Author's Notes: This is a prologue of sorts for the televised episode "Goliath."
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, Universal and Glen Larson do.
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THE FACE OF THE ENEMY
Things were progressing according to plan. The thought brought a hard smile to Garthe's face as he gazed out the penthouse window. Beyond his reflection, Las Vegas stretched out like a galaxy of stars transplanted into the middle of the desert.
It was good to be back in the States, good to be a free man again. A shudder went through his tall frame as he recalled the rat-infested prison cell he'd been forced to call home for the last five years.
With the memory, came the anger. He would still be rotting in that cell if his mother hadn't intervened. He could have been free much sooner if his father had chosen to help him, but Wilton Knight had turned his back on Garthe, left him to endure three consecutive life-sentences in that African hellhole. No doubt Garthe's incarceration in Africa, with an ocean between them, had seemed a Godsend to the elder Knight, locking his 'wayward' son safely out of sight--and out of mind.
Garthe's jaw clenched. Perhaps his father had forgotten about him, but Garthe would never forget--nor forgive--Wilton Knight's betrayal. His father was dead, beyond Garthe's reach, but he would have his revenge. For as long as Garthe could remember, his father's consuming passion had been his precious Foundation for Law and Government. It was Wilton's dream, his obsession, his glorious crowning achievement.
And Garthe was going to destroy it.
"Garthe?"
He turned away from the view and his dark thoughts, forcing a smile for his mother as she swept into the room. As usual, Elizabeth Knight was dressed to the nines, even for an evening at home. Beneath the artfully applied cosmetics, her face revealed little of the cunning mind behind the still-attractive features.
"Any news?" he asked, more because he knew she expected it of him than from any real curiosity. As if there was any doubt. Her satisfied, cat-in-the-cream smile was answer enough.
In response, she held out a photograph of a sleek black car. "See for yourself...The realization of your father's dream."
Garthe studied the photo for a moment. "So. This is the Knight 2000." He cocked one dark eyebrow. "It has the molecular bonded shell?"
"Oh, yes." Her smile widened. "A true wonder of modern science." Her voice had taken on a mocking tone. " -- And of Wilton's genius. We'll have the video of the car in action, soon."
"And the formula?"
Her smile was predatory. "I don't believe that will present a problem. We only have to get to two of the three men Wilton entrusted with the secrets of the shell's formula. Dr. Elliot won't be difficult...And Devon could never say no to me."
Garthe only anwer was to echo her smile. He started for the door, intending to head down to the casino, but she called him back.
"There's something else I want you to see." Elizabeth handed him another photograph.
This one also showed the black car, but there was a new element: a man, emerging from the driver's side door. His features were indistinct, partially obscured by the angle of the shot and by his sunglasses.
Garthe shot her a questioning look. In response, she handed him the remaining photographs.
In the second, the man stood beside the car, his face in profile. Garthe began to have the uneasy feeling that he should know this person, that there was something unaccountably familiar about him. He studied the image. The man was tall, perhaps as tall as Garthe's own 6'4". Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, he appeared to be in excellent physical condition, and had a healthy crop of brown curls. In the photo, he was reaching up to remove his shades.
The last shot caught him full-face, gazing almost directly into the hidden lens of the camera. Garthe stared, unable to believe his eyes.
The man's face was identical to his own.
"How--?" He choked on the question, anger constricting his throat, then turned his burning gaze on his mother and demanded, "Who the hell is this?"
"Your father's final accomplishment," Elizabeth said, bitterly. Her eyes glittered like chips of glacial ice. "His name is Michael Knight. Until a year ago, he did not exist. You could say that Wilton 'created' him -- a new existence, the Knight name."
"My face." Garthe's hand clenched, crushing the photograph of Michael Knight.
"It's easy to see now, isn't it? Why your father abandoned you so easily to your fate in that African prison? He was too busy manufacturing your replacement to care what happened to you."
Garthe crumpled the photograph even tighter.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. Her eyes glittered with... anticipation? Still, her question surprised him. Perhaps she merely wanted to hear him say it aloud.
"Isn't it obvious, Mother?" He glanced at the ruined photograph in his fist and added, matter-of-factly, "I'm going to kill him, of course."
Visibly pleased with his answer, Elizabeth Knight smiled proudly at her son.
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the end