by Rob Sorenson

Buffy and Spike were reentering Xander's room when they overheard Faith, Willow and Dawn discussing their next move. Faith and Willow, in particular, were becoming slightly heated.

"Willow, look at him. You mean to tell me you don't have the urge to find these guys and kill them one by one?"

"That's not fair. Do I want to hurt them? Yes. More than you can possibly understand. It's...not that simple."

"Seems simple enough to me. They hurt Xander. I hurt them."

Buffy interjected.

"We shouldn't be talking about this in here."

Dawn looked to her sister.

"He's not even here, Buffy. Look at him."

The blonde Slayer glared at her sister.

"He can hear every word you're saying. Just because he chooses not to react doesn't mean he's deaf."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just.....hard. He seems like he should be able to at least notice us."

Buffy gently took her hand while exchanging a glance with Willow.

"I know, honey. Let's go to the waiting room, 'kay? We all need to talk."

Spike, meanwhile, had noticed the exchanged looks. His fears were confirmed.

Buffy and Willow were going to try to do something.

"Bloody Hell. You planned this without telling me."

Buffy held his eyes calmly.

"I didn't want to get into detail until we were all together."

"Well, I'm leaving. I can't talk about this tonight. I'm tired. If you people want to have your little meeting then go ahead."

Buffy was about to respond when Willow held up a hand to still her.

"It's ok. Spike is probably right. Let's all get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow after Xander is transferred."

The group each did their own version of the "ok, whatever," shrug and left, with the exception of Faith.

She wasn't leaving her Xander.

Buffy and Willow managed to get a discreet distance between themselves and the others as they made their way to the revolving front door.

"Buffy, they have a right to know everything. We DO plan on telling them everything, right?"

The Slayer sighed. "Yes. That's not a conversation I look forward to."

********************************************************

***Seven Days Earlier***

The room was still in shock as Hans Katzenbach, newly crowned Chairman of the Council of Watchers, stood shakily before them and spoke.

"I think at this time it would be best if we took some time to process and analyze the information we've been given. We have many important choices ahead.

Colonel Martineau, I wish to officially extend my condolences for the loss of Major Huddleston. He was a loyal soldier to our cause, and will be remembered as such in the Council's archives."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"While the death of our own is always tragic and never to be taken lightly, we must not allow such things to cloud our judgment. It is my feeling that we must focus on the most pressing issue. Our future depends on how we respond to this most recent challenge.

I give no recommendation at this time save one: no option is to be considered out of bounds. This includes Leveque's suggestion of standing down."

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Not once had the disbanding of the organization ever been mentioned, even in whispers. Certainly not in an open forum by the Chairman, of all people. Katzenbach held up a hand, as if to ward off an attack, as he continued.

"This also includes Colonel Martineau's option of making open war. If such a sacrifice is necessary to protect the world, than so be it. However, this will not occur until this Council is in agreement, with no less than 3/4 concurring. The days of unilateral action are over.

I motion that we adjourn for five days to allow ourselves to consider our options. We will then reconvene and plot out a course of action."

Martineau himself seconded the motion, and dazed faces made their way out of the room. The Colonel sought out the eyes of two young men in the room and heartily approved that they were focused on him. He merely nodded to acknowledge their presence and accept their unspoken invitation.

Katzenbach slowly walked out of the room and made his way to a small makeshift office at the end of the hallway. It had been set up for Quentin Travers. As he had failed to make the engagement, it fell to the highest ranking official.

It was no secret within the Executive Council that Travers had strongly disliked Katzenbach. His skillful maneuvering had resulted in the German Watcher's position to be important, yet of no real power. He was basically the perpetual third man, often a wise mediator of disputes when others were afraid to go to Travers directly.

It was in this way that he became indispensable to Travers. However powerful he was within the Executive Council, he could not order the death of Katzenbach as he had Robson. The old man was too well respected by all members to be put aside.

Plus, Travers needed him to do all the little things that he considered beneath him. Upon reflection it was best for all: Katzenbach had little time for the Machiavellian schemes of the cold eyed Britisher, and Travers utilized "Father Hans," as he was affectionately known, to put a softer spin on some of Travers's less than kosher enterprises to the rank and file. The perfect figurehead.

In truth, the Council was still basically well meaning, if a bit set in their medieval way of thinking.

That, at least, was what Hans Katzenbach wanted to believe. He sat in his executive chair and put his face in his hands. Like most dictatorships ruled by terror and fear, once the leader fell, chaos often followed.

Quentin Travers had left the Council in shambles, and Leveque, who'd clearly been the fair haired boy when it came to succeeding Travers eventually, had simply passed the mess on to a man who had no desire to grasp the responsibility.

In one of his more reflective moments, Hans Katzenbach had come to the conclusion that he'd stopped truly believing in the Council many years ago.

One terrible night had changed everything.

He took a deep breath, forced the unpleasant memories out of his mind and picked up the phone to summon a few select Watchers he felt he could trust.

Unless he acted wisely and quickly, all Hell was about to break loose.

*******************************************************

Colonel Anthony Martineau, former member of the British Special Air Service, was infuriated.

He'd spent his life dedicated to action, however it could be obtained. As a young man, he'd been a natural athlete and leader, excelling in rugby and football equally through his teenage years. The special forces had been a logical step for his hyper-aggressive personality, and the challenge and danger excited him.

As expected, he quickly rose through the ranks through ruthless initiative and a predatory sense of timing. If he sensed a weakness in those directly over him, he simply licked the proper pair of boots to get the ear of the proper officer and maneuvered around those who tried to block his road to power.

In time, he'd been given a certain autonomy within the service, and had formed his own Anti-Terrorist Unit. It was then, during the terrible interlude of the Troubles of Northern Ireland, that he'd begun to show signs of megalomania and brutality.

This was expected--in fact, encouraged--by those within the government who understood the need for such men to perform the tasks that proper gentlemen simply could not.

Therefore they simply looked the other way when reports came that women and children had been tortured and killed in pursuit of the enemy. Unpleasant, to be sure; but one must consider the results. Indeed, for a brief period in the late 70's terrorism within England was reduced. Whether or not the actions of Martineau and his unit were responsible for this was never clear, but there was enough support for him within the government to withstand any questioning of his methods.

All was well in Martineau's world until 1982, when the threat of a clash over ownership of the Falkland Islands loomed. From Martineau's perspective it was a marvelous opportunity for advancement, and the sheer rush of battle was something he could never replace.

His team had worked covertly within Argentina during the brief conflict, and the intelligence they'd gathered regarding troop movements and plans had resulted in a quick end to the violent territorial dispute between the two countries.

Once the UK had won, much work was done to reestablish diplomatic relations with their vanquished foe for economic reasons. Martineau's team had no such concerns. They'd done their bit, and were having their traditional grand old time in Buenos Aires. Spoils of war, and all that.

He'd later told the Board of Inquiry that the girl had informed him in no uncertain terms that her age was 21. He took her word as it was given, and two consenting adults had enjoyed one another's company.

In truth, he hadn't given a damn. She was stunning and terrified. This was always a combination he'd found irresistible.

As it turned out, the girl in question was the daughter of a member of the newly formed civilian parliament in 1983. This led to an inevitable diplomatic clash. In the end, those within the government who had never approved of Martineau's methods took full advantage of his sudden vulnerability.

To his everlasting fury, they'd taken the word of a little Argentine trollop over a decorated veteran of the most elite troops in Britain, if not the world. He was quietly discharged from service, forcing him to accept this rather than be extradited to Argentina for trial.

This humiliating dishonor had nearly driven him to end himself, until one fateful day when Quentin Travers came into his life, and restored it's purpose. He was again an elite warrior, with stakes on an even larger scale than before. Recruiting many unsavory characters from his old unit, including Major Raymond Huddleston, they'd performed covert ops all over the world, with a nearly one hundred percent success rate.

In that time, in nearly twenty years, there had been only four operations that hadn't gone precisely to plan.

All four involved the current Slayers in some form or fashion; of those two had been in the last three days.

Martineau, on some level, cared about the fate of the world, he supposed. No doubt these Slayers had done some useful work in their time.

They'd made the fatal mistake, however, of trying to make Tony Martineau look bad. No teenage children, Slayers or not, would be allowed to get away with that again.

His philosophy was kill 'em all and let the Powers sort 'em out. Unfortunately Travers had apparently gone off the deep end, resorting to a needless kidnapping scheme with accompanying magical mumbo-jumbo that had done nothing more than warn the enemy.

As he'd expected, the operation had been a total cock-up. Now, Travers was dead, Leveque had deserted...leaving the namby-pamby Katzenbach in charge.

Martineau snorted as he made his way into his own office; if Travers weren't already dead he might kill him on his own for putting them in this position. Still, he had assets on his side, and the might to back it up. It was simply a matter of will.

He would show the remaining Council that his way got results, while Katzenbach's hand wringing caused crucial delays and vulnerabilities. He picked up the phone to call in his operatives and waited for their arrival, along with his special guests. The conclusion was inevitable, of course; if the Council were to remain a viable force in the demonic underworld they had to retake control of the Slayer line.

Still, there were politics to be considered. Katzenbach was well liked by many. Martineau detested such trivialities, but such was the responsibility of leadership in a civilian group. He looked up as his subordinates entered, motioning them informally to their seats across from him. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Is there independent confirmation of Huddleston's death that jibes with Leveque's account?"

One of his associates, whose name slipped Martineau's mind at the moment, responded immediately.

"Unfortunately yes, sir. The New York City Police Department found his body in Grand Central Station with his nose bashed in."

"Interesting. He was moved, then?"

"Yes sir. Most likely to deflect any investigation away from Yankee Stadium, where the majority of the operation occurred."

"This certainly lends credence to Leveque's version that he was killed by this child. I imagine they'd want to protect her."

The group nodded their head in agreement. Martineau sat back, steepled his fingers and continued.

"We're going to be debating soon regarding alternative solutions to the situation regarding the rogue Slayers and their group. I want to give them a demonstration of what we're capable of once the gloves are off. An example, if you will. I cannot think of a better example to give the Council of what we can do than the elimination of the little bitch who killed Huddleston. This will serve the dual purpose of quieting the weak willed, such as Katzenbach, and avenging the murder of one of our own. I want our best team dispatched on this. Any questions?"

"No sir," his fellow officers answered almost as one.

"Good. I want no slip ups. If this means taking our time until we're certain of success, I'm willing to accept that. No longer than a week, however. I can't hold the attention of the Council for much longer than two days of debate. Clear?"

"Yes, sir. A week should be plenty of time to get the assets in place."

Martineau nodded approvingly. "Fine. Within one week, men, I want that child's head on my desk. Dismissed."

Five minutes later, two young men walked into the office, shaking hands cordially with Martineau as he greeted them formally.

"Gentlemen, I realize this is a difficult time for you. I'll be brief. I plan to eliminate each and every member of Buffy Summers's group as soon as possible. Anarchy cannot be allowed to rule in our time. The forces of Darkness will eventually come back rejuvenated. When this occurs, I want the Council in full control of the Slayer line. Quentin attempted to take advantage of his opportunity. Sadly, it appears he gave his life to the cause. I will see to it that his death was not in vain.

I have merely one favor to ask. There will be a series of debates in chambers over our course of action, and Katzenbach will be on the side of standing down. I will fight him directly on this, but I cannot do it alone. You two will have special attention due to your circumstances.

My question is simple: will you help me?"

Peter and Paul Travers nodded simultaneously.

****************************************************

Katzenbach stared across at his chosen confidantes. They were good people, genuinely concerned with the fate of the world. Any thoughts of regaining power for it's own sake were not dwelled upon in this room. It was all he could ask for at the moment as he addressed them softly.

"My friends, I have no doubt that Colonel Martineau will be an advocate for total war with the Slayers and their people. I also have no doubt that this will result in needless bloodshed on both sides.

I've yet to see anything from Buffy Summers and her family and friends other than success. While the Council may not approve of her methods, one cannot argue with the results.

The actions of Travers and his commandos have put us at great and needless risk. We should have been spending our time sharing information and rebuilding trust with them. Instead, we now are on the brink of a war that could destroy us all. I certainly hope the message Leveque presented us gives proper evidence of their arousal. Considering their success rate regarding demons, I shudder to think what they're capable of against humans."

He smiled apologetically to his small audience.

"I was going on a bit there. Sorry. I suppose I'm practicing for the debate which is sure to come in five days. In truth, I called you in here to assist me in two critical matters: first of all, we must remain aware of Martineau's actions. I have little doubt that he is planning something without my consent.

Second, and most importantly, there was another mission taking place concurrently with the New York Clone Affair. I have only vague knowledge of what it was; I was not 'in the loop' as they say."

He took a deep breath and continued.

"I need to know the nature of the mission and whether or not it puts us in further peril. All I'm currently aware of was something I overheard Travers speaking to Huddleston about before they left for New York. He made reference to unfinished business and tying loose ends. I haven't a clue what this means, but I'd guess it was related to the primary mission against Buffy Summers.

Outside of this, I have no other ideas. Does anyone else have anything to contribute?"

Silence among several frightened Council members was all he was to receive.

"These are very important and dangerous times. Please be careful as you work. There has been enough needless death. Thank you for your time. If you will excuse me..."

The members rose and left his office as one.

- End Chapter Two-