Alan Ch. 22

This was maddening to them. Clearly, Massimo had entrusted a part of the secret to this man, and when he had done so Dickinson was already hospitalized. "Why would he do that?" Alan thought bitterly. "Why would he leave a clue, one of a chain of clues, to a man with a brain tumor, someone who would not be able to communicate it at the proper time?" Karick and Swindon-Smythe were suffering similarly dreary thoughts.

"Well, boss, what now?" Karick asked, somewhat despondent.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Alan assured them, settling back into the chair and closing his eyes once more. Dead ends. Every time he tried to access the memories of the patient he came upon dead ends. His back was becoming stiff again in the uncomfortable chair, and instead of standing again and stretching out he merely used his powers to relax the muscles.

It hit him.

Slowly he entered Dickinson's mind again, this time not concentrating on the mental aspects, but rather the physical ones. The tumor was large, closer to small orange than golf ball sized. Alan concentrated harder, and it began to shrink. It was slow work, but got easier as the mass reduced. At some point Alan realized his eyes were open, and he watched the patient's breathing accelerate as his condition improved. Suddenly something was wrong. Dickinson looked as if he was having a seizure, his arms and legs jerking, his mouth frothing with saliva. Alan stopped what he was doing and concentrated instead on calming the man, and after a short while he was at peace. With more care, more attention to both reducing the tumor and keeping Dickinson from seizing, Alan continued his work, all the while hoping that if the patient regained consciousness they would be one step closer to Massimo. One by one Alan severed the blood vessels feeding the tumor, sealing them up after they were disconnected, then obliterating the bad tissue itself.

Dickinson groaned, the first response they had seen outside the seizure, and Alan stopped. Neil and Tadeusz stiffened in fright at the sound of the man making noise. Neil wanted to get the nurse, but Alan vetoed the idea. It was nearing sunset when Dickinson stirred again; he tried to sit up, but his atrophied muscles would not allow it. Alan nodded to Neil, who was standing on the other side of the bed, and the two of them helped him up. With great effort the man turned his head, first to Neil, then to Alan.

"Alan," he hissed, his voice raspy, both from a dry mouth, and underused vocal cords. Chills ran up the spines of the three.

"Do I know you, Mr. Dickinson?"

The middle-aged man smiled, but was unable to speak, though he let loose a raspy laugh, and weak as it was, Alan and the others could hear the triumphant character of it.. He nodded. Karick came over and propped the pillows behind him and Alan and Neil let go. Alan came about to the foot of the bed so he could face Dickinson. The withered man looked at him, a steely concentration on his face. The ring on Alan's left hand, Massimo's ring began to glow. Neil and Karick couldn't see that, but they could read the expression on Alan's face. Alan smiled even wider, and took the ring from his left middle finger and cupped it in his hand. As he walked closer to Dickinson it glowed brighter. Alan took Dickinson's left hand with his right and placed the ring in the center of the sick man's palm. Slowly Dickinson moved as he brought the ring to his right middle finger. Alan averted his eyes as there was some sort of flashover effect only he and the resting man could see.

"The ring of Cyaxares has found its owner."

* * *

After receiving the ring Massimo's powers had returned, though he was still weak as a kitten, both his vessel and his Seed very fragile. The powers were coming back, slowly. He had explained to Alan what was happening, and it reminded the teen of the first days and weeks after he himself had had that strange encounter in his grandfather's hospital room.

He wasn't even Ted Dickinson anymore. Two days after Alan wiped the minds and records at the care center he took Dickinson back to the hotel. Once there, over coffees a recovering Massimo instructed on what he needed done to reestablish himself.

"If you please," Massimo asked after settling into one of the rooms of Alan's suite, "The boxes." Alan and Neil gathered the three boxes, the one from Claude Massimo, and the two from Vienna, and set them before Jack, or Ted, whatever. Alan had noticed that each successive box was slightly smaller than previous one, but hadn't paid it much attention. Massimo took the middle box, Greta's, and placed it inside the largest, Claude's, then nestled Wally's, the smallest, inside. He placed the three lids on, smallest to largest, and sealed them. Resting his hand on the lid of the box he closed his eyes and meditated for a few seconds before making a fist and tapping his ring on the lid three times, then removed his paw and allowed the largest lid to slip off. Alan stood at his shoulder and watched as he revealed the contents; the inner two boxes and parchments were gone, replaced by a passport, British, unlaminated and without photo, ready to conform with whatever identity Massimo was to choose, a driver's license, similarly blank, a small leather-bound notebook, and two Zip 100 disks.

"Cool," Alan breathed.

The notebook held all the information Massimo needed to start his life anew. He excused himself to the bedroom and emerged in just a few minutes. "My man from the passport office will be here in an hour. I need a name for him to inscribe on the document and enter in the ministry's system. Help me think one up," he said excitedly. He thought for a few seconds. "Lazarus. How about Lazarus?" he asked the room.

"Jesus Christ," Neil guffawed.

"No, Dr. Swindon-Smythe, 'Jesus Christ' is too gaudy, even for an egoist such that I am. I may have lost many inhibitions over the years--due to my powers, and now my resurrection--but my sense of shame has yet survived my rebirth. Perhaps as a small tribute to my new vessel form I'll fashion myself Theodore. No, I still want to be a Jack, always liked that name. How about John? Hmmmm. Jacob, that's it Jacob Theodore Lazarus! With a name like that I'll be able to join a synagogue," he laughed.

"You're not Jewish, are you sir?" Neil asked. Though he never had the chance to study with Massimo, having been schooled at Cambridge, with Massimo at rival Oxford, he knew quite a bit about the professor, him being one of the giant's in Neil's chosen field of study.

"No, my grandparents were Christian, but my parents were more," he paused feeling his way about his new mind for the right word, "more cosmopolitan. My late wife was Roman Catholic, devout, as is my son and his family."

"I'm surprised," Alan interjected, "that you had any religion at all, I mean, after becoming a Seed Vessel. Doesn't our mere existence sort of disprove Christianity? All Western religions?"

"Not really," Lazarus replied, a cocky grin on his face. "Tell me, Alan, what faith is yours?"

"Now? Nothing. I know, or more likely, I am, the living manifestation of the truth of the words and deeds of Hyrcanus. Before? Nothing really."

"Really? Your parents gave you no religion?"

"Well, my dad's side is Society of Friends, you know, Quaker, but he really doesn't do much with them. Once a year he writes a check to the American Friends Service Committee, but that's about all."

"And Mrs. Marshall?" Jack asked.

"Jewish, but not religious. How do they put it? 'Unobservant.' She was raised in a secular home, and hasn't been to services in years. Besides family events I have never been to a house of worship. I can count on two hands the number of times I've been to synagogue or a church."

"Hmm, what about the Quakers? Have you spent any time in their churches?"

"Quakers don't have churches, the have meeting houses, and if you'd ever been to one you'd know in an instant they're not churches. I went to my dad's uncle's funeral down in Bucks County, and there was no way to tell you were in a Christian building. There isn't even a cross on the wall. So I guess you could say I'm half-Jewish."

"No such thing, Alan," Neil put in. "You're Jewish."

"What do you mean?" Alan asked, curious.

"Yes," Lazarus said, "As young Neil put it, you are Jewish. Any issue of a Jewish woman is Jewish, simple as that."

"Yeah, but I wasn't raised that way, so I considered myself secular."

"Have you read the Bible?" Lazarus asked, sort of changing the subject.

"Not much," Alan admitted. "Just the parts needed to work through the documents I read."

"Well then, you know that it is written in the book of Ezra-Nehemiah that the Jews were released from their captivity. The Babylonians, who had exiled them, were defeated by the Persians."

"Yeah," Alan put in, "I know the history, mostly from reading your notes and stuff."

Lazarus was pleased, and it showed on his face, happy that Alan had done his "homework" so diligently. "And the Persian Emperor, the one who conquered Babylon, you know his name?"

With the power of the Seed Alan had instant recall. "Cyrus."

"Cyrus, yes, 'Cyrus the Anointed.' Tell me, young Neil, what is the Hebrew word for anointed?"

"Mashiach," Neil answered, delighted and honored to be witness to a lecture by the legendary Massimo. "Messiah."

"And so," Lazarus continued, pacing the room as was his habit when he lectured at the world's great seats of learning, "Cyrus the Messiah, was succeeded by Darius, Devaryesh, for our purposes. Darius, though not the Messiah, granted permission to the returned Jews in Jerusalem to reconstruct their Temple, so one can assume," he rolled his eyes indicating his sarcasm, though only Alan caught the gesture, "That he too was dear to the God of the Hebrews. Therefore, we can postulate, though not with out a great deal of intellectual acrobatics, that when Hyrcanus forged the Great Seeds of Heaven, he was in a way in service to the Jewish faith, for by making them, then using them to restore Darius, he was in assistance to the Hebrews."

Neil didn't buy it. "That is very convoluted, sir. The jumps are enormous!"

"Well, it's just a suggestion, really. I'm not saying it happened."

They all laughed.

* * *

Karick left the next day for Geneva, calling from the bank office for further instruction. Lazarus had his accounts moved to an account already prepared in the Turks and Caicos.

Mr. Wilkins in New York was similarly busy; he was being dragged around town looking for a place for Massimo to live, not his favorite use of his time. Massimo had decided that for reasons of safety he was relocating to New York, at least until his Seed abilities had returned to a point of his liking. By his own evaluation he was too weak to travel, and would be for a month or so.

"I need to assemble a staff," Lazarus told the trio the night before Alan was to fly home. "First, a personal assistant, preferably one who knows a thing or two about security." Karick would be staying at Jack's side until he arrived in New York, but Neil was headed for Rome to work on Cyaxares company business.

Alan thought he knew of the perfect candidate. "Jack, would it bother you if your assistant slash security person was a woman?"

"No, not at all," he said, an eyebrow arched. "A pretty one, I hope."

Alan grinned.

* * *

His parents were thrilled to see him. He had been gone for almost six weeks, and he let his mom fuss over him for a few days before heading out again. He wasn't going far, so they weren't too disappointed, and he promised not to be gone for more than one night. Kate was still up in Maine, so his time was all his own. She would be returning in a week, the thought of which brightened his spirits; he really missed her.

He gunned the car down the New Jersey Turnpike, a rented BMW, and he enjoyed testing the engine; of course, he wasn't afraid of a ticket. The cell phone, resting on the leather seat next to him trilled, and he slowed to the speed limit before reaching it.

"Mr. Marshall, it's Harriet. I have a call for Carl Sutherland, on the Sutherland Consulting line. It's Anne-Marie Nicoletti. She says she's returning Mr. Sutherland's call. Shall I put her through?"

"Yes, thank you, Harriet."

"Carl, is that you? I got your message."

"Hey Anne-Marie, what's up?"

"Same old, same old. Are you coming here?"

"Are you free?"

"For you baby, anytime!"

Alan chose a different hotel this time, and not ten minutes after checking in Anne-Marie knocked on his door. He appraised her, though not really knowing why because he had no idea of Jack's taste in women. Still, he liked what he saw. She was taller than he remembered her, about 5' 7", plus heals, though he realized immediately that she was wearing taller shoes this time, and his eyes were playing trick on him. Her sandy brown hair was cut short, a pretty cut nonetheless, and the color worked well with her very pale skin tone. Her breasts were small, but as he remembered, nice and pointy, and she had a beautiful figure, lithe, willowy, and somehow powerful all at once. As they kissed Alan did a mental mining of her, an ability he had yet to develop when they had first met. What he learned pleased him.

Anne-Marie was twenty-seven years old. She had dropped out of college, Rutgers, after her second year. Her father, a Trenton cop, had died of a heart attack while on duty. Unable to continue her education because of financial reasons she had entered the state police academy in Sea Girt, and spent two years on the force. She was then recruited by the casino, the combination of her good looks and law enforcement experience making her irresistible to the hotel management, which was in dire need of undercover casino security personal, especially of the feminine variety; her black-belt in karate didn't hurt either. She had a keen tactical sense, and a vast amount of the security knowledge needed to keep Jack out of danger. By the time the kiss was broken, Alan's mind mining expedition completed, it was settled, at least for him, and he knew he had a surefire way of convincing her.

"So," she half-moaned, a shit eating grin on her face, "Are we staying in, or going out?"

"Out."

Alan and Anne-Marie took the elevator to the lobby and walked briskly to the cashier. The cashier's eyes widened considerably, first when Alan requested a quarter of million dollars in chips, all in $5,000 denomination, and then when he passed over his credit card. It had been a long time since she had seen one like it; usually they were green, or maybe even gold or platinum. This one was black; she knew what that signified. She counted out the chips, but not before pressing a button under her desk, summoning the pit boss. He came in short order, leading them to the V.I.P. room. Alan and Anne-Marie settled at a blackjack table.

Anne-Marie was pleased that Alan had chosen a different hotel this trip, especially after watching him clear slightly more than a million dollars in just under three hours.

"You never did get around to telling me the secret of your success," she joked at dinner, taking another big sip from her wineglass.

"That's not how I remember it," he laughed, and laughed again watching her turn bright red, the shift evident even under the dim restaurant lights. Her temporary crimson complexion matched well with her dress, a short green number, glittery and backless. When the plates had been cleared after the main course Anne-Marie scooted around, taking the seat next to him in the booth. As they ordered coffee and dessert she slowly ran her hand up his thigh, stroking it through the fabric. The waiter retreated and she rested her head against his shoulder. Alan moved his arm so he could touch her. His hand stole under the hem of her mini-dress, the backs of his fingers flat to her pussy, rubbing it slowly through the increasingly saturated fabric. Anne-Marie hummed in rhythm to his light strokes, her arousal accelerating as her whole body reddened. They shared a crème brûlée though he had ordered it for himself. She had eschewed dessert, wanting to watch her figure, but couldn't resist him as he held the spoon to her mouth. As he fed her with his left hand he continued touching her moist panties with his right; more often than not her mouth was already open as the spoon approached, silently panting from sexual excitement. The dish, it seemed to her, was taking forever to finish. She was startled out of her reverie by the clanking of the spoon against the plate as Alan fed her the last of it.

Anne-Marie flagged down a passing waiter. "Check, please," she ordered, shifting her thighs, feeling the moisture pool in her panties. Alan signed for it and led her out, to the elevator bank; she was panting lightly. The doors opened and they entered.

Alan moved closer and held her, but she demurred as he leaned into her to kiss

"Cameras in the elevator," she gasped, taking a step back, knowing that like the at the casino where she worked, all public spaces were monitored.

Once in the room she hugged him to her tightly, her hands slipping under his jacket, rubbing his back. Alan reciprocated, and she purred at the feel of his hands against her bare flesh. He pulled her as he walked to the bedroom, and she followed eagerly. They faced each other, Alan folding his suit coat over the chair, Anne-Marie releasing the catch at the rear of her neck, the dress slipping off her, pooling at her feet. Alan inhaled, for she was without a bra, her proud breasts high on her chest, hard ruby nipples pointy and upturned. Clad in only her heels and panties she approached him, then helped him out of the rest of his clothing. As they kissed Alan's hand slipped under the elastic waistband of her panties, exploring her. He slowly fed her pussy his middle finger, enjoying her moans. His thumb twiddled her clit as he continued to finger fuck her, and he was rewarded with an almost animal franticness her part, her tongue a frenzy in his mouth. She came mightily, and he had to hold her up, one arm around her back, the other hand remaining at her drenched crotch.

Down only to his briefs he carried her two steps to the bed and laid her down on it, settling in beside her. Her hands searched under the fabric of his shorts, his slipping under her sodden panties, green, like her dress, darker in the center due to her female sections, the scent of which was highly arousing to him.

Her mouth at his ear, "Take me, Carl, take me, please," she huffed, his fingers driving her to a fever pitch. "Oh GOD," she screamed, coming as two fingers slipped up her wet pussy, his thumb pressed against her clitoris as he slowly finger fucked her. "Please," she begged, "I need you in me, NOW!"

Soft tears ran down her cheek as she felt the head of his cock tease her gates. Slowly, ever slowly, Alan entered her, her pussy walls spasming gently as he fed her length to her hungry opening. "Yessssss," she hissed as he seated himself fully within her, pausing for a short second before withdrawing slightly before probing deeply again. Alan kept his pace deliberate for a long time, it felt to her, but in fact was just a couple of minutes. She felt her orgasm rising, but knew she would not be able to peak if he didn't up his pace. "Harder," she groaned, "Faster, please, faster." She bucked her hip at him, her ass rising from the surface of the bed as he increased the speed of his fucking. "Yes," she chanted, "Yes, yes Yes, YES!" Suddenly she screamed, the force of her orgasm startling. The walls of her pussy clenched his dick, and her body seized, every muscle stiff. As he came inside her she moaned again, small tremors ripping through her essence.

As she lay panting and gasping for air after he removed himself from her and got next to her on the bed, holding her, she could feel the sweat drip off of her, her own heartbeat, and his as well. Nothing else existed for her at that moment. She slept.