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"Socorro," Brianna said softly, as MacLeod paused in his tale. "That's an interesting name. Doesn't it come from the Spanish for 'Our Lady of Perpetual Help?'" The Highlander nodded, still gazing out to the horizon. "I once went to a college," she mused, "where there was a church nearby called 'Our Lady of Perpetual Help'. We used to call it 'Our Lady of the Railroad Tracks', because it was right next to the rail line." Duncan gave her a wan smile. Inside her head, she heard the lyrics, "Just touch my tears with your lips...touch my world with your fingertips..." It's funny how everything always seems to come back to Zanzibar, she thought. The Highlander took a deep breath and continued his story. June, 1964, New York World's Fair Darkness had fallen over Flushing Meadows Park as Duncan MacLeod dozed lightly under a tree. It was the middle of the night, well past closing time. He had let himself in with his Security keys, to stake out the targeted area -- the semicircular Court of the President of the United States of America. This surrounded the Unisphere, and, incongruously, was the location of many of the international pavilions. Across the broad lawns, in an arc, were: the glass-and-aluminum pavilion of Mexico, the circular roof of the Caribbean nations, the traditional pagoda of Taiwan, the jaunty hat-shape of the Philippines, the classically columned pile of Greece, and the clustered huts of Africa. All housed their exhibits, their gift shops, their restaurants. They were all still lit up, as was the Unisphere's Fountain of the Planets. On the far side of the fountain, the towers of the New York Pavilion floated in the background, glowing like UFO's. He was awakened by the Buzz of approaching Immortals. He sprang to his feet, clutching his katana. There was only one he could see, wading into the fountain and doing something at the base of the Unisphere. MacLeod ran to the water's edge. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!" he cried, brandishing the sword. His adversary turned to face him. It was the bearded man. He laughed throatily. "Duncan MacLeod...I've heard of you. You're one of those Northern Barbarians." MacLeod's eyes narrowed. "And who the hell are you?" "They call me the Kraken," was the reply, and the Immortal took a deep theatrical bow. "The Kraken? Like the giant squids that destroy ships?" "Yes...it's a little moniker I acquired during my days as a Barbary pirate." The Highlander waved his weapon. "I challenge you!" The Kraken chuckled. "Perhaps a bit later. I have something I need to do." "If you're planning anything -- I work Security here. It's my duty to stop you." Again, that maddening chuckle. "Oh, what a fine job you must have! I will admit, this is an amusing little playground. What wonders these mortals have created! To think, that when I was a lad growing up in Nineveh, I thought the Great Ziggurat and the Lion Gate were impressive. I've seen the majesty of the Acropolis, the Forum of Rome, the Spires of Baghdad! And now they build an artificial city of toys to congratulate themselves for their own ingenuity. It's rather quaint." MacLeod groaned inwardly. This was one of those ancient Immortals. In his experience, he knew of two kinds of Old Ones. One kind, like his friend, the priest Darius, grew wiser with age. They grew weary of the Game, and often dropped out of it to retire to Holy Ground and dispense their wisdom to disciples. Then, there was the other kind. The kind like Connor's Kurgan. These were bored with life, and sought ever- more- dangerous thrills. Often addicted to the rush of the Quickening, they took heads for fun, and looked down upon mortals as no more than mere cattle. Worshipped as gods in their youth, they truly believed they were Princes of the Universe. It was a sign of the Kraken's contempt towards the younger Immortal Duncan that the Assyrian actually turned his back on him and resumed his unseen mischief at the Unisphere's base. "I will take you on, unless you cease and desist!" MacLeod shouted. The Kraken turned back to him as the Buzz of several Immortals came into range. "I suspected you would cause me trouble," he said. "So I have a little insurance policy." MacLeod tried not to groan aloud as the two confederates he'd seen earlier that day came into view. Between them, they dragged a struggling Socorro. The white man held her Toledo steel sword just out of her reach. She'd disobeyed him! MacLeod should have foreseen she'd leave the safety of the church in which he'd ensconced her back in their Forest Hills neighborhood. He should have tied her up or something! They must have grabbed her on her way back into the park. The Kraken spoke, with syrupy sweetness. "Now, you will let me get on with my work? I do have a deadline, and my employers are very punctual." "You're working for the Zanzibaris, aren't you!" MacLeod demanded. "Who are you with -- the Sultan? The Nationalists?" The Kraken shrugged dismissively. "Well...the Nationalists, actually. But it doesn't really matter. I don't give a damn who rules a tiny African island no one's ever heard of except in the title of some Bob Hope road movie. No, it's the art that counts. You see, I'm trying to blow up the Unisphere in just the right way, so the entire thing shatters and hurls shrapnel across the Court. Preferably in the direction of the African Pavilion, of course. One has to make the right aesthetic statement." Oh, this was worst kind of ancient Immortal, MacLeod thought. He was beyond politics, beyond ideology. He was probably even beyond the money his employers paid him. He just wanted to foment chaos for his own amusement. "Kraken, get away from the Unisphere," the Highlander growled. "MacLeod, MacLeod...what about your little Nubian whore, here!" "She's not Nubian! She's Cuban! And she's bloody well not a whore!" At this moment, there was a cry and MacLeod spun around. Socorro had elbowed one of her captors and kicked the other in the crotch. She'd gotten free and recovered her sword, backing away from them and holding up the weapon. She pointed to the Negro man. "I challenge you!" she cried in English. The Immortal pulled out his sword -- a curved cutlass. Oh God, no! She had selected an opponent -- now he was bound not to interfere! The Kraken smiled. "You know, MacLeod, my associate can refuse her challenge. If you leave me alone, and let me do my work, he will say no." "You can't interfere in the combat!" Duncan retorted. "Kifume can make the choice of his own free will. Kifume?" the Kraken called, "If MacLeod lets me finish here, will you freely choose to refuse the girl's challenge?" "Why, certainly," the black Immortal replied with a foreign accent. He smiled, showing his white teeth. "Fight me, damn you!" Socorro shrieked in English, running toward Kifume and whacking at him. Calmly, he batted away her blade. Duncan suddenly realized she probably had missed the nuances of the conversation, which had been in English. "He refuses to accept your challenge, Socorro!" he yelled to her in Spanish. "He won't fight you if you don't attack him!" It wasn't interfering if he simply acted as an interpreter, right? "I heard you!" she yelled back in Spanish. "That bastard wants you to let him set his bomb!" She made another pass at Kifume, who, again, without even stirring much, parried. MacLeod turned back to the Kraken. This was a heart-wrenching problem. If he did let the Immortal set his bomb, MacLeod could try to stay behind and defuse it -- but they'd prevent him from doing that somehow, he was certain. But he sure as hell wasn't going to stand by and let them blow up a gaggle of tourists and the Tanzanian ambassador! There might be one more option. "Kraken, I challenge your white associate!" "Then Kifume might decide to take on your little friend, there, after all. What do you say, Kifume?" "She's a feisty one!" Kifume replied, smiling, and effortlessly parrying another attack from the increasingly-enraged Cuban girl. "If Kifume refuses to fight Socorro, then I challenge him!" MacLeod announced. "You know," Kifume said mildly, "I might decide to fight this girlie after all..." It was a hopeless situation. Socorro could not be reasoned with at this point -- she wouldn't pull back her attack. If MacLeod did anything to Kifume or the white guy, the remaining one would go after her. And all this time, the Kraken was fiddling with his bomb! MacLeod's heart was breaking. He had to do something. And it looked increasingly like he would have to sacrifice one Immortal's life to save that of many mortals. He made one last plea, in her native tongue. "Socorro, you don't have to fight these people!" "What makes you so sure they won't kill us once their bomb is planted, anyway?" she replied. "No, Duncan -- if I have to die, I will. I've done it once already!" "But you won't wake up this time!" She turned to him and smiled. "You were the one who taught me that we must protect mortals. That it is right to die to save another's life." MacLeod felt the tears in his voice and in his eyes. "Don't throw your life away, Socorro! Run! Run to the Vatican Pavilion! Or the Mormon Temple -- it's just beyond the Taiwan Pavilion! It's Holy Ground, too!" "No. I won't leave you!" She turned to Kifume. "Come on! I fight you!" she said in broken English. To MacLeod, in Spanish she said, "Who wants to live forever, anyway?" She charged at Kifume. The white man yelled to MacLeod, "I challenge you!" And MacLeod accepted the challenge. As he fought, he could hear the clang of the weapons behind him. He had taught Socorro well. But he knew, not well enough. The Kraken called once more from the fountain, "MacLeod, you have one last chance! Break off your attack, call back your girl-child, and you can all walk free!" "No," MacLeod said, deep in his throat, as his katana connected with the white man's saber. He heard it happen behind him, and he couldn't afford to turn around. The thunk! of the blade slicing through a neck...the dull thud as it hit the ground. Then the Quickening came, and he turned just as everyone else froze. Kifume stood over the corpse of Socorro, as tendrils of lightning rose from her through him. An unnatural wind kicked up...small explosions sent water splashing in the fountain. For a sickening moment, MacLeod feared for the bomb, as the lightning hit the Unisphere's North Pole, and crackled along the meridians and parallels, enveloping the metal globe. It lit up like a magnesium flare. But the bomb did not go off. And then it was over, and Kifume slumped to his knees. Seconds later, the white man attacked again, but this time MacLeod, focused by his sorrow, beat him back and took his head. Another Quickening lit up the night. This time, he was too far from the Unisphere or any other structure, and only the grass got scorched. When it was over, MacLeod stood woozily and surveyed the scene. The Kraken was gone, and so was Kifume. Only poor, dead Socorro remained. But first, he had to check the Unisphere. He waded into the fountain, and found no bomb. Perhaps the Quickenings had shorted out the detonator. Bone-tired, he returned to the his student's corpse. They had taken her sword with them. He had to hide her body and head. Dazed with sadness, he picked them up, and took them away, back to his car in the parking lot. Then, he called the Fair's Chief of Security, his boss, and told him to beef up the police presence the next day, for there had been a bomb threat. Then he swore, as God was his witness, if he ever encountered the Kraken again, he would take his head.
MacLeod told Brianna, "They never publicized the bomb threat...they didn't want to create a panic. It's been kept a secret to this day. But the Kraken was scared off, and they didn't threaten the Fair again." He turned away from the view of Toronto and finally looked at her. "I got Kifume, here in Toronto." His eyes were moist, but he set his jaw again and steadied his voice. "I killed him at Casa Loma. You helped me destroy his body." "And the Kraken?" MacLeod shook his head. "I haven't seen him yet. But I know he's here. He was sighted by some Watchers a week ago. My friend among the Watchers told me about it -- that's why I came." "So, this is a vendetta, after all." "It's more than that. I am convinced Kraken is up to something. He's brought too many members of his gang for just a holiday." "Members you are picking off, one by one." MacLeod nodded. "You realize, that's no way to foil their plan. We have to figure out what their plan is." "I know they're going to set a bomb. That's their M.O. In fact, rumor has it they were involved with the bombings in Daar es Salaam and Nairobi of those American embassies." "What thing does this guy have for Tanzania? Oh, no...are there still nationalists in Zanzibar?" MacLeod said, "He doesn't care who he works for. He'll sell his services to the highest bidder. He doesn't care about life...he only likes to see destruction..." The Highlander began to shudder with rage. Brianna took him by the shoulders. "Shhh," she whispered, as if to calm a child. "It's okay. We'll get him, Duncan. I'll help you avenge Socorro." The Highlander relaxed. Then he sighed, and leaned his forehead against hers. "I remind you of her, don't I?" Brianna whispered. The similarity in their looks had not escaped her. "That would be...ghoulish," MacLeod replied. "I don't mind." "Her name means 'Help'...but I couldn't help her. Brianna, there was nothing I could do." "She was very noble. She gave her life to save others." "She didn't have to die. It was all my fault. I should have called the mortal authorities sooner...gotten backup..." "Don't blame yourself." She placed her hands on his shoulders. He put his arms around her, and buried his face in her neck. Brianna stroked his long black hair. He looked up at her, and they gazed into each other's eyes for long moments. And then, they kissed. Softly at first, then with greater fervor until they were fiercely embracing. They parted, and he gave her a questioning look. She nodded. He took her hand, and they continued purposefully down the beach, eastward towards MacLeod's house.
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