The words were no more than out of his mouth when the fledgling Immortal
dropped to the floor without injury.

Within the hour, two things occurred: Illya and Mark returned to
Headquarters and Pierson received two envelopes, one large and the other
letter-sized, couriered from the Paris UNCLE office.  All five Immortals met
in Waverly's office to examine the contents.  The large envelope bore the
Watchers' seal, while the other had no marking except Pierson's name hand
written in a flowing script both MacLeod and Waverly recognized.

"You know Darius?" the Highlander asked.

"Everyone knows Darius," Pierson replied absently as he read the documents
from the Watchers.  "Ahh -- here we go!  According to the chronicles, there
have been a few times in the past where two Immortals have experienced their
First Deaths simultaneously, and their Quickenings were intertwined,
producing the same phenomena we saw two weeks ago and today.  It's only
temporary, and should fade over the next few weeks."  He pulled out the
message from Darius.  "And Darius confirms it, adding that the link should
fade even if one takes a Quickening."  He grinned at Waverly.  "Thank you
for the courier service, by the way, but -- how did you know where to pick
it up?"

The UNCLE head returned the grin with one of his own.  "I should think that
would be obvious.  I'm a spymaster, after all, and I have operatives
*everywhere*."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged a wistful look. Soon two would no longer be
one.  They turned back as Pierson continued speaking.

"This is all very interesting, but I really do need to get back to my
assigned research.  How much longer am I going to be here?"

"Our sources indicate there's someone close to Raymond Boyd, the head of
the THRUSH satrapy interested in finding Methos," Waverly replied, "who's
actually met the ancient one and knows what he looks like.  The most
interesting part of the report is the description he gave Boyd -- it matches
you, Mr. Pierson, to a 't'."

Pierson's reaction to this news was to snarl something none of the others
could translate but realized must be a curse in an obscure tongue.  "How
reliable is your information?"

"Very."

The Watcher paused, engaging in an internal debate, then: "Can I trust to
your discretion?"

"If you're about to reveal what I think you are, then let me assure you it
will not go beyond these walls.  Consider, though, that THRUSH is
already in possession of the knowledge."

"I am, and it's the only reason I'm allowing you to know that I *am*
Methos."

The air was suddenly full of questions as the other three spoke almost at
once.

"You're METHOS!?!" said MacLeod.

"You're 5,000 years old?" asked Illya.

"Is it true you're from Atlantis?" added Napoleon.

Methos/Pierson held up a hand for silence.  "Yes, I'm Methos, and yes,
I'm at least 5,000, but no, as far as I can recall I'm *not* from Atlantis.
I'm not even sure there *is* an Atlantis, at least in the form the word
evokes.  There were always stories of a lost Golden Age, but never
any hard evidence -- only tales of someone's friend's wife's cousin's
grandfather recalling a story he'd heard in his youth."

"Boyd believes in Atlantis," Waverly put in, "and that is, for the moment,
the pertinent fact.  You can to spend the rest of his life running and
hiding,
or you can help us stop him."

"You want me to be bait."

"You'll be given all the protection we can provide.  Duncan, I realize
you're
not part of UNCLE and have no obligation --"

"You'll have all the help I can give," MacLeod interrupted to assure him.

"Thank you.  Gentlemen, shall we plan how to draw out Boyd and his
associate?"

---

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