Crawford prayed he could correct it. If he couldn’t, Eszett would send a Healer, and the last thing Crawford wanted was for an Eszett lackey to be let free in his head.

Don’t worry, I won’t let Eszett get their grubby little hands on your mind, Schuldig purred. Not when I like to play here so much. We really must do this again, Brad.

Crawford thought it prudent not to snap at the German right now. No doubt Schuldig was thinking the exact same thing, and that was why he’d chosen that precise moment to revert to his usual, annoying self. When that thought brought no response, Crawford knew the telepath was fully focused on his task once more. He cleared his mind, not wanting to give Schuldig any cause for distraction. Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness but eventually Schuldig sighed, causing the American’s flesh to goose bump all over.

Done, he announced.

The problem’s fixed? Crawford asked, ensuring he kept all signs of anxiety to a minimum.

What do you think? Schuldig replied smugly. Damn but I’m good.

The smug tone irritated Crawford and he held back on the thanks he’d been about to offer.

Schuldig gave a low laugh. You can thank me later, he said as he once more stroked Crawford’s pleasure centers.

The erection that had started to fade surged back full force as Crawford was treated to an image of the telepath lying on his bed, naked, sweaty and wanting. He growled lowly as a warning, but said nothing. Schuldig’s low laugh echoed in his mind.

The laugh was overshadowed by the stuttering breath Schuldig took as his mind and body reunited. The telepath looked very pale and when his eyes fluttered open, their gaze was unfocused.

“Well?” Stein asked expectantly of the telepath.

Schuldig let out a small groan and closed his eyes again. “I’m tired,” he said in a barely audible voice.

Stein looked to Crawford for information. The American shook his head. “I don’t know what he found,” he said. “Perhaps we should give him time to rest, and meet again this afternoon,” he suggested.

Schuldig looked close to passing out and Crawford wasn’t prepared to tax him further.

Stein seemed about to protest but changed his mind. “Very well,” he agreed grudgingly. “But time is of the essence, so it will be early afternoon.”

Crawford checked his watch. “Make it two o’clock,” he said.

After checking his own watch, Stein nodded. “Two o’clock it is.” He looked around at his team. “Let’s go.” As he stood up, he looked at Verena. “Go and see if Clara is all right.”

As Verena left the room, Stein turned back to Crawford, who’d also risen to his feet. “Until we know what your telepath found – or didn’t find – remind him to refrain from using his telepathy…just in case. He’s not so strong at the moment, so he could become an easy target. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“I doubt he needs reminding, but I’ll mention it,” Crawford replied, ignoring Stein’s jibe.

He steered the two men to the front door and waited with them until Verena and Clara, who still looked ill and in ill-humour, joined them. There were brief good-byes before Crawford closed the door, thankful to be rid of them at long last, even if only for a few hours.

Back in the front room, he found Schuldig lying on the couch, exhausted and in no mood to be sociable. Farfarello was hovering by the telepath and Nagi was nowhere to be seen.

“Just let me fucking sleep,” Schuldig snarled when Crawford attempted to move him.

The American relented. He had intended to take Schuldig to his room and let him sleep in his own bed but the couch would suffice. Returning to the leather chair he’d been sitting in previously, Crawford picked up the CD Jerry had given him before ushering Farfarello from the room.

“Just leave him to sleep,” he instructed the Irishman.

Farfarello eyed the now-closed door for a moment, then turned and walked away. Crawford stood watching him until he disappeared into his room, then he headed for the study. He wanted to read the Macht report before Stein and the rest of Stärke returned.

After closing the door behind him, he crossed the room and set the CD down beside his laptop. Then he sat behind his desk with a sigh and, removing his glasses, he relaxed back and closed his eyes, taking a moment to himself just to enjoy the quiet and the simple pleasure of being home.

He managed to keep all thoughts at bay for almost a minute before his mind began to grapple once more with questions and theories relating to the attack. Schuldig had been unwavering in his claim that he’d felt the attack through their shared links. But, no matter which way you looked at it, that didn’t explain the loss of Crawford’s Talent. A telepath could hook into mind links formed by another telepath, but they couldn’t use them to access a mind, no more than someone could break into a house via the telephone lines. If that were possible, Schuldig would have been all over the American’s mind long before now. He hadn’t because he couldn’t. He could use the mind links to talk to Crawford and the others during a mission; he could make Crawford hear him when he mind-spoke, but he could not read the precog’s mind because he couldn’t access it.

All of which made Crawford extremely curious to know what Schuldig had found in his mind. But it seemed he would have to continue being patient. In fact, they all would. Schuldig had been pushed too hard, too fast and now they would all have to wait to learn what the telepath knew. Stein hadn’t liked the delay, but that hardly mattered to Crawford. In fact, in view of what they’d learned about Macht, Crawford was seriously considering contacting those who mattered at Eszett and suggesting Stärke were wasting their time acting as bodyguards to Schwarz. Macht’s own guards had proved worthless, and he really saw no point to Stärke’s continued presence.

It wasn’t just selfishness that was making him think along these lines, although getting Stein out of his life would be a blessing. The fact was, he may be able to deal with Stein’s incessant jibes by stoically ignoring them, but Schuldig would not. The German’s temper was easy to spark and difficult to quell. Stein’s taunts were becoming more frequent and you didn’t need to be a precog to know that Schuldig’s ability to ignore them was eroding fast. The only reason his fiery temper hadn’t already gotten the better of him was that he was feeling so unwell. Once he was feeling better, Stein was going to make one crack too many then all Hell would break loose. It wasn’t an enticing scenario at all and it wasn’t a situation Crawford wanted to deal with. Best to have Stärke removed before…

All thought stopped dead in Crawford’s mind. His eyes snapped open and he stared straight ahead, hardly daring to breathe; hardly daring to believe he was experiencing those long-absent but familiar and oh-so-welcomed sensations. His eyesight was unfocused and a barely discernible tingling played over his skin and scalp.

He continued to stare ahead, seeing nothing but the scenario in his mind. Bare seconds later, he blinked, coming back to himself and his surroundings. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking where they rested on the arms of the chair. The vision had been brief but it had been enough to send his emotions on a roller-coaster ride. The thought that his Talent had returned should have made him delirious with relief. He was relieved – but what he’d Seen was enough to dampen any excitement he felt.

The vision had shown him someone lying on the ground, an ever-expanding patch of red spreading over their chest and staining their white suit. He’d been unable to see the face because Farfarello had been in the way. He closed his eyes, recalling what he’d seen and trying to determine who had been on the ground. The white suit suggested it was a member of Schwarz and Crawford wanted to know who. Obviously it hadn’t been Farfarello. He’d been blocking Crawford’s view, not lying on the ground bleeding away his life. The precog tried to recall body size but could only remember the white suit and the red blood.

As much as he wanted his Talent back, he hoped to God this was an aberration; some peculiar effect of having Schuldig in his head, and not a real vision at all.

He barely had time to finish that thought when his eyesight blurred again and the tingling was back – much stronger than he’d ever experienced before. He felt his heart pick up its beat, and swallowed against the constriction in his throat. Visions usually didn’t affect him in this way, but his Talent had been tampered with, denied him for too long so who was to say what the consequences would be.

His heart had settled to its regular beat and he no longer felt like he was choking, but the tingling sensation was so strong as to be almost painful. He only had time to curse silently under his breath before his whole focus was on the scene playing out in his head.

He was in a car with the other members of Schwarz. All of them were wearing their white business suits. The car was familiar – one of Takatori’s fleet of limousines. As the vehicle came to a halt, he opened the door and stepped out, taking in the surrounding forested mountains as he waited for the others to join him. Nagi was soon at his side, adjusting the shoulder strap of the bag that carried his laptop. Schuldig followed him out, and was stepping to one side when he suddenly stopped.

“What…” Crawford began.

“Down! Get…” Schuldig was cut off and falling even as they heard the crack of gunfire.

The German staggered backwards into Farfarello, who’d been last out of the car. The Irishman’s strong arms wrapped around the telepath, holding him close and tight and preventing him from falling to the ground. Farfarello sank to his knees, still holding Schuldig against his chest and speaking his name in a low, pleading voice. Crawford moved to kneel in front of them. He saw that Farfarello had one hand pressed hard against the chest wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

God, if it hadn’t been so horrifying, Crawford might have laughed at the image of Farfarello trying to prevent someone from bleeding. But he didn’t laugh. He fumbled for his cell phone, watching as Schuldig, his head rested back on Farfarello’s shoulder, battled to remain conscious. He spoke to the German but couldn’t hear what it was he said. Strange, when he could clearly hear Farfarello’s whispers, imploring Schuldig to hold on. He saw the telepath’s eyes flutter and open and flutter closed again. Schuldig was losing his battle against death. He was pale, his skin had a waxy texture and his eyes, when they were open, were glassy. Crawford dragged his gaze away, focusing on his phone. He pressed buttons frantically then put the phone to his ear and returned his attention to Schuldig. Within two rings his call was answered, but even as he was issuing instructions, he saw Schuldig become still.

“No!” The word came out of Farfarello as a low, feral sound, as he held Schuldig tighter and pressed his face against the telepath’s neck. His wiry frame shook and a low keening sound started as Farfarello began rocking back and forth with Schuldig’s limp body in his arms.

Crawford stared into the dead, blue eyes, the phone forgotten in his hand…

…and came out of the vision gasping for breath. His hands clenched the arms of his chair in a vice-like grip as he tried to calm his breathing. He’d never had a vision that detailed before. Usually he saw glimpses of events, sometimes several glimpses of the same event that allowed him to piece together what to expect. But never - never - anything like he’d just experienced.

What had Schuldig done while he’d been in his mind? Had he meddled with something he ought to have left alone? Or was this just a consequence of having his Talent tampered with?

God! He let out a deep, unsteady breath and gathered back his scattered thoughts. What he’d been shown had shaken him, certainly. But, as he knew, if a vision gave him a warning and he heeded that warning, catastrophe could be avoided. This one would be avoided. He had no doubt as to the location of his vision, and he would instruct his team to exercise extreme caution when they ventured to Mr. Takatori’s guest house.

Putting aside the actual content of the vision, he had to admit that Seeing events in such detail would be a huge advantage to him. Whether his visions would continue to be so detailed was something he didn’t know. He suspected they wouldn’t. He suspected that things would soon return to normal and, in truth that was fine by him. After too long without his Talent, having it back would be enough.

Now he was over the initial shock of what he’d Seen, the temptation to go and wake Schuldig and ask him what he’d done was overwhelming. But Crawford stayed where he was. He knew better than to expect co-operation from the telepath when his sleep had been interrupted. But the precog also had to admit that his vision played a part in the consideration he was extending to Schuldig.

He’d had visions where he’d seen a member of Schwarz injured, but he’d never before had one in which he’d witnessed the death of a team mate. At Rosenkreuz, he’d been subjected to all manner of gruesome and disturbing visions – though not of the precognitive type – as the teachers and tutors sought to toughen up their charges. He’d left that institution diamond-hard and there was little his visions could show him that could shake him up. But this vision had been different. This had been much more detailed than anything he’d ever Seen previously and what it had shown him had shaken him on a deeply personal level.

It won’t happen, he vowed silently to himself.

He sat still and quiet a short time longer, waiting for any further visions that might come. But there were no more. He drew a deep breath before picking up the CD Stein had given him. Within seconds he was lost in the Macht report.

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