Title: A Second Angel Part 2: A Critical Break Author:  Eva Parker Email:  eva_parker@yahoo.com Please refer to A Second Angel, Part 1: Empty Hands for author’s notes, disclaimers, and related information.  And stay cool, Jarod fans; we'll be catching up with him pretty soon in Part 4: Boston. Digital Security Recording  9/31/74                  FOR CENTRE USE ONLY                                               Centre Satellite 04/London    The psychiatrist is a middle-aged Brit, with long, flowing blonde hair, silver-rimmed reading glasses, and a motherly demeanor.  She signs a paper with a flourish while her companion, a young American man, fidgets in his seat and clutches a file.    There is a black-and-white photograph on her desk, framed in aluminum and discreetly turned face-down, so the young man cannot see the girl in the photograph.  Her eyes alight on the photograph for an instant, and then, for a longer moment, at the man sitting in the chair across her desk.    Only after she has pulled another paper from the stack in her IN box does she drop her gaze and continue her work. A sidelong glance at the American reveals him adjusting his trim black suit, rustling the papers in his thick file folder, and noisily clearing his throat.    “Ma’am?” The man murmurs tentatively. His accent grates coarsely in her ears.     Ma’am, poppycock, she thinks, with an indulgent and well-hidden smile, but she does not respond.    “Doctor.” He speaks louder this time, more confident, or simply annoyed.    She drops her Centre pen, removes her reading glasses, and finally focuses her attention. “What is it, Peter?”    Now, the man cannot look at her. He drops his gaze submissively.  “Events. . .are moving along at an alarming rate.”    “Would you care to elucidate?”    “Now, May, you know I’m not permitted to explain this business any further. Actually, I’m not to speak of it at all—-”    She dismisses the statement with a wave of her pale and bony hand. Gathering information around this place, even where it concerned Anabelle, was like trying to fish in a swimming pool. “Get to the point. I’ve got to finish these reports and make rounds.” So many more important things to do, she thought sarcastically.    “We need to get rid of the girl,” Peter says shortly.    There are many implications to this statement, so many that May does not bother with a fearful reaction. Ana is too valuable to destroy; it is far more likely that she is being taken away. May even had a number of likely destinations in her head.    And only one suggestion for a psychiatrist equal to May herself in dealing with young Ana’s... proclivities.    “She cannot be here,” Peter continues. “She infers too much, May. And, of course, it could be dangerous for her here” He cocked his head a bit, turning over the little piece of information she guessed he was about to share.  “A. . .a Doctor Raines is here to supervise the proceedings. She makes him uncomfortable.”    “Where?” May mutters.    “There is a place for her in the States,” he said. “Actually, they run their own Pretender Project there, with a full facility and, ah, support staff.” Another pause, another turn of his head. “Better than ours.”    He slid the file across her desk.  She flipped it open. The first photograph was of the Centre headquarters, a beautiful facility near the sea. She’d visited there, once; the corporate offices were lush but a bit intimidating, the laboratories light and airy but sterile, quiet and frozen-in-time like some hospital ward.    “They’re sending her to Blue Cove,” Peter explained. “Actually, I will be taking her myself.”    The second photograph was an Annual Identification Photograph, an image of a handsome young boy, with a gentle smile and a solemn sharpness in his eyes. He was identified as Jarod, aged fourteen.    Ah.  The other Pretender Project. There would certainly be... interesting results from all this. The impact on the boy would also have to be studied, though it didn’t take an Oxford degree to make a guess at the outcome of this move.    “Will I have the chance to say goodbye?” she breathed. Ana’s mischievous grin and flint-and-steel green eyes flashed in her memory.  She had just seen the girl three hours ago.    Peter dropped his eyes again. “She’s already in the helicopter. They’re waiting on me.  I’m sorry, May.” Then he got up and walked through the inlaid glass doors.