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    Rick, Michelle, and Joe somberly faced each other across the now empty conference table.  The other Watchers had filed out, no closer to a solution than they had been before the meeting started.  What a joke, Rick thought, these guys were some of the same jerks who felt a moral duty to kill all the immortals they could find, and now that there's no more immortals left to hunt, all they can talk about is Cristos and his Judgment Day.  They're pathetic, really--and I used to fear these bastards, too.

    "Look," he finally said to the other two, "your field team isn't going to be any help here.  I don't know if the Year Two Kay thing finally caught-up with them, or if they just can't face the fact that almost every immortal has taken-off for parts unknown, leaving them with way too much free time on their hands.  Whatever.  In any case, if the answer's going to get found, then it's gonna be because the three of us find it--not because Cristos drops it down from Heaven into our laps."

    Joe winced, but nodded his agreement.  "Yeah, Rich ... uh, Rick," he said.  "You're right about that.  It's not so much that they think Cristos has the answers to the problem, but more like they've run out of answers themselves.  They just don't know what else to do and, frankly, neither do I."

    "Well I haven't given up yet!" Michelle announced.  "I've sat here for the past half-hour listening to a lot of pseudo-religious drivel and outright nonsense ... and I for one think the answer can be found here and now rather than at Sunday's sermon!  Mr. Dawson, you may think my statistical analyses are somewhat flimsy and full of holes, but they're as solid as granite compared to what I just heard from your so-called 'field team'!"

    "Well, I can't argue with you there, Michelle," he said quietly.  "I have to be honest with you and tell you that they're letting me down, as well.  And please, call me Joe.  I always think of my dad when somebody calls me Mr. Dawson."

    "All right, Joe.  As far as I'm concerned, I'm right back where I started a week ago.  Hundreds of immortals are missing--and more are disappearing each day!  We don't know how and we don't know why.  But we do know that MacLeod was the first to go ... and Rick here was as close to MacLeod as any immortal has ever been."  Michelle paused  as a new thought hit her.  "As a matter of fact, I believe that you, Joe, were as close to MacLeod as any living mortal has ever been ... other than his lovers, I mean."

    Joe nodded.  "Yep.  You nailed it, sister.  Sure, Rick and I were MacLeod's best friends.  But what does that do for us?  Neither Rick nor I know where MacLeod disappeared to.  Don't you think that if I knew something I would have told you and the others by now, instead of sitting here on my keister, wearing-out the seat of my pants?"

    Michelle said quietly,  "Yes, I believe that you would have spoken-up by now.  I do believe that if you had something to contribute that would help us find the missing immortals, you would have let us know.  That is, unless you felt some obligation to hide some facts from the Watchers ... perhaps out of duty, respect--or friendship."

    Joe stared back.  "What have you been smoking, Michelle?" he said.  "Get this straight once and for all.  I want to find the missing immortals.  Just.  As much.  As you do.  Maybe more--since MacLeod's my friend.  Trust me on this one:  I do not have any hidden aces up my sleeve.  If I knew something--anything--I would throw it on the table and see how it played!"

    "Fine, Joe," Michelle replied calmly.  "Then please explain who Adam Pierson really is ... and how he relates to the immortals."

    Rick watched the back-and-forth between the two, and saw that Michelle's last shot had scored.  Michelle was no fool, and she had obviously picked-up on Joe's message to Rick this morning, that their good friend Methos, the eldest immortal, was among the missing.  She had bided her time, waiting for the best moment to challenge Joe on the real reason why Richie needed to know about the disappearance of a single Watcher.  Joe just sat there staring at Michelle--he didn't know how to answer the question without revealing Methos' identity as the only known immortal to have infiltrated the Watcher organization.  The silence stretched while Joe fumbled for an answer--any answer--that didn't make him out to be a liar.  Rick didn't think he was going to be able to pull it off.  "Michelle," he finally said, "as I told you last night, there's a ton of stuff that doesn't make it into the official Chronicles."

    Michelle's green eyes didn't waver from Joe's dark stare as she answered Rick's statement.  "Agreed.  And this is another of the secrets that you boys learn to keep from your mammas, lest you get punished.  But this is not about punishment; not right now it isn't--it is about solving a very complex mystery so that we can understand what is happening to the immortals, so that we Watchers can be there at the end, whatever it may turn out to be.  And your protected secrets and blood-oaths and midnight rituals are not going to help anybody right now.  All they are going to do is keep me from understanding what I've given the past six months of my all-too-short mortal life to understand.  And all of your secrets may end-up causing the Watchers irreparable harm."

    "Michelle--" Joe said, trying to buy some time to answer her challenge without betraying Methos' secret,  "--Richie's right.  There's an awful lot that's not in the Chronicle records.  You know, most of the stuff I see and hear, I write down.  The events that happen--the outline of the plot, I guess you could say--they make it into the Chronicles mostly the way they happened.  But some things I don't put in.  The motivation and character and purple prose that make-up the 'behind the scenes' aspect of the story--a lot of that I leave-out for one reason or another.  And I don't think I'm alone in that, you know?"  He tried the "innocent charmer" grin that usually worked so well for him.  Rick could tell that Michelle wasn't buying it.

    "Let me handle this, Joe," he said, "after all, I'm the immortal here.  Mac and I are the ones who benefited from the lies, and if the truth is going to be put on the table, then I guess it's my responsibilty--more than yours--to tell it."  Joe nodded gratefully to the young immortal.  The young kid's done some growing in the past coupla years, he thoughtfully noted.

    "Michelle, look at me for a sec," Rick said to the young woman at his side.  Her skeptical eyes turned to peer into his blue ones, wondering if he would lie to her--and if her heart could bear the pain if he did.  Something had happened last night--something unexpected and wonderful--and she didn't know if she could handle a lie on top of all the intimacies that they had shared.

    "Adam Pierson is a friend," he started to explain.  "He is a Watcher, yes--just as Joe said.  Everything Joe said is the truth.  Adam was in Research, just like you are now, except he was working on the Methos Project.  He left a couple of years ago, when Joe here was up on charges of interference--remember?  They almost put a bullet in Joe's head for 'treason', as they called it--when all Joe ever did was help his friends out of a few jams.  You must have still been in Training when the Watchers turned Paris upside-down looking for Mac; and they took Jakob Galatti's head right there in Watcher Headquarters--right in front of Mac and Joe.  Adam couldn't deal with that, with wondering when the axe was gonna fall on his head, as well.  So he quit and tried to go it alone, kinda like I did."

    Michelle looked thoughful.  "What you are saying only makes sense if Adam had something to hide, something that would cost him his life if the Watchers learned of it."

    Rick nodded.  "You got it.  Adam Pierson was the other friend--beside Joe--who didn't lose faith when everybody else thought I was dead.  Together, they searched the racetrack until they figured-out what had happened, and then they waited for Caruso to come out of hiding.  When he did ... well, they took care of him.  Permanently."

    "You mean this Adam Pierson and Joe were the ones who rescued you?  But I thought it was some other immortals, maybe Amanda or somebody like that.  You're saying that Joe and Adam not only interfered in The Game, but also ... killed an immortal?  Took his head?"

    "Yep.  My friend Joe here--" he put his arm around Joe's shoulder.  Joe looked somewhat uncomfortable with the show of affection.  "--he and Adam Pierson saved my life.  So you can see why that'd be something that wouldn't make it into the Chronicles.  Why take a bullet in the head for telling the whole truth, and nothing but?  Better to leave the names out of it, and better still not to discuss the whole story with folks who weren't there."

    Her eyes searched his, as if the truth could be determined within them.  "But you are not telling me everything, are you Rick?" she finally asked.  "There's more to the story; there must be.  Else why would Adam Pierson be missing like the immortals?"

    Her green eyes opened wide and her mouth fell open as the truth finally hit her.  "Unless ... Adam Pierson was an immortal as well!  Mon Dieu!  An immortal masquerading as a Watcher!  This is incredible!  No wonder you didn't want to discuss him in front of me."

    Rick and Joe both nodded, their relief evident.  At least they hadn't abused Methos' trust, they rationalized, she had figured it out on her own.  And she hadn't connected Adam Pierson to the mythical immortal named Methos, so his real secret was still safe.  Now they could go on.  But go on to where?  There was still the insoluable mystery confronting them, the mystery of the disappearing immortals.

    Idly, Rick picked-up the Cristos flyer that one of the Watchers had left behind.  He smiled at the teaser--"Who Wants to Live Forever?"--and turned the page.  On the inside cover was a personal message from Cristos, himself.  He started to read it.

    It said, "Each of us has within themselves the seeds of godliness.  When we do an act of kindness, when we forgive someone--or ourselves--we see a reflection of that godliness.  Yes, we are all men and women, but we are more than just men and women.  As the Millennium approaches, we must all realize and be conscious of what we truly are--and what we have the capacity of being."  Hmmm, kinda interesting, he thought as he continued to skim the pamphlet. All this gobbledy-gook about preparing for The End and being ready for Judgment Day.  No wonder so many people were ready to hand over their wallets so that they could say they'd heard the message in person.  It was an age-old message about death and rebirth, with some New Age sensitivity jargon thrown-in for good measure.

    "Well," he finally said, interrupting Joe and Michelle as they discussed how an immortal could bypass the Watcher Security checks, and how an immortal could use the information in the Watcher Database to his advantage in The Game.  "Let's do a recap here, okay?"  Both Joe and Michelle nodded.

    "Michelle here has a theory based on some statistical patterns, which may or may not be correct.  But in any case, there's no way to use that theory to solve the mystery, right?  All it does is say Maybe this is The Gathering, or Maybe something else is happening.  We can't use the patterns or that knowledge to find any immortal or to know how or why they're all disappearing.  Now, Joe here has a ton of facts, like who disappeared and how and when and under what circumstances, right?  But that doesn't help us 'cause there's no pattern that we can use to predict who's gonna be next, or where the missing immortals are.  So we know that ninety percent of the immortals disappeared alone in bed at night--that doesn't tell us who did it or how it was done, right?"

    Michelle and Joe followed Rick's monologue, nodding at the appropriate places.  Nobody had anything to add, though they obviously didn't relish hearing the situation summarized in such blunt terms.

    "So I think that just leaves us all with two facts to hang our hats on," Rick said.

    "What's that, buddy?" Joe asked.

    "Well, the first fact is that I'm here, right in plain sight.  I haven't vanished, and you're both right here with me.  So long as you both stay with me, at least you'll be tracking one immortal who hasn't gone anywhere."

    Joe nodded.  "Already thought of that one, pal.  In fact, there's about fifty Watchers right outside that door who wouldn't mind locking you in the hoosegow and throwing away the key, just to be sure that we knew where one immortal was, anyway."

    Michelle looked upset.  "That's barbaric!" she said.  "Why not bring James Horton back from the dead and put him in charge of the search?"

    Joe looked pained.  Rick made a mental note to tell Michelle later about how Horton had been Joe's brother-in-law, and how Joe had chosen friendship to Mac over being an accomplice to Horton's murderous plans.

    "Well, I hope you convinced 'em that immortals could sneak through walls, or something like that, Joe," he said.  "I'm not planning on spending the next century or so locked-up in a Watcher dungeon."

    "I told 'em that it would be better to leave you alone and see what you did," Joe replied.  "Of course, now there's about a hundred Watchers on you at all times, and we've got a tracker on your SUV, as well."  He paused, then grinned wickedly.  "And I told 'em not to bug your bedroom--though it was something of a temptation, let me tell you!"

    "Great," Rick said.  "I need the Watchers like I need the ressurection of the Four Horsemen.  Best news you ever gave me was that Mac had taken their heads."

    Joe nodded, but asked, "So what's the other factoid that we have, other than your presence, of course?"

    Rick picked-up the flyer and passed it over to his old friend.  "The other fact is that Cristos is speaking this Sunday, and that most of your field team is gonna be there to check him out.  We're gonna be there as well."

    "Why, for God's sake?" Joe asked.  It was clear from her expression that he spoke for Michelle, as well.  "Why would you want to waste your money on this guy?"

    Rick smiled fondly at them both.  "Well, I could say that I was making it easier for you to Watch me, since I was going where the Watchers are gonna be.  Or I could say that I was interested in Cristos' message, about wanting to live forever.  But neither of those would be the truth."

    "Well, give, for the love of Pete!"

    "Truth is ... I don't know what else to do.  We can sit here for the next six weeks twiddling our thumbs and listening to you play the blues, or we can go check out what this guy has to say like everybody else is doing.  Basically ... why not?"
 

*****
 
 

    "With six weeks left in this century," the amplified voice from the podium thundered,  "what have you done to prepare for the next millennium?  With six weeks left before the Apocalypse, what have you done to make ready for Judgment?"  Cristos, dressed in robes of black trimmed with crimson and gold, pounded the podium as he challenged his audience.  "You have spent your whole lives pursuing pleasures of the flesh.  You have spent your whole lives worshipping the insatiable twin gods of materialism and capitalism, as you feverishly pursue salaries and bonuses and promotions, and your preferred memberships in the Home Shopping Clubs on your internet-capable cable HDTVs that aren't as big nor as bright as those of your neighbors'.  You have spent years lying to your friends and loved-ones and--most importantly--to yourself."

    Now his charismatic voice, likened by TimE-Magazine On-Line to that of Adolf Hitler in its ability to mesmerize and hold an audience, grew calm and quiet.  He spoke with a seemingly sincere concern for his fellow men and women as he said,  "Now I ask you to contemplate the next six weeks.  That's all the time you have left, my friends.  Six insignificant weeks in which to put your affairs in order, to tell the truth for once in your dreary little lives, to atone for your many, many, sins and to try to undo some of the damage that you've done over the decades of your life to others, and to the world around you.  And I ask you again--what have you done to make ready for the End and to make ready for a New Beginning?"

    Rick, Joe and Michelle had been listening to the message for over an hour.  It was starting to get a little repetitive, they thought.  They sat in the very back of the large auditorium, surrounded by thousands and thousands of enthusiastic locals and pilgrims who came into Seacouver just to hear Cristos' message, an island of quiet amongst all the faithful believers.  Rick scanned the crowd, looking at the vast numbers of true devotees, as well as the myriad others who'd come to hear Cristos because they were interested in his message, or because they were afraid of the future--or because they were law enforcement officials investigating a bunco scam, such as the plainclothes detectives making another obvious island of calm about ten rows away from them.  And just beyond the cops sat the coterie of Watchers, conspicuously not looking at Dawson and his friends as they kept their eyes on Cristos.

    "Now my friends," Cristos voice continued, "there are those around you who will tell you not to worry.  There are those around you who will tell you that the next century will be just like this one, with telephones and television, with computers and the internet, with satellites and rockets to other planets.  And there are those around you--some of whom are here today--who will tell you that I'm a con man, that I don't care about you or your problems, that what I want is your money."  He raised his hands to the heavens, pleading for understanding, and then continued on as if confiding a special secret to each one of them.

    "Well, my friends, it is surely up to you whom to believe.  You can believe those--and there are many indeed--who will tell you to keep your money in the bank, to go to work tomorrow secure in the knowledge that your local, state, and Federal governments will be there to take care of you and your family.  You can believe those 'friends' of yours who are telling you that I'm full of lies.  Yes, indeed.  It is your choice and no one can make it for you.  But before you choose--hear me out.  Hear my words, and listen to your heart and to your soul as they tell you that I speak the TRUTH!"  His voice rose in thunder once again, and the stage lights colored orange and red, gleaming off the trim in Cristos' robe, turning his white-blonde hair into flame.  "What have you to lose?  Forget the demands of your corporate jobs, the pressing needs of your store, the endless wait for the welfare check that never feeds your family.  Forget the money you crave, forget the material goods that you possess and the ones that you so nakedly covet.  Forget the sex on TV and the supermodels on your favorite web site.   For one moment, just ask yourselves--What have you to lose by acting on my words?"

    Now Cristos' voice grew quiet once again, and the stage lights colored blue.  "Just think of this, my friends, just think of a world in which you and everybody around you were conscious of the legacy they left behind in the minds of others, where all men and all women were conscious of the godliness within them.  Just picture a world in which courtesy and decency and--yes, kindness--were the watchwords of how people behaved.  You say that you don't believe my message?  Fine. I am not hurt by your disbelief.  But what if you acted as if you did?  What if you acted as if you believed my message, and lived the rest of your short life accordingly?  What would you have to lose?  Think about it for a moment."

    He paused.  "Or think of this, my friends and loved ones.  What if I told you that you only had six weeks left to live?  What would you do?  Would anything be different in your life?  Would those precious six weeks be a gift you could use to heal yourself and your relationships with others?  And what if everybody around you ran their lives as if there were only six weeks left in the world?  Each one trying desperately to heal the hurts they had created over the course of their lives?  If everybody was out there living their lives like they each had only six weeks to live, would that be the kind of world you would want to live in?"

    The stage went black.  Out of the darkness, the voice boomed louder than ever.  "WELL, I AM TELLING YOU THAT YOU ONLY HAVE SIX WEEKS LEFT TO LIVE!  THE REST IS UP TO YOU!"

    And with that, the "lecture" was over.  The house lights slowly came on, revealing a large digital clock that stood where the podium had been.  A gold and scarlet banner ran across the top of the clock, reading "Countdown to the Apocalypse."  The clock ran backward, counting off the hours, minutes, and seconds toward midnight, December 31.  There were just over a thousand hours left, and the rapidly moving numbers gave an air of urgency to Cristos' message that time was running out.

    Cristos and his group of the "inner faithful" began making their way up the ramps toward the back of the auditorium, shaking hands and hugging, and exchanging a brief word or two on the way.  A recorded voice announced, "For the confirmed faithful, as denoted by their gold tickets, Cristos will be hosting a small reception immediately following the lecture.  Please stay in your seats until the audience has exited the building, then you may make your way to the reception area.  Thank you."  Amazingly, the audience just sat in its seats, apparently spellbound by the countdown clock that filled the stage, until after Cristos and his entourage had left the auditorium.

    Joe looked at Michelle; they both shook their heads.  And for this we paid fifty bucks a ticket?  Sure, they had taken the half-price seats in the back, but still it had been no bargain.  What a crock of crap.  Anybody who'd lived through the seventies had heard it all before, though admittedly not with such urgency and fervor.  Further, the guy hadn't even known that the millennium mark didn't move until December 31, 2001.  He was a year early!  They both turned to look at Rick, to get his reaction to the message.

    But Rick wasn't looking at them.  He was somewhere else, and it didn't seem to be a good place.  He head was turning from side to side, rapidly scanning the audience around him.  His eyes were half-shut in concentration, his face grim and determined.  And his hands were itchy for his sword.

    Michelle put her hand on his arm.  "Rick.  Rick.  What is the matter?  What is happening?"

    Understanding came to Dawson first, but he couldn't get any words out.  No way!  he thought--it's impossible!  His mouth hung open in disbelief as he waited for Rick to confirm what he suspected.

    Rick looked at Joe and briefly nodded, then turned to Michelle.  His voice was flat as he said, "There's another immortal here.  Close-by.  I can feel it."

    Michelle turned to Joe.  "But I thought you said--"

    "Yeah, I know what I said," Joe replied, his expression torn between confusion and astonishment.  "I said that Rick here was the only known immortal in Seacouver.  Guess I was wrong.  Hell, there aren't that many immortals left in the world ... what the hell would two of 'em be doing in Seacouver at the same time?"

    "I don't know," Rick finally said, eyes still scanning the crowd around them, searching for the glint of light on metal or any other sign of a threat.  "But one thing's certain."

    "What's that, buddy?" Joe asked.

    "I didn't feel the immortal until just after the lecture, just as Cristos and his gang were making their way toward the exits.  That means that the immortal has to be either Cristos or one of his inner gang of the faithful.  And I've got to find out who it is."

    Michelle's hand held Rick's in a tight grip, as if by force of will she could hold him to his seat.  "No," she whispered, "don't leave me--please.  Don't vanish like all the others have.  You cannot go hunting another immortal now.  Even if you weren't the only one left, I couldn't bear to lose you now."

    Joe looked at Rick as part of him cynically speculated how much of her plea was because Rick was her only remaining lead to the vanished immortals, and how much was because she really felt something for the kid   He wondered how the young immortal was going to respond.  He didn't have to wonder very long.

    "Michelle ... ma belle," Rick said, "I know how you feel, sweetie.  I don't want to leave you either.  But there's another immortal here, and I have to find out what he--or she--is up to.  Maybe it's nothing, or maybe it's a lead to the other ones who disappeared.  In any case, I have to do this."  His eyes were steady and she knew that her arguments and pleas were futile.  He was going to do what he thought was right, no matter what it cost.

    Her heart already ached with the thought that he could be going to his death, and her green eyes started to fill with tears as she reached over and hugged Rick tightly.  "Do what you must, love.  But come back to me.  Understand--you must come back to me!"

    Rick tried to comfort her with a smile.  "Hey, sweetie!  It'll be okay, I promise.  Hell, I won't even fight the other one if I can avoid it.  We'll probably just talk and find out what each other knows about the disappearances, and then I'll hitch a ride back to the store in a cab.  Okay?"

    Michelle nodded bravely and let him go.  Joe caught the silent sobs as she turned away, but he didn't think that Rick had noticed very much.  The young immortal's mind was elsewhere, he figured.  Like on how to get to the reception area without a gold ticket, and how to confront the unknown immortal in front of hundreds of the faithful, without losing his head in the process.

******