The Lost and the Forgotten

Chapter 10

Jerret Kethron tugged his hat brim lower and hunched his shoulders against the steady drip of oily water.  He drew hungrily on his smoke, the glowing tip shielded by his curled hand, his breath, exhaled through pursed lips, spiralling, blue-tinged, in the light from Zanta's sign.  Next to him, the two men were silent and Jerret's lip curled at their unease; bosses weren't supposed to do jobs like this.  But Jerret found himself hungry for everything the dark promised, the harshness of the smoke in his lungs and the dripping shadows of the streets that were his domain, the anticipation of the violence ahead.  Power would be his, soon.  After years of gritting his teeth and bearing his father's derision, soon he would have more power than his late, unlamented parent had ever dreamt of.  After this dark's work, Atlantis' wrath would surely descend on the Makers, tame diplomacy abandoned in the face of not only the deaths of Major Jordan and his team, but also their Colonel Sheppard.

The doors to Zanta's bar swung open and two figures emerged, one tripping up the steps and leaning on the other.  Jerret frowned.

"Is he drunk?" he hissed.

"No, Sir.  Drugged," replied Gresden.

"Drugs make me loopy!" The other man draped his arm over Gresden's shoulders and giggled.  "Toldja that, McKay!" He lurched closer to Jerret and squinted.  "You're not McKay!"

"My name is Jerret Kethron," he said, coldly.

"Oh, hey, you're the Getter guy, right?  This fella, Gresden, says he knows where Jordan and his team are!  We're going there now!  You could come!" He smiled foolishly.

"I'd be delighted to accompany you, Colonel." To Gresden he added, "Why did you drug him?"

"I didn't!  He said he took pain pills!  For his arm." Gresden shrugged.  "It made my job easy."

Jerret regarded the grinning man, leaning heavily on the shoulder of his loyal spy.  The Colonel didn't look very impressive for a high-ranking military officer, one arm in a sling, his shirt untucked and his rapidly-dampening hair drooping over his forehead.  He'd left himself vulnerable in a public place and allowed himself to be led out into the dark, unarmed.  Would this man's death be enough of a blow to his commander to incite retribution against the Makers?  It had better be.

"Bring him," Jerret said, shortly.  He turned on his heel and stalked away from the cold, blue light.

oOo

Zanta put down the speaker and hurried out of her rooms and down the stairs.  She stood, her hands gripping the railing overlooking the bar, scanning the busy tables through the pall of smoke.  He wasn't there.  Down the next flight and across to the bar, ignoring hails from familiar customers and curious glances at her agitation.

"Colonel Sheppard!  Where is he?"

The barman replied.  "He went out with the Maker foreman, Gresden."

"When?"

"Coupla minutes ago."

Zanta, heart pounding, wove through the close-packed tables and pushed through a group entering the bar.

"Dennet, are you armed?"

"Always, Ma'am," answered the doorman, patting a hidden holster.

"Come with me!" She pushed open the doors, ran up the steps and stood, listening, her head turning to look up and down the alley, one hand sheltering her face against the perpetual drip of run-off.