Reformation
Chapter Twelve
Jacob could feel his knees buckle under the harsh truth. Still staring at J. Gander in disbelief, he allowed himself to slowly sink down into the cushions of the couch. For a long moment, he couldn't even find the right words to express his pure shock. He looked up at the SHUSH director. "A placebo?"
"Yes," J. Gander nodded, hating to suck the hope out of his old friend's eyes. "He was taking nothing but sugar pills."
Now Jacob's disbelief took a small turn toward anger. "Why didn't anyone tell me this?" he demanded, upset that he hadn't been kept in the loop.
"You and I both know it would have compromised the experiment, Jacob," J. Gander pointed out. "You would have treated your patients differently if you knew. You would have treated him differently."
It was true. He knew it was true because it was a condition he stressed. Still, Jacob found himself having trouble accepting this truth. It didn't seem to add up. A criminal like Negaduck? Capable of reforming himself?
"This just doesn't make sense. It doesn't seem possible..."
The old gander spoke up again with his own scientific words of wisdom. "Never underestimate the power of the placebo effect. You knew there was a 50/50 chance that he would be placed in the control group."
There was another moment of prolonged silence, and J. Gander allowed his friend some time to regain himself. But the director's eyes kept wandering about the large mansion, watching his men, waiting for them to find the fleeing felon hiding in some nook. Then, as Jacob raised his head, his eyes narrowed in a strong, merciless stare. Then he rose to his feet, coming to a resolution.
"I need a drink."
He slid his way past the agents and made his way into the other room where the minibar was located. "Anybody else want a drink??" he called over his shoulder, but received no response. It was a cover. As Jacob strode into the other room where an agent was already digging through the walk-in closet, he looked around for any sign of the criminal and found none. He felt relief begin to wash over him, hoping that Negaduck had managed to slip out the back or through a window on the second floor.
As he bent over the minibar and poured himself a glass of bourbon, he heard footsteps come up behind him. He knew who they belonged to.
"Jacob, please listen to me. We must find him before he harms another innocent person," J. Gander stressed, growing more desperate by the minute.
The suave mallard turned around with a half full glass in one hand. "I told you, John. He didn't kill our agent." Then he shrugged. "And as I said, I don't know where he is. He called, but I didn't think to trace the call."
"Sir?"
J. Gander looked up at one of his agents.
"We've completed a sweep the whole house. He's not here."
He paused, and gave a deep, reluctant sigh. "Alright. Disperse agents all over the city, and pay special attention to the bad parts of town and the ways out of town. If he flees or tries to lay low in one of his sanctuaries, we need to be ready for him."
The agents began to withdraw from the house, and Jacob followed them to the front door. He tried not to come across as too eager to get them out. "Be sure to notify me if you find him. I will want a few words with him before you ship him out. And I'll inform you the minute I hear from him again."
"I don't doubt you will, Jacob. Because if you don't, someone else will," J. Gander said resolutely.
Jacob stopped and blinked questionably. "Come again?"
Stopping in the doorway, J. Gander turned to look up at him. "I'm leaving an agent here with you. It's nothing personal, Jacob. But we can't be too cautious. Negaduck may turn violent against you when he discovers what has really been going on."
His brows raised. Nothing personal? Jacob knew the real reason behind this move. J. Gander truly believed that he wouldn't inform SHUSH if Negaduck did show up. But he couldn't hold that against his friend. It was true, anyway.
"Fine. And who will be graced with my company this evening?" he asked. Jacob Mallard was confident that he could sway any agent to his bidding by using his prestige and reputation.
But there was one exception, and he stepped into the doorway.
"Looks like we'll be having a little sleepover tonight, Mallard," the slick form of his double hissed with sarcasm.
Jacob nearly dropped the glass in his hand. It took every ounce of will power not to start an argument and protest J. Gander's decision, knowing that it would only make the situation all the more suspicious. Instead, he played it cool. "Oh goody. I can hardly wait for the pillow fight."
Except those pillows would be filled with bricks.
"Now gentleman, despite whatever differences you may have, I stress the importance of the two of you cooperating in this dire situation," J. Gander reminded the look-alike mallards.
"Of course, John," Jacob replied innocently.
"You have nothing to worry about," Jake reassured.
J. Gander gave a small smile--the first of the evening. "Excellent. You're the finest agents that SHUSH possesses. Be sure to keep up that stigma. I'll expect an update to Headquarters every hour. Good evening, gentleman."
He walked out the door after his agents, and Jacob closed the door after him. He turned around to face his double, who was staring back at him with an accusing glower. "You shouldn't do that, you know. Your face will stick that way," he suggested, but then smirked. "Oh, wait. Too late."
"Hardy har har," Jake sneered, remaining unamused. "Alright, let's cut to the chase. Where is he?"
But Jacob remained coy as he sauntered past the ill-tempered mallard. "Why, I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't you hear me say to J. Gander that I don't know where he is?"
Jake followed him into the main foyer where the fire in the fireplace was still roaring strong. "Drop the act, Jacob. You might have been able to fool J. Gander, but I know how you think."
Jacob took a deep gulp of alcohol from his glass, and then turned to face him with a calm, level expression. "It must be hard, having such a strong desire to kill your own son. We may think on the same level, but that is one thing we do not have in common. That built-up, mindless rage against your own flesh and blood. The drive behind your present life. It must be hard having that and nothing else to live for. Tell me, Jake. How hard is it to be so hateful of everything and everyone?"
His counterpart glared back at him with cold, icy green eyes. He was growing impatient with the condescending attitude. "Don't forget. You're just as much a part of that hatred as he is."
"Oh, I didn't forget," Jacob answered, now passing a steely stare of his own. He took a few dangerous steps closer. "But unlike you, I'm not going to give up and abandon that boy. Despite the despicable mallard he was sired from, and despite what you've done to him, I believe there is potential in him. I know you're the one responsible for Agent Terry's assassination." He stopped just feet away from Jake and leaned forward, his voice lowering into a threatening growl. "And I'm going to stand by him so that we may watch you fall together..."
The fire was ignited in Jake's eyes, fueled by his hatred. With an enraged snarl, he swung a balled fist right for his double's head. But Jacob reacted quickly, and splashed the rest of his bourbon directly into his eyes.
"Ahhh!!" Jake howled in pain. He frantically rubbed at his eyes, trying to cease the burning sensation.
While he was temporarily blinded, Jacob gripped his cane tightly in both hands. He held onto the handle, and pulled at the hilt of the cane, revealing a long, smooth sword that glistened in the firelight. He lifted it and aimed its point directly toward Jake, who was just regaining his vision. He blinked in surprise upon being faced with the weapon, but he would prove to be resourceful. Jake's eyes shifted to the side, and in a quick move, he leapt over toward the fireplace and removed a long poker from the flames. The tip was red hot from the intense heat, and now he countered Jacob's threat with his own.
"You any good with that thing?" Jake challenged him lowly.
Jacob tilted his head in response with an excited sparkle in his eyes. "We'll soon find out, old friend."
And with those words, the two engaged in a makeshift sword fight in the middle of the elegant living room. Each time the sword hit the shaft of the poker, fiery sparks were sent into the air. The metallic clangs echoed off of the long walls and high ceiling. Jacob was not only fighting a battle with his nemesis, but with himself as he struggled to keep his limp minimal under the stress of the battle. This gave Jake an advantage from the start, but Jacob was proving to be masterful with a sword while Jake's primary mastery was in firearms.
Jake began to strongly advance, forcing Jacob to back up and bump into the lacquer coffee table. He stumbled for an instant, and turned around to retreat a few steps so that he could regain his composure. But Jake was quick on his heels, leaping over the couch after him. Just as Jake was preparing to thrust the pointed end of his weapon through his enemy's back, Jacob spun around and blocked the fatal attack with a paire, locking their weapons together.
"By the way," Jake seethed as he leaned closer. "I'll be sure to explain to that purple-masked son of yours what really happened here. How you were harboring a fugitive who decided to turn on his meal ticket. Perhaps I'll even make it sound as if you died honorably, fighting until your last breath." Then he passed him a cruel smile. "He'll be so disappointed to discover that his father consorted with criminals to the end..."
Jacob felt his rage give him that extra boost of adrenaline he needed. With an angry grunt, he pushed Jake backward and sliced the air with his sword. But before he could make contact with Jake's neck, the corrupt agent blocked the attack with a strong paire of his own. It was so powerful, that it knocked the sword right out of Jacob's hands. It slid across the slick wooden floor and came to a stop several feet away. And Jake continued with a follow-through punch that sent Jacob to the floor. He grunted in pain, and he was now beginning to feel the throbbing in his lame leg. He had pushed it too hard. when Jacob turned around, Jake was standing over him. Instead of having the poker in his hand, he now held Jacob's sword, and he positioned the tip right against his neck.
"A little over-confident, weren't you?" Jake sneered triumphantly down at him.
But Jacob remained defiant. Despite the grim situation, despite the fact that Jake had the upperhand and would slit his throat within the minute, he would never beg for mercy from him.
"You can kill me, Jake. I dare you," he challenged him in a strong, unwavering voice that was void of even the slightest ounce of fear. "Your fate is coming for you sooner than you think." Then he smiled devilishly. "I'll save a seat in Hell for you."
"You do that," Jake answered evenly while holding the sword tightly in his hands. "And I'll be sure to send Negaduck to keep you company in the meantime."
Jacob felt his defenses rise, and he spoke up to his enemy in a confident voice. "That boy is a better mallard than you'll ever be, Jake. Even in light of everything you've done to him. You just can't accept it. And you never will."
Jake's green eyes narrowed defensively against the truth. He saw only one way to remedy that. Jake's fingers curled tightly around the handle of the sword. "It's been a good battle, my friend. But it looks as if you've lost the war."
He pulled the sword back, prepared to run his long-time enemy through. Jacob did not try to flee, and would take his fate with dignity. Then he saw the shining blade thrust toward him and closed his eyes, waiting for the last pain he would ever feel.
CLANG!!!
The firepoker swung through the air, and the sound of the iron hitting flesh and bone sending a sickening clanging sound ripping through the air. Jake hadn't even seen it coming from behind, and was taken completely off guard when he was struck across the shoulders. He grunted loudly in pain before he collapsed to the rug-covered wooden floor in front of his double. Jacob opened his eyes, and there Negaduck stood, the iron rod clenched tightly in his hands and an angry, resentful scowl on his face.
"This war is far from over," the villain growled down at his fallen father, who would take quite a few minutes to regain himself.
Jacob looked up at the younger mallard, relieved and grateful. Negaduck tossed the poker aside and stepped forward, outstretching an arm to help pull him to his feet. Jacob took his hand and painstakingly pulled himself to his feet, although he tried his best to hide his difficulty.
"It's quite possible you saved my life, Drake."
"Good. Then we're even." Negaduck looked down at Jake, who was still groaning in pain and struggling not to lose consciousness. "Let's get out of here before the rest of those suited yuppies come back."
Even though his body disagreed with the idea, he nodded, knowing that Jake would call for reinforcements to take the both of them in. He waved his hand for him to follow. "This way."
The two of them made a quick retreat through the back door of the mansion. Meanwhile, Jake's head finally began to stop spinning. He placed his palms flat on the floor, and slowly lifted himself up. He had to blink his eyes into focus, and they darted around wildly in search of his enemy and his son. There was no sign of either, but then there was the sound of a car squealing out of the long driveway in a hurry.
Jake staggered to his feet, and painfully shifted his shoulders. Then he pulled out his cellular and dialed.
"This is Agent Jake Mallard. Get me J. Gander..."