It was before dawn in Paris, and very dark as MacLeod and Dawson stepped out of the cab.

The building in front of them was four stories above the ground. There was also a garden level, accessible by a flight of stairs located on the side of the structure. Taking both his and Joe's carry-on bags, MacLeod led the way toward the steps going down to the lower level, where Methos had an apartment. He paused halfway down the stairs. "I don't sense him, Joe."

"Don't think the worst yet," Dawson cautioned, then followed Duncan down the stairs to Methos' front door.

MacLeod dropped the bags beside the door and pulled out his katana. The door was ajar. He cautiously entered the dark apartment, found the light switch beside the door and flipped it on.

The flat was a mess. Everything in the room had been overturned, torn apart or emptied onto the floor. MacLeod and Dawson stood in the middle of the one room apartment and surveyed the destruction.

"I don't see him," MacLeod said, sounding relieved. He walked over to the bed, reached down and picked up a sword, just visible from behind the headboard. "They surprised him."

"I don't think they found what they were looking for, Mac."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, he learned a lesson when Kalas came after him. Adam doesn't keep any of his work on-site anymore." Joe pointed to the shattered computer in one corner of the room. "His computer is connected to a secured site, he no longer keeps hard copies of any kind and he doesn't work on any 'current histories'."

"Would they know that?" MacLeod questioned his friend. "Did you include that kind of information in your journal?"

"No, I didn't."

"So they've kidnapped him to find out where his records are?"

"Maybe," Joe answered.

"It may be the only thing keeping him alive -- if they haven't already killed him," MacLeod theorized, as he and Dawson continued to examine the flat.

"I'll look for McCarthy as soon as it gets light outside," Joe said.

"And I'll find this 'Kevin Darby' Methos was telling you about," MacLeod vowed. He looked over at Joe, then continued, "Why are you keeping a journal on Methos? He's been keeping his own chronicles for years."

Joe Dawson walked over to one of the overturned bar stools, and after setting it upright, he sat on it, propping his ever-present walking cane against the breakfast bar. He looked off into space as he answered, "Mac, Methos is important to your history as an Immortal and to mine as a Watcher. If the truth about Immortals ever becomes known, Methos and his history will be important to all of mankind. As of right now, Adam keeps his own journals and no one knows, aside from the few of us, that he is Methos, a five thousand year old Immortal."

The Watcher cleared his throat, then continued, "I'm willing to keep his secrets. I think I've proven that fact. But I'm not willing to lose his history." Joe looked down at the bar in front of him, spreading his hands across the smooth surface. "So I'm doing my best to record what I know, just in case."

He looked up to catch MacLeod's reaction as he finished his speech. "Now, if you have a problem with that--"

"No. I'm not going to argue with you, Joe. I agree with you," Mac replied, holding up both hands in front of him. "For the same reasons," he finished with a small smile.

MacLeod removed his coat, laid it over the back of the couch, then walked into the kitchen area of the room. "Let's see if he has anything other than beer in his fridge."

He opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. "I'll make you some dinner while we wait for Paris to wake up." Picking out eggs and cheese he turned back to Joe and held them up for inspection. "On second thought, I'll make breakfast instead."

"Deal," Joe said as he got up, walking over and leaving his coat beside MacLeod's on the couch. "I'll see what else I can do to clean up some of this mess."

The dawn was gray, damp and cold as MacLeod left the flat a few hours later. Turning up the collar on his long coat, he stuck his hands deep into his pockets and climbed the stairs to street level. Slowing to a stop as he reached the curb, MacLeod glanced in both directions. He then turned to his left and walked briskly around the corner and out of sight.

Joe secured the door to Methos' present home and made his way to the front sidewalk. He had called a cab to take him across town, but the car that pulled to the curb in front of him was not a taxi.

A large black sedan screeched to a halt. Inside were four occupants. Joe watched as two of them got out, and as they hustled him toward the car, he tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Hey, watch it," he complained as they pushed him into the backseat already occupied by Tim McCarthy. Comprehension finally hit him squarely and Joe couldn't hold in the bitterness. "Who's in charge of this mutiny?" he spat at the other Watcher.

McCarthy ignored Joe's question and asked one of his own. "Where is MacLeod?"

Joe looked at McCarthy, shook his head slowly, then sat back in the seat, staring through the windshield.

A basement. A cellar, really. Rough, unfinished, stone lined, dark. Two of the "Hunters" were tying Joe into a straight backed chair. Behind Joe was a wall. High above him a small window. The only window. But the light from the window didn't put a dent in the blackness coming from the other end of the long room. Also obstructing the view were several large square posts placed at equal intervals down the middle of the room. These were obviously holding up the floor of the townhouse above their heads.

"We don't want to hurt you, Joe," Tim McCarthy tried to explain. "But, we won't be dominated by these Immortals. We will eliminate them all."

"Tim," Joe tried to explain in return, "they don't want to dominate anyone. They have their own agenda. Their own battles."

"No," McCarthy declared. "They're an abomination." He turned and climbed the stairs, following the others.

Joe shook his head. Leaning back against the chair, he sighed. The same words, the same argument used by his brother-in-law, James Horton. But what made it worse was the memory of the madness in Jack Shapiro's eyes. Was he running this show as well?

Footsteps echoed across the floor above him and a door slammed.

After just a few blocks, MacLeod found a busy shopping district and he started asking questions. Questions of the street people, the workers, proprietors of the small shops and even the shoppers themselves.

He stopped for a coffee at a sidewalk cafe and spoke with a waiter.

He paused at an open stall grocer and bought an apple. Polishing it on the sleeve of his coat, he smiled and talked. Inquiring again and again about his friend. No. No one had seen the researcher for a while. A few weeks at least since anyone had seen the young man from the University, Adam Pierson.

Then, a sign caught his eye. A dojo. But the sensei's name was what most interested MacLeod. Kevin Darby. Darby, the same name Joe had mentioned before. Someone Methos had suspected as being a Hunter.

MacLeod climbed the stairs of the multi-storied building. Through a double set of doors, he entered the main floor--a huge open room. Martial arts were being practiced in different areas, but MacLeod's attention was drawn to a space in the middle.

A man of MacLeod's height and stature was on an exercise mat with a young man of slight build. Mac noticed that the sensei was being unnecessarily rough with the younger one. A teaching method with which MacLeod had a serious problem.

"What are you doing? Not that way. No, no, no!" the 'teacher' yelled, then he slammed the young man onto the mat so hard the youngster lost his breath.

"Don't you think you're being a little rough on the boy?" MacLeod asked, while moving closer to the action, trying subtlely to put himself in the way of any further attempts by the sensei to punish the student. . The man looked to see who had spoken so out of turn. "No, I don't. I'm teaching him what he needs to survive the battle. And I don't think it's any of your business," he snapped at the intruder, then turned back to his student.

"Are you the sensei here?" MacLeod asked.

Turning back to face the interloper, he informed him, "Yes, I'm Kevin Darby."

"You were recommended to me. I'm looking for a match. Are you interested?" MacLeod asked.

As Darby inspected MacLeod, Mac walked over to a display of practice weapons and chose a sword.

Darby followed MacLeod's movements, his eyes lighting up as the dark haired stranger chose his weapon.

MacLeod held the sword in his left hand as he took his coat off and laid it to the side. Then stepping out of his shoes, he walked onto the mat as Darby watched in silence. When MacLeod gestured for Darby to join him, the sensei nodded, stepped over to the display on the wall, chose a sword, then joined MacLeod in the center of the room.

They saluted each other, then Darby struck first. The martial arts teacher was aggressive in his attack. MacLeod had started the match with the sword in his left hand but now used both. Darby was good. Mac stayed busy just parrying the thrusts of his opponent, but he wasn't allowing Darby any insight into who he was fighting, he was just playing along.

MacLeod soon called a halt to the match, concedeing to the other man and commenting on the sensei's skill with the sword.

"I train hard," Darby explained. "You never know when a sword will be your most useful weapon."

MacLeod returned the sword to the rack on the wall, then turned to speak again to Darby, but Darby was already speaking with another man. The other man was facing Darby, turned away from MacLeod, and Mac was too far away to eavesdrop on their conversation. He put on his coat, slipped on his shoes, then walked toward the two of them.

"Kevin, we have Dawson, we picked him up outside of Pierson's condo. And I think MacLeod may be around here somewhere," Tim McCarthy informed Darby.

McCarthy glanced back over his shoulder to find MacLeod walking toward him.

Kevin started to say something but the look on McCarthy's face as he turned back to speak stopped him cold.

"What?" Kevin asked.

McCarthy leaned close to Darby and whispered, "That's Duncan MacLeod."

"It can't be," Kevin argued, "this guy's inept with the sword. MacLeod's suppose to be a master swordsman."

"I tell you, it's him," insisted McCarthy.

MacLeod came up to the two men. McCarthy backed away then turned and exited quickly through the front door. Ignoring McCarthy's swift departure, MacLeod turned to Kevin and bowed slightly. "Thank you for the match, it was enlightening."

"Enlightening?" Kevin repeated, stunned over the possibilty that this may be the Immortal, Duncan MacLeod.

"Yes," MacLeod answered. "It seems I have become somewhat complacent. "Don't leave just yet. I'm taking a break. Care to have a drink with me?"

"I'm afraid I can't. I'm looking for a friend of mine. Adam Pierson. Do you know him?" MacLeod asked, looking directly at Darby.

Kevin Darby stiffened, then forced a smile. "No. I don't believe I do."

MacLeod shrugged, then walked away from the sensei and out of the building.

A car was parked at the mouth of the alley that ran along the side of the dojo building. The occupants, McCarthy and three others, watched as MacLeod came out the front door and crossed the street. MacLeod went around a corner as the black sedan started to roll.