From: LLoisarah@aol.com

Part 1

Exits and Entrances

	Lights and cars and people filled the Paris streets, much to the delight of
young Jonny Quest.  His first trip to Europe, and he was excited, viewing the
streets from the back of the cab.  On either side of him sat his mother and
father, exchanging amused glances over his head.  

	"We're nearing the hotel, Jonny.  Perhaps you should settle down a bit, son,"
said his father, Benton Quest.  Jonny and his mother, Rachel, laughed at the
scientist.

	"Benton, don't you know your son well enough by now to know that he only has
two speeds?  Sleep and speedy."  

	"Can't blame a man for trying,"  he replied to his hecklers.

	The cab pulled up in front of one of the many hotels in the historic city,
and Jonny clamored over his father's lap to be the first one out.

	"Rachel, you know he's never going to sleep tonight, don't you?"

****

	Despite his father's earlier misgivings, Jonny did indeed sleep that night,
and awoke the next morning to the sound of a gentle rainfall.  Before bounding
out of bed to start the day, he thought of the little white dog at home.  He
wasn't used to sleeping without him, or waking up without the pup licking his
face.  
	
	Pulling the covers back he lifted himself out of bed and ran to the hotel
room window.  Pulling back the curtain he noticed the grey sky and empty
street.  He couldn't help but feel that something worse than not visiting the
Eiffel Tower was going to happen today.

	The sound of his parents fighting on the other side of the door startled him.
He couldn't remember the last time they fought with each other like that.
Slowly he crept to the door and opened it a crack, peering outside.

	"Benton, please, don't leave the hotel until after that bodyguard arrives!"

	"Rachel, it's just a note.  A prank.  I am not going to let my life be ruled
by every nutcase that decides it's time to make my life hell."  Benton reached
over the arm of the suite's couch and picked up a jacket and briefcase.  He
again started for the door and again Rachel placed herself between him and the
door.  

	"Sweetheart, Benton, I can't help but worry.  You must admit, you are a
target, and this wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to kill you."

	"Rachel, you make it sound like an everyday occurrence with us."

	"Did I?  Weekly, I meant weekly."

	"Very funny."  Benton leaned over and laid his briefcase and jacket on the
floor.  Straightening back up, he put a hand on either side of Rachel's face
and kissed her goodbye.  "Rachel, I will come back.  We'll see each other
tonight, I promise."

	"Goodbye, Benton."

	Jonny pushed the door open and walked out into the room.  "Dad?"  Walking
straight to him, he stopped and looked up.  

	Benton leaned down and gave his son a hug.  "Don't let this worry, you, son."

	"Goodbye, Dad."

	Benton glanced from his wife to his son once more before picking up his
briefcase and jacket and heading to the University of Paris for his
conferences.

	Rachel couldn't help but scold herself for thinking that the sound the door
made when it closed had a certain finality to it.

*********

	The sun was shinning brightly outside the office window in Washington DC.
Too brightly for Jimmy Trump, the reluctant assistant director of a secret
government agency, the Assignment Bureau.  The honorable James Trump was
suffering from a hangover.  The severe pain in his head combined with the
noisy office put him in the mood for "bellowing" as his agents called it.  

	Slowly his sore, aching, and heavy arm pressed the intercom button on his
desk.  The squawking noise he got intensified the pounding he felt in his
head.  

	"Yes, Mr. Trump?"  asked his assistant's voice over the speaker.  

	"Send me Bannon.  NOW."

	"Yes, sir."

	Jimmy leaned back in his chair, placing a cold wet rag over his eyes and
savoring his few minutes of peace.  That is, until Roger "Race" Bannon made
his entrance.  The office door was swung open violently, and slammed against
the wall, rattling pictures on the walls and causing an already loose screw to
pop out of the window blinds.  The top of the blinds fell into a slant and a
very bright stream of yellow light lit up the office.  Jimmy ripped the cold
cloth off his eyes and threw it at the blinds, causing the other screw to pop
out.  Now the whole room was bathed in sunlight, and Jimmy was royally upset.

	"You bellowed?" asked Bannon.  He could almost swear that Jimmy's eyes were
about a nerve ending away from popping out of their sockets.

	"SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!!"

	"One day, you're going to have a heart attack, sweetheart."

	"BANNON!  IF YOU KNEW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU YOU'D SIT DOWN ON THAT CHAIR AND
LISTEN TO ME!"

	Bannon noticed that the veins were starting to pop out on Jimmy's neck and
forehead, and decided to sit down before his boss had a coronary.

	Once Bannon had sat down, Jimmy began his lecture.  "Now, we here at the
agency have decided to curb some of our more rambunctious agents.  Starting
with you."

	"Me?  What have I done?  Lately?"

	"For starters, it was bad enough that the first time you met that Frenchman
you put him down a well via a greased rope, but you didn't have to do it
twice.  Nor did you have to steal his car. . ."

	"Requisitioned."

	"Second, I don't like my agents involved with petty thieves. . . "

	"Jezebel Jade is not just a petty thief, Jimmy. . . "

	"And second, I'm tired of rescuing you on your missions."

	"You rescuing me?  Try me rescuing you after you get involved and screw
everything up. . . ."

	Jimmy held up his hand to stop Bannon.  "Have you ever heard of a Dr. Benton
Quest?"

	"Who hasn't?"  replied Bannon.

	"Good, because you're his new bodyguard."

	Race jumped up out of his chair so fast it flipped over and hit the floor.
"BABY-SITTING?  YOU HAVE ME . . . BABY-SITTING . . . AN EGGHEAD??"

	Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the door.  "My assistant has all
the details you need.  Goodbye, Bannon."

	Jimmy shuddered when Bannon again slammed the door behind him.

**********
	Race Bannon busily threw clothes into his new luggage.  Third set in as many
months.  Each garment tossed in accompanied by a profane stream of epithets
directed toward one Jimmy Trump.  "Baby-sitting, what a crock of. .."  Race
stopped reciting his colorful vocabulary when his eyes picked out the one
piece of decoration his decrepit studio apartment contained, a small, framed
picture.  

	Walking from the bed to the dresser, he picked up the photo and studied it.
A beautiful redhead smiled back at him, in her arms a smaller, feminine image
of Race, but with the red hair of her mother.  One more item to add to the
suitcase.

	Images flashed through Race's mind, of what they could be doing now, of him
trying to picture his daughter as a nine year old girl. . . .

	The shrill sound of his phone ringing brought Race out of his reverie.

**********

	A steady downpour and greyness surrounded the Parisian hospital, making the
day seem incredibly bleak and depressing.  The sun had not shone beneath the
clouds all day.  On the street few people scurried about in the gloom, the
occasional umbrella providing a temporary splash of color on the street.

	Inside the hospital things were even more discouraging.  Sickness and sadness
hung about the hospital like a shroud.  Nurses busily ran from one patient to
the next, checking blood pressures, taking temperatures, and dispensing
medicine.  At least, among the less serious cases.  In the intensive care
unit, the busy medical staff was checking vital signs and changing IVs.
	
	The overworked doctors, nurses, and orderlies were too preoccupied to notice
an eight-year-old boy underfoot.  He dodged the hospital personnel and walked
up to the long wooden bench below the hall window.  Kneeling on the bench, he
faced the window and stared blankly out over the street.  Looking into the
depressing gloom, the little blonde haired boy heroically held back his tears.

	Down the hall in a small room made even smaller with life support machines,
were the boy's parents, one trying to cling to life, and another praying for
that life.

	Despite his best efforts, the tears came, and the young boy couldn't help but
think of the past few days. . . of how happy they all had been.  "It just, it.
. . . it isn't fair."

	"Jonny. . ."  the young boy turned from the window at the sound of his name.

	"Oh, Mom, I'm so scared!"  he cried as he leaned into her arms and nestled
his head between her neck and chest.  As she wrapped her arms around him, he
wrapped his around her.

	"I know, dear, me too." She held him tight and held back her own tears.
Mother and son sat on the hall bench, consoling each other.

	"Excuse me, Madame Quest?"

	"Yes?" she replied, looking up at the doctor fearfully.

	He fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable.  It was never easy to give bad news.
"You asked me to inform you if your husband's condition. . .changed.  Ah. . .
I think you should go to his room now."

	Rachel and Jonny Quest slowly got up and cautiously walked to Benton's room.
He lay on the bed, with too many frightening machines connected to him.
Rachel sat down on the chair that sat next to the bed, pulling her sobbing son
up into her lap.  Both of them reached forward and held the motionless hand,
the hand that had once been so strong.  Physically, he gave no indication that
he knew they were there, but both felt emotionally that he was aware of their
presence.

	At 3:35 PM, in a hospital in Paris, the famous American scientist Dr. Benton
Quest died in the presence of his wife and young son.

******

	The uneasy man stood before the desk, staring at the person in the shadows in
disbelief.  Nearly the entire office was dark, except for where the man,
Tresk, stood under a dim overhead light.  
	
	"What do you mean, my job isn't over yet?!?  I did what you asked.  Quest is
dead.  Now I want my money for a job well done!!" He leaned over and pounded
on the desk to emphasize his point.

	The office's occupant continued to sit in shadow, calmly watching the
hitman's angry display.

	"Well, do I get my money?  I'd hate to have to do to you what I did to
Quest," finished Tresk.

	"I wouldn't threaten me if I were you, Mr. Tresk.  You have no idea who
you're dealing with," the woman behind the desk finally said.  "I will pay you
in due time.  I simply want you to exterminate the Quests."

	"Oh, no, I already killed the guy.  I am not going to go after the wife and
kid.  Even I have to draw the line sometimes.  Besides, word on the street is,
I should have turned the gun on you."

	Calmly, the steely woman behind the desk opened the briefcase on the desk in
front of her.  "I thought you might change your mind.  That's why I decided to
keep a little dose of persuasion on hand."  She raised the lid to reveal
bundles of American currency.

	Interested, Tresk craned his neck towards the direction of the desk.  "For
me?"

	"Maybe.  Do you agree to our terms?"  she asked. 

	"How much?"

	"I am prepared to offer you $1 million American dollars upon completion of
your job.  If you fail to cooperate, I can guarantee you a manhunt.  Your
choice."  She leaned forward and gazed at the trapped man smugly.

	"Agreed.  One mil for the death of the Quest family, deposited in my bank
account in the Caribbean, once the job is finished," agreed Tresk.

	"Thank you.  I knew you'd come to see things my way.  You will receive the
money as we previously arranged.  Dismissed."

	Tresk turned and walked out of the office, trying to ignore his meager
conscience.  "You've already killed dozens of people, what's a woman and her
child?" he convinced himself as he left the Parisian warehouse and disappeared
into the darkness.

**********
	Rachel Quest, sitting alone in the darkness, felt her face grow wet with
tears.  He knees were pulled up against her chest, and she clutched them for
support.  Despite her best efforts, she began to sob again.

	"Oh, Benton!"  She put her feet on the floor and quickly ran a hand through
her hair.  Walking over to the bathroom of her hotel room, she picked up a box
of tissues.  As she turned around to walk back to the bed, she saw his
suitcase.  Gingerly, she walked over and picked it up by the handle, and
placed it on the bed.  Kneeling down in front of it, she sat and stared at the
engraved nameplate.  "Dr. Benton C. Quest," she read aloud, fingers brushing
over the etching.  Her hands found their way to the clasps, and quickly
unlatched the suitcase.  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and threw
back the lid.

	Rachel opened her eyes and looked down at the familiar clothes, clothes he'd
never wear again.  "Your favorite shirt. . ."  She picked up a navy blue polo
and held it close.  "Ooo-hhh," she moaned, and moved to lie down on the bed,
clutching the shirt close to her.  A familiar scent wafted up to her nose, the
familiar mix of soap and deodorant, so much like him, when he was holding her.
The crying continued, this time with a new urgency.  She'd never felt so alone
in her entire life.

	Lying on the bed, she held the shirt close and cried until blissful sleep
came, temporarily easing the unbearable pain.

************
	The American Airlines flight from New York City touched down on the Paris
runway as the sun was coming up.  The passengers were excited at the sight of
the airport, and at the idea of getting off the plane.  Most of the
passengers, anyway.  A tall, athletic-looking American man sat gazing out the
window.  He uneasily watched the runway as it appeared to move closer and
closer to him.  As the plane touched down he leaned back in his chair and
closed his eyes.  Being a pilot himself only made flying easier when he was at
the controls.

	After the plane landed, he quickly ran a hand through his short, prematurely
white hair and unhooked his seatbelt.  His neighbor on the flight, a young,
attractive American college student, Amanda, bounced out of her seat with
excitement.  She turned to the man smiling eagerly.  "We're here!  We finally
made it!  I didn't think I'd be able to stand sitting much longer!  And I'm
finally in Paris!  I'm still so excited about studying here at the University
of Paris!"  The young woman kept talking to the man, who watched her with
interest.  She was tall, with long, glossy reddish brown hair and green eyes.
"I'm so happy I got to sit next to someone nice like you, sir.  My mother was
worried I'd be next to a womanizer or worse.  You actually listened to my
ramblings and didn't tell me to shut up so you could rest, or anything.  I
hope I didn't bother you," she said looking up at him hopefully.  He laughed.

	"No, darlin'.  You didn't bother me.  I enjoyed listening to you, made the
flight shorter," he replied in his southern drawl.

	"Easier?"  She looked at him quizzically.

	Reaching up the to the overhead, he grabbed his and her carry-ons.  "You
remind me of my daughter," he said finally.  As he began walking down the
aisle, he turned to face her again, "Amanda, have fun in Paris.  And, be
careful.  You take care of yourself, okay?"  He winked at her and turned back
down the aisle.

********

	Inside the airport, Race waited to claim his luggage.  He was supposed to
report to the hotel where the Quest family was staying.  "What's left of it,"
he thought, hardly looking forward to escorting the widow and her son back to
the United States, along with the body.  "Washington gives me a nice,
uneventful job to complete, after  I don't have a family to keep myself safe
for."

	After claiming his luggage, he went outside the airport and gazed out onto
the busy traffic, hoping he could catch a cab.  He leaned on his luggage and
became lost in thought, letting half a dozen opportunities of catching a cab
pass.

	Race Bannon had met a Colombian archaeologist on one of his assignments, and
had fallen hopelessly, completely, head over heels in love.  Estella
Velasquez.  The courtship had been quick, for Estella had fallen fast for Race
as well.  He'd surprised both of them when he'd blurted out one night words he
thought he'd never say, "Will you marry me?"  Race, self confirmed bachelor
and ladies' man, with, well, more than his fair share of 'relationships' had
asked Estella to marry him.  From the start, Estella had been different, she'd
caught his attention and occupied his thoughts more intensely than any woman
he'd ever met.  Or ever would again.

	They'd gotten married, and she'd decided she could live with his dangerous
assignments from the Bureau.  They'd moved to the US, and had been rather
happy for awhile.  Too soon, however, their tempers flared.  She said she felt
useless working at museums and universities.  She wanted to be in the field,
not behind a desk or in a library.  She couldn't stand worrying about him
while he was on 'assignment,' either.  The constant worrying was going to kill
her, she'd claimed.  

	As for Race, he'd had a hard time adjusting to marriage.  Being with one
woman all the time was so different.  He'd never actually stayed with anyone
long enough for them to hassle him about his job.  While he loved Estella, and
desperately wanted things to work out, things weren't getting any easier.  He
thought she worried about him too much.
	
	He thought he was having trouble because he'd expected things to be like his
parent's marriage.  John Bannon had been a career military man, the Navy had
been his life.  Sarah Williamson had been a perfect southern lady, and her
constant cool exterior hadn't betrayed any of her inner anxieties about her
military husband.  She'd constantly stood by her man, whereas Estella was very
much independent of Race.  Which was probably why he loved her so much, he
thought.

	Estella was on the verge of leaving Race, had actually told him she had hired
a lawyer, until she found out she was pregnant.  They both decided to give the
marriage another try for the child.  They had not planned on having any
children, especially Race.  He hated children, he swore.  He'd nervously
awaited the birth of their child with Estella, not sure whether he wanted the
baby to be all right or not.  He guiltily thought things would be a whole lot
easier if the child would be stillborn.  Nevertheless, he'd stood by Estella,
spoiled her, even, while she was pregnant.

	However, once his beautiful daughter had been placed in his arms, he couldn't
believe he'd hoped she'd be born dead.  He couldn't even imagine life without
her, and swore he'd protect her to his last breath if anyone tried to harm
her.  It had  amazed him the immediate connection he'd felt with the child.
As much as he loved Estella, the moment they'd become parents, he found that
he loved her even more.  Little Jessie had been the glue that had held the
Bannon family together, for a few more wonderful years.

	A few weeks after Jessie's 4th birthday, Race left for another assignment
from the Bureau.  What was supposed to have been an easy mission had escalated
into a disaster.  Race had been injured, almost fatally.  Estella had rushed
to his side, but as soon as she found out that he was going to live, she'd
made a very important decision.  She wanted out of the marriage.  She couldn't
take living with the constant fear that she'd loose her husband, nor could she
deal with all the enemies he made.  She worried what would happen to Jessie if
certain people wanted to hit Race Bannon in a 'vulnerable spot.'  She told
Race she'd take Jessie, and they'd go back to Columbia.  As much as it hurt
him to agree, he hadn't felt there was any choice.  He'd let them go.

	As the memories flashed through Race's mind, he finally became aware once
again of where he was, and that he still needed to catch a cab.  As he rode in
the cab to the hotel, his thoughts turned once again to the girl on the plane.
Her long auburn hair and green eyes reminded him so much of Jessie.  He
wondered what she was doing at that  moment, what she looked like, if she'd
even recognize him if she saw him.  He hadn't seen her for 5 years.  He pulled
out his wallet, and gazed at the picture of him, with a smiling Jessie on his
shoulders.  "It's for the best," he told himself, "it's for the best."  Still,
it didn't make it any easier.

**********

	Rachel Quest stood in the middle of her hotel room, suitcases and a few
carry-ons at her feet.  She didn't see the luggage, what held her attention
was her wedding ring.  Her usually loose, shiny blonde hair was severely
pulled back into a tight bun.  Her makeup did little to mask the dark blue
circles under her eyes.  The dark suit she wore gave the impression of a
Victorian widow.

Jonny walked into the main room of their suite and stopped short at the sight
of his mother.  She stood alone, oblivious to everything around her.  "She
looks so sad," he thought.  He'd never seen her look so alone.  "Dad was
always with her," Jonny thought, and wished there was something he could do
for her.

	"Mom!"  he cried and ran up to her, throwing his arms around her waist.

	"Jonny, it's all right." She said absently, looking down at her son and
almost robotically putting her arms around him.

	Jonny began to sob.  "I. . . I know, Mom, but. . . but that won't. . . make
it. . .  any . . .easier. . ." he managed to say before burying his face into
his mother's suit.

	Rachel was jolted out of her reverie by her son's words.  Looking down at him
tenderly she asked, "How can one be so young and so wise?"

	Jonny looked up at her.  "Jonny, you're right, it's not easy, but we will get
through this.  Together."  Mother and son continued to hold each other "Let's
get out of this city!"  Rachel said.  Jonny nodded in total agreement as he
picked up his carry-on.

*******

	Rachel and Jonny entered the hotel lobby, relieved to finally be leaving.
Rachel walked hurriedly up to the front desk and handed their room key to the
clerk.  "Could you send someone up to our room to get the rest of our
luggage?"  she asked.

"Certainly, Madam,"  replied the clerk, turning to give orders to the bellhop.
While Rachel leaned against the counter checking out, a man wearing a black
trenchcoat and dark sunglasses slipped in.  He pulled his gun out of coat and
pointed it in Rachel's direction.  

	At almost the same moment, the gentleman sitting in one of the lobby's
cushioned chairs dropped his newspaper and leapt for Rachel and Jonny.  He
pulled them to the ground as gunshots rang out.  Screams filled the crowded
lobby as everyone dove for cover.  

	Once the gunman realized he'd missed his target, he ran out the front door.
Rachel and Jonny's rescuer leapt up and ran out the door after him.  As he
quickly scanned the street outside, he failed to catch a glimpse of the
gunman.  But then, he didn't expect to, either.  He walked back into the hotel
lobby to the dazed woman and child still laying on the floor.  

	"WHAT IS GOING ON?  WHO ARE YOU?"  Spat out Rachel at the stranger.  

	"Mrs.  Quest?  I'm Race Bannon.  I'm here to protect you," he said while
offering his hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ta Da! Come see our new web site!
http://www.onelist.com
Onelist: A free email community service