Walls Came Tumbling Down

Anthony Rester rose from his bed at the ringing of his 'phone. He heard the news and considered waking Near. It was only a routine exchange of personnel, but one of the men was his boss's foster brother. Rester yawned, running his hand over his chin to see if the situation warranted a shave. He had only grabbed five hours sleep between leaving his desk and receiving this call. Ordinarily Gevanni took the alternate split shift, but his colleague was in London.

Rester dressed quickly and splashed water onto his face. He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor and marched towards the hub's access door. At the last minute, he doubled back and stood outside Near's room, knocking briskly before he changed his mind again. There was a short shuffling sound within, then Near called out. "What is it, Mr Rester?"

"News from the prisoner escort."

There was a creaking, then footsteps coming towards him. Near opened the door and inspected him with a searching gaze, which soon slid away. His immaculate room was only slightly more gloomily lit than the corridor outside. As well as the lamp, reduced almost into darkness, there was a large picture window affording a penthouse view of the city below. Even in the grey hour before dawn, the streets weren't empty, though New York's buzz was a mere murmur. Near turned and padded away to stare down at it, his finger in his hair, turning a white lock. "Do tell me please."

Rester stepped just inside. Beside the bed was a lego scene, but it was too shadowed for the agent to glean much from viewing it. "Our plane landed at Newark at 04.32 with both individuals on board. Morien Williams has been heavily sedated and placed in the back of an armoured vehicle. Fenian, because of his back issue, was taken in an ambulance." He paused.

Near's hair twirling sped up just a touch. "Did our security detail heavily sedate Fenian as well?"

"Sir, it was felt that, as Fenian could barely walk, and you might wish to speak with him as soon as he arrived, then sedation would not be necessary." Rester watched Near's back and saw the hair slip from between his fingers. His employer leaned his slight frame against the window, with both hands pressed onto the pane. He peered out for all the world like something intensely interesting was occurring in dark Central Park. "As the party awaited transportation at the airfield, Fenian complained that he was in agony. He was given another pain-killer and oxygen."

"Oh?"

It was said lightly, but felt like a challenge. Rester frowned as he replied, "And sedation has proved to be unnecessary. Both vehicles have just entered our parking lot without untoward incident."

Near stepped away from the window. "Fenian is here?" He surveyed his lego scene, a frown on his street-lit features. "Is there a medic with him?"

"Sir." Rester's 'phone was buzzing again. He knew that it was for security clearance into their building from the carpark. "Dr Surratt is with him."

Near lifted a figure from his lego set and shuffled towards his lieutenant. "Dr Surratt is very good."

Rester answered his call, negotiating the progress of the convoy, as they delivered their prisoners into Near's custody. His boss stood in the centre of the hub, staring at the myriad of screens flickering images from around the world. News channels and CCTV feeds flashed in a grotesquely hypnotic kaleidoscope of pictures; and Near seemed to be focusing on none of them in particular. Rester knew better. Near would be seeing them all. A bank of monitors, near to the left-hand exit of the room, showed the internal security camera feeds. Upon them, an escort of uniformed guards shuffled Morien Williams into a holding cell. The large Welshman moved sluggishly under the effects of the sedative. A graze showed purple and red upon his cheek. Near scowled and waited.

Several minutes passed before a trolley bed was rolled through the lift and into the second floor corridor. A second group of guards flanked the metal frame. Near stood on tip-toe, his arms out at a slight angle from his sides, staring up at the sight. Rester, co-ordinating the delivery, muted his call. "I've told Gregory to get Fenian settled into his room. Do you want his straps removed before you visit?"

"He is wearing an oxygen mask." Near was pensive. "His wrists are strapped to the trolley."

"Sir." It was a nondescript thing to say, but Near was stating the obvious and that was unlike him. Rester didn't want to commit himself to saying much more, until Near gave some direction.

Near dropped back to the heels of his feet and surveyed the little green and orange lego figurine. After a few long moments, he spoke blankly. "Bring him in here, as he is." He wandered away to a chair and sat upon it, swivelling slightly from side to side, as his quick gaze grazed the rest of the monitors. He waited for Rester to give the order and to unlock the security door. "Mr Rester, Fenian is the best geologist in the world. He writes a lot of journals."

Rester raised his eyebrows. "I shall have to check them out one day."

"Between 440 and 400 million years ago, two tectonic plates collided, creating modern day Ireland." Near held his figurine between a finger and thumb, inches from his eyes. "Fenian goes underground and finds evidence that no-one ever found before. Then he writes about it in geology journals." He gave a slow smile. "I like his research very much."

They could hear the lift doors opening again and Rester checked the credentials of the officer at the fore. Then he retreated to Near's side, while the trolley was wheeled into the hub. The Irishman's eyes were wide with fright. They were a bright blue, tinged with exhaustion. Snorting breaths sounded from beneath his black oxygen mask. The elastic was caught in his auburn hair, strands of which were stuck to his clammy skin. Rester watched Near sit up straight in his seat, with his neck craned to view their prisoner. He gave just a glance, then eased himself back into contemplation of his plastic toy. The silence was awkward.

Dr Surratt spoke up. "He's as comfortable as we could make him, but his records show that he has a musculoligamentous sprain in the lumbar vertebrae. It has been causing him a great deal of pain." He shuffled, nervously. Near was watching him over the lego piece. "Dr Campbell gave him a pain-killer shortly before I arrived."

Near nodded. "I understand." He placed the toy on the desk and slipped across the carpet to the trolley. "Mr Rester, please remove Dr Campbell's oxygen mask, so he may tell us where Fenian is." The men and two women around him started in confusion. Near just smiled. "Don't you think that people from the Institution are very clever?" He considered it, as Rester took the oxygen mask away to reveal the balled up bandage stuffed into the Irishman's mouth. "But Fenian was very silly this time. He should have known that I was trying to help him."

[i]One Hour Previously - 5.01am Newark Airport, New Jersey[/i]

Fenian was fighting for his life. He knew that. He had sold out Wammy's House and now he was in the USA. Near nearly had him in his grasp, but for the inordinate amount of time that it was taking the paperwork to pass through the airport's authorities. They were in a fairly small room, deep within the bowels of Newark. Fenian lay pinioned to the trolley; with a desperate need for nicotine, and his back a riot of fire and screeching pain. It was no act to have his head turned, face half buried in the flat, padded pillow, and tears oozing down his cheeks.

He kept up a litany of heart-felt groans, gasps and the almost hysterical cries that he was in agony. He needed pain-killers - whatever they had, the strongest that they had. It was all punctuated with whole sentences of gushed Gaelic expletives. None of them spoke the language; not even the auburn haired doctor, with his soft Dublin accent and the mark of Erin in his features and bearing. Definitely not the Kilkenny guard, with his Black Irish looks and tired glare; nor even the second guard, who stood close to sobbing Morien Williams, and had expressed some kindness on the flight here. Fenian had tried the Gailege on all of them, in the hope of finding a brother, who might be persuaded to put a countryman above whatever they were being paid. They had each apologised in English.

All of which became an advantage now, as Fenian's groaned Gaelic switched abruptly into Welsh. They didn't notice. They couldn't. It was all so much Celtic gibberish to them. But Morien Williams was at the end of his tether and Welsh was his native tongue. Fenian told him, with ever increasing desperation and anguish, that they were being taken to an execution room. They had been brought to the USA to die. But moreover their deaths were to be experimental. There had been proof, in Aberystwyth, of the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn - here Morien whimpered - and they were to be tortured into their demise in the hope of summoning her under laboratory conditions. Fenian didn't get much further, before the lumbering Welshman started to flee.

His hands were cuffed behind his back, but his bulk still toppled the guard from County Clare, as he rushed by. The Kilkenny man reached for his firearm, while his partner scrambled on the floor. It was a pathetic gamble. Morien could never get away. The corridor outside was filled with the rest of their Irish escort. It was possibly already filling with the Americans, who were to receive them. Still Fenian screamed out that the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn was coming. She was coming for them. All was in chaos, confusion, and Morien careered into Fenian's trolley bed before he made it to the door. The pain took Fenian's breath away. It took several seconds before he could even scream in the throes of sharp, searing agony.

In the interim, Morien Williams had made it away, through the door. He hadn't got very far. The Kilkenny guard had a hand on his shirt as Morien had rushed through. The Clare guard was out in swift pursuit. Through the gaping doorway, they could hear the Welshman being toppled onto the carpet of the secure area outside. Fenian hissed, "Please. Please. A pain-killer." Tears spilled from his eyes. It really hurt. "Please."

Dr Campbell still seemed uncertain. It had been a long, hard, emotionally draining flight and he should have already been relieved by the American medic. But Fenian was gasping for breath and his face was twisted into a rictus mask. Dr Campbell sighed and filled his syringe. Outside, the struggle went on. A foot kicked in the doorway. They were that close.

"Mae'r Gwrach-y-Rhibyn yn dod!" Fenian screamed, as soon as he had the air in his lungs to do it. The Gwrach-y-Rhibyn is coming. "Mae'r Gwrach-y-Rhibyn yn dod!"

"Ok, fellow, hold still." Dr Campbell told him. The syringe lay ready on the side. "I'm about turning you over, while I inject your spine. Are you ready for this?"

The last thing in the world that Fenian wanted was to be turned over, but it was also precisely what he did want. He switched back to Irish Gaelic to mutter a quick prayer to Mother Mary Herself, then nodded. Dr Campbell reached across him to loosen the strap on Fenian's left wrist. He shrieked, then hissed in pain, as the doctor half turned him onto his side. Fenian wept into the pillow, while the doctor fetched the syringe and injected its contents into Fenian's back. Dr Campbell clucked, soothingly, unable to do much more than this. But the position had allowed Fenian to unbuckle his right-hand strap. As the doctor started to turn him again, Fenian acted quickly. His left hand was clasped over the doctor's mouth, while his right hand cupped the back of his head. With a single, swift movement, Fenian had forced Dr Campbell down, striking hard under the chin against the trolley's long, metal handle. The man collapsed, unconscious.

Outside the scuffle went on, but more subdued now. There were American voices amongst the Irish out there. Fenian didn't care to calculate his chances of success. They were stacked too astronomically against him. He affected a Dublin accent, "There you go. You should feel some relief soon. Just lie back." The door was still open. Fenian imagined a face peeping through to check on them, but it never came. He began easing himself off the trolley, thanking God and all the saints for the fast action of the pain-killer. He raised his voice, yelling more about the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn in the Welsh language. Morien began howling and fighting back. Fenian winced. His plan was too audacious to succeed, but he had nothing else. He used the cover of the noise to slip from under the stirring doctor. He didn't stop himself moaning with the remnant of pain. They would be expecting it.

As soon as he was on his feet, Fenian snatched the white coat from the back of the doctor. He prioritised putting it on, even though Campbell was nearly conscious again. Then he grabbed a wrist and started to strap it into the binds. Dr Campbell awoke. His gaze seemed foggy and his mouth dripped with blood, but adrenaline was kicking in. Fenian let out a loud stream of Gaelic curses, as he punched the man again. There was a snapping sound and Dr Campbell's face froze in shock. It could have been his jaw or his nose. Fenian's fist had covered them both. He manoeuvred the man properly onto his back, on the trolley, causing a clatter of metal on tiles, which had to be heard from outside the open door. It also shot whole new levels of agony through Fenian's tortured back muscles. The pain-killer muted it enough to ignore.

"Is everything alright in here?" The guard's accent was pure Bronx.

Fenian replied, flustered, in his best Dublin brogue, "I was after giving him a pain-killer. He's resisting having his strap applied." As the American approached, Fenian shielded the doctor's face with his own body. The medical bag lay open and within reach. He snagged a bandage and tore at the plastic with his teeth.

Dr Campbell gurgled, "No!"

"He's a pain in the fucking arse." Fenian snapped. "Went for me as soon as your man went outside."

"Back up!" The Bronx guard yelled, as he raced forward. Fenian shoved the bandage into Dr Campbell's mouth and forced the oxygen mask over it. He was lucky. The mask was black. It could have been transparent. He had nothing else to do then, but step back and let the Americans restrain the doctor, while Fenian set up the oxygen cannister. He still couldn't quite believe that this was working. It would all fail the second that any one of the Irish saw him. The alert had probably already been sounded. There was a camera in the corner of the room, rotating softly just below the ceiling.

Fenian forced a smile, as Dr Campbell lay restrained upon the trolley bed. His terrified gaze was rolling from one to the other. "Thank you." Fenian expertly fit the cannister and made his patient as comfortable as he could. He was, after all, a trained paramedic and his instinct sought healing over revenge.

Then he waited, taking stock, unsure what the doctor had planned once the handover had taken place. His back pain had subsided into a dull, sickening ache, as the pain-killer and adrenaline took hold. He listened to Morien being hauled to his feet and dragged away. The mix of accents was still both Irish and American. Fenian faced away from the door, checking through the medical supplies in the bag. Dr Campbell's wheeled carry-all sat beside it. His passport and papers nestled in a mesh side-pocket. Fenian took them out and read them. He had a reservation in a New Jersey hotel. He was staying then. But only for one night. There were no tickets back to Ireland. There had probably been none to the USA either.

"Dr Campbell!" A brisk, New England accent hailed him. Fenian peeped over his shoulder, panicking inwardly that he was supposed to know this man. A jolly, moon-faced smile greeted him, over the top of an extended hand. "I am Dr Surratt. I will be taking over from here." Fenian shook his hand. "Anything that I need to know?"

"Yes." Fenian busied himself with explaining about the pain-killers and oxygen. His back was still turned, his head over the notes with Dr Surratt, as both Kilkenny and Clare guards appeared briefly in the room. But they both left again without the alarm being given. They were all Americans now, taking Dr Campbell out, gagged and strapped to his trolley, until only Fenian, Dr Surratt and a woman in a suit were left. It felt deafeningly quiet. "So are we all good?" Fenian concluded, dreading the moment when he would have to lift the bags.

Dr Surratt nodded, taking the notes from Fenian. "You leave him in my hands now. Near will be very pleased." He slapped Fenian on the shoulder, causing a flinch, which Dr Surratt didn't notice in his hurry to leave too. "Good day to you, Sir." He vigorously shook Fenian's hand again, then left.

"Good morning, Dr Campbell." The woman smiled, warmly. "We have a car waiting for you, if you would just come this way."

Fenian blinked, fighting the urge to cry and still convinced that he would be arrested at any second. He snapped the latch on the medical bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Beside him, the woman already had his carry-all in her hand. Fenian swallowed before he spoke, "I can't be asking you to carry that."

"It's ok." She waved his supposed sentiment away breezily. "We're very liberated in the land of the free." Then she led him out of the airport and into a taxi, where his fare to the hotel was pre-paid.