If any of you wants to broach the subject of '3-4 chapters max', from description of this story, don't waste your time. You should've known from the beginning that I'd slip again.
Yet! Good news - I have only chapter five after this one. Not because I couldn't write more, but because I have to start on Secret Santa Exchange. I have only 8 days to confirm I have the first draft, and I don't have even an idea yet. (Don't tell Telaryn and Fleur :D )
Kudos to Ginipig who was the only one who noticed the hint in the previous chapter, about plants, and guessed what might happen in this one.
Special thanks to Smooth Doggie for betaing this, and for relentlessly teaching me new words.
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One more thing... after reading this chapter, you can go to my profile and watch again the video trailer For The Brown Dutch Job. I want to see what you can catch there.
Chapter 4.
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At least the latest twist in their morning stopped Hardison's yawning. Nate could hardly keep up with sets of searches, images, CCTV, and police reports which flew across the screens, under the spell of Hardison's frantic fingers. Parker was packing; he reminded himself to check her backpack for grenades. Sophie hovered over Hardison's shoulder with a barrage of rapid suggestions, questions and explanations, all at the same time.
The same feeling of controlled panic must have been dominant in the execution of the invasion of Normandy, too.
He withdrew to the small working table placed behind their main desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. He stared at it for three minutes, before then drawing a diagram using two lines; one for Eliot and one for Florence. After a minute he added a time line. After another, he put dots on the lines, and followed with the time.
He rubbed his chin to erase the smirk he felt forming, schooled his face into serious concentration mode and said, "Hardison. Leave all searches and just concentrate on the police report from Florence's apartment."
"I did that. I've set specific searches and now we can only wait until they spit something useful out. In the meantime, I worked on our green goo problem. The Latin name of it that I mentioned - Lithobates 042983 Catesbeianus – means it originates from an animal. It's an American Bullfrog." Hardison pulled a picture of a huge, annoyed-looking frog sitting on the rock. "Still don't know what the numbers are for, but I'm working on it."
"Bullfrog?" Sophie sounded as if she'd imagined thousands of frogs grinded into a gooey, greenish paste. Nate had to admit that a similar image went through his mind, too. "Francouer wasn't connected to any frogs. What is going on in there?"
Hardison shrugged. "Right now, I don't care. We have an imminent crisis to solve. Nate, I can hack Police reports regarding Flo's apartment while we're driving to airport. I have a plane wait-"
"No."
"No?"
"No. We are staying here until we have more clues."
Sophie let out a strangled yelp. "But Nate! We have to be close if-"
"No. If needed, we'll be there. But we can do more from here. Now, Hardison, you said you found Flo's car abandoned near her apartment. If she is okay, she is hiding somewhere. If she has been taken, those who've taken her will be careful not to show her face anywhere." He didn't mention any possibility of her being dead, and he knew they noticed that deliberate omission. "That means it would be impossible to find her by searching any of the cameras. Even if she is currently roaming freely through LA's busy streets, it would take days upon days to find one solitary blonde among the other few-hundreds of thousands of blondes in LA, right?"
Hardison's shoulders slumped a little while he contemplated his response. "Yes and no," he said with a careful glance at Sophie and Parker. "There's always that-"
"So you won't search for her," Nate said. "She left her place to meet Eliot for a long weekend or maybe even longer. What would she take with her?"
"How the hell would I know what women-"
"Orion," Parker said with a glint in her eyes. "She would take Orion with her."
Nate nodded. "Precisely," he said. "We don't search for a blonde, there are thousands of them out there. We search for a white cat in a kitty-carrier."
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"Good morning, James."
Florence listened to the silence on the other end of the line. It lasted six seconds before Sterling finally said, "Good morning, Florence." His tone sang 'not you again' as if he'd spelled it out.
She put him on speakerphone the moment she sat in Buck's car, so Buck wouldn't need a summary.
"Who is there with you?" Do you have someone unauthorized there, she translated his sentence.
"I'm driving, you're on speakerphone." She motioned to Buck to keep silent.
It'd only been a month since they parted in Boston, but time had dulled her feelings a little. She had hated him and liked him with equal strength. Now, listening to that dry British accent, she realized that 'liking him' took the lead.
"I need your help," she said. No time for pleasantries.
"And what makes you think you are in a position to ask that of me?"
"You are a man of law, bound to help citizens in trouble. And you like me – maybe even more than I like you." She took a two-second pause. "And don't roll your eyes. You know it's true."
"What kind of help do you need, citizen?"
"Eliot's disappeared."
Then she heard it; a low snicker he didn't even bother to hide. She gritted her teeth down on her snappish reply. Easy, easy. That reaction was expected.
"I've warned you about him and that deadly bunch," he said. "They will ruin you. Nate will kill them all, and himself, and if you're near, you too. Stay away from-"
"Just as you've stayed away from Nate? Eliot told me you jumped Nate and Sophie only a few days after we left you back at Mass Gen. You think you're immune to them, and it's safe for you to offer them to work for you?"
"I can handle Nate. You can't, little writer."
"Yes, you're right." She smiled. "I can't handle Nate."
"Eh?" He followed that sound with a tilted head and a raised eyebrow, she knew that.
"Because I don't know where to find him. Don't smirk."
"And you want me to…?"
"Listen. I'm heading to LAX. I'll be in Portland in two hours. Eliot kept me away from the team-"
"Surprisingly reasonable gesture from one of-"
"- but he disappeared this morning. I'm afraid something nasty is happening, and I have to get Nate. The thing is… Eliot never told me where their base is. Security reasons. The Portland part, I figured out myself – with your help – and that's confirmed. I also know they are in some sort of food business because of that oca thing on the menu Hardison had trouble with, while we were all in Vermont. I could search all the restaurants, hotels, motels, snack bars in Portland, if I had perhaps ten days for it. I don't have them. I need Nate, and I need him now. You found them; you know where they are. Give me the address. Please."
Buck opened his mouth, but she waved to silence him.
Thinking on the other side of the line was loud. No, she corrected herself; Sterling never thought. He plotted.
"Or else…?" he finally said.
"Or else I'm coming to visit you in your Headquarters. I'll chat for hours with Amanda and the other girls, and when you throw me out, I'll camp on your doorstep. The press will be delighted to see why a famous author might protest at Interpol's front gate. Now close your eyes… can you see me marching up and down in front of your door, with a sign in my hands? Do you want to know what would be written on it?"
"I won't give you any address, because I don't know what you are talking about. Pathetic threats don't work on me, Florence. You can't even enter my building, and you know it. Speaking of buildings…we don't monitor your apartments in Boston anymore. That building isn't on our list for surveillance, which means nobody would know, or care, what you do when you are there."
Oh. That was important. This is a gift. He knew what he was giving her with that information: if you are there with Eliot, Interpol won't bother you. Why that, and not the address she needed? And why had he said that so formally, so…
Damn. Realization hit her in a second. She called the direct Interpol line. All calls must've been recorded.
She sighed, feeling the flush of pink in her cheeks. "I'm not, really, a spy material, am I?"
"No, you are not. But I see that you're learning fast." So help us God was murmured so low that she thought she'd imagined it.
Yes, she was learning. "Now we're done with all things official," she chirped with all the enthusiasm she could muster, "tell me, how are you? Your health? What are you working on?"
"My health is fine, thank you for asking. I had an excellent treatment – and if I hear you giggle, I'll hang up. Work is slow these days, nothing major going on, so I have time to take in a beer or two and relax after work."
If she had to choose one drink he would never consider, it would be beer. Her ears pricked up, and she switched with her tail. "I can't easily imagine you relaxing," she said.
"Portland is great for long walks. Peaceful city. Many bridges… and the port is also nice for walking."
"I'll have to try it, and if I have time, I'll drop by to see you, so maybe we can-"
"If you have to," a quick, gruff reply cut her off. "Only if you really have to. Now excuse me, I'm busy."
"Of course. And James… thank you."
"You're welcome."
The last words came even gruffer, but she just smiled.
"And now what?" Buck said when she ended the call. "You have nothing."
"Oh, I have everything. Give me your phone."
Her search lasted less than a minute. Sixty-seven breweries and brew pubs were scattered all over Portland. "He couldn't tell me directly," she said while scrolling through the list. "But I'm positive he never drinks beer. Or takes long romantic walks on bridges or ports. Don't you remember how it works? You said hundreds of similar ciphers with key words over the past five years."
"Not really. I just shut my mind and blab my lines."
"I'll kill you off, I swear."
"Not before we visit my mother – you won't get off that easy."
"I can give you a female love interest and make your life miserab- I got it! This must be it – Bridgeport Brew Pub. Only one that has bridge, port, beer and Portland."
"So he really helped. He didn't sound helpful."
"That's because I slammed a chair into his head and knocked him down. Or maybe it's because he caught a bullet because of us. Or maybe… nah, that's enough. Suffice to say he likes me." She thought briefly, staring at the picture of a huge building with the pub. "Maybe I should cancel my order with that flower shop. While you were in the bathroom, I sent a flowery message for Nate, and ordered the same bouquet to be sent to every restaurant, hotel and pub in Portland. I hope I remembered all the meanings right. The message should say: Danger – Eliot disappeared, maybe dead or taken – I'm coming to you – I am probably followed – find Eliot and help him."
She didn't know even if Eliot had told Nate about the flower warnings, much less could Nate decipher their meaning.
Buck slowed down.
She quickly looked up, half expecting another shit that might put yet another obstacle in her way, but they were entering LAX parking lot.
She kept her fingers crossed, hoping she wouldn't have to use Sterling's parting gift - his offer to call him if the shit hit the fan. Only if you really have to. No, Nate would take over and everything would be miraculously solved. That was his job. Nate provided happy endings.
She desperately needed one of them now.
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Eliot turned the heat up to max, but even that couldn't dry his wet clothes. Chill settled deep in his bones. A different kind of chill rested comfortably in his mind: a very distinctive one.
He had an hour's drive to Florence's apartment, but only thirty minutes to their cabin – and that was one of the toughest decisions in his life. Everything in him pushed him to go directly to the apartment, to see what happened with the Police.
Yet, that was exactly what would be expected from him. If someone had her – or killed her – it was because of him. She didn't have any enemies. His going there would be a mistake. He would be doing what they, the unknown they, wanted him to do.
He was so distraught that he had to stop the car.
First of all, he had to stop thinking about her being dead. That simply wasn't possible, wasn't an option at all. She might've been taken, but she was okay. Only that way could he be sure he would be able to function at all.
Taken, but okay.
Hardison was working on the Police side of it, and he would soon send him what he found out. Before that, going to the apartment was futile. The hacker would, also, need more info. The moment he confirmed she'd been attacked – and taken but okay – they would start an investigation. Every little bit of info would be precious then, as possible clues.
He started the engine and turned left. When he turned his back on her apartment, the tearing pain in his heart became almost unbearable. Logic. Think, Spencer. He needed logic and a cool head now. Any sentimentality would only serve to mess him up even more, and lessen her chances.
While he waited for Hardison's results, he could use that time and go do the cabin part. That would save him a lot of time in the end – he would probably have to go there in search of clues anyway. This way, he would have something ready when Hardison called him.
He could also do one more thing. He called the flower shop.
"Angy, tell Bill to repeat the delivery. Seventy-two is a very important client, and I don't want to lose her. That bouquet has to be delivered today, and I want to know exactly when it will be possible. Tell him to ask the cops or neighbors what happened and when might be a good time to come again."
Angy let out one squeaky sound.
"What was that supposed to mean?"
"Bill returned with that bouquet and I used the flowers," she said. She sounded breathless. "We've run out of flowers completely!"
This isn't happening. Was there any, any damn thing that could go normally today? He pinched the bridge of his nose before calming his voice. "You are a flower shop. How the hell can you run out of flow-"
"We received a huge order. The huge order – and we are working like crazy to arrange all those bouquets and send them. I mean, we never before-"
"Look, I don't care. Buy flowers, grow them or steal them, whatever, just send Bill with it to ask the cops what happened. Call me immediately when he finds out."
"Okay." She sighed and cut the call.
He set the GPS to their cabin.
George was silent.
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"You don't seem worried, Nate," Sophie's words stirred Nate from thinking, and he looked up. She was dressed for a trip. Her shoes had low, comfortable heels.
"I can neither confirm or deny that," he said. If he was right about Eliot's and Florence's trajectories on his timeline, this was only a major fuckup. Yet, he wasn't willing to diminish the veil covering everything they'd done by now. At least, not until Hardison confirmed that Florence was safe and sound.
"We are ready to go the moment you decide," she continued. "Hardison only has to pack a few more laptops. Now that I mention that… maybe he can work on all of this from Lucille, too. Perhaps if we park just a moment from our plane, that would spare us at least a thirty minute drive to the airport."
"Not yet, Sophie. Not until we're sure we will fl-"
"I have something!" Hardison called. "Still nothing on Florence and Orion, but those searches are in full swing. I used that time to work on the green goo, and I solved a few things. Some of the chemicals used in making it are artificial colors, so it's likely that no real frogs were grinded into that. That's why it smelled of roses. As I said before, that's it. I need a good chemist."
"No, you don't," Parker said out of nowhere. She marched across the office to the back room. They could see her through the glass wall, rummaging through something on the floor.
Sophie and Hardison exchanged worried glances. Hardison cleared his throat. "What do you have in mind, momma? I'd rather not see you messing with anything connected with chemistry; not that I don't trust you, but- what's that?"
Parker returned with Sophie's shoes from the previous day's expedition into the pipe facility. They still had a layer of greenish goo smeared up past the heels. Nate raised his hand as quickly as he could, but it was too late. She scratched a little piece off the shoes and licked it.
"Euww!" Both Hardison and Sophie yelped. Nate didn't. Hundreds of potentially lethal chemicals ran through his mind so fast that they stopped his every verbal expression.
Parker grinned. "This is nice," she said. "Hardison, you should try it."
Hardison took a step back. "Put that thing down, Parker. You don't know what-"
Wrong move. Her smile grew evil. Hardison recognized his mistake and retreated to the other side of their working console.
"No, Hardison, you should try it," Parker said. Her quick steps followed the hacker; he had nowhere to go except to climb upon the screens.
"Guys, guys," Nate said. "Let's concentrate on-"
Nobody paid any attention to him. Hardison evaded the shoe pushed into his face, feigned a move and ran full speed into a mess of plants and sprinklers lined up under the screens.
His foot caught one sprinkler and moved it. And that was it. All hell broke loose; he must've triggered some chain reaction when he set off the first sprinkler. In one split second, dozens of water lines sprayed him from head to toe and pushed him into the wall. Sophie's laughter stopped when the water changed color and direction; she dove into Parker's chair, where the backrest protected her from the worst. But not before she was also soaked.
Nate took two quick steps behind the glass wall, but the others were too far away to take similar shelter. Sprinklers rotated completely out of control, changing colors every second. Parker's laughter was almost covered by the loud hissing of raging water. She bent under the working console, still with the offending shoe in her hand, and crawled towards Hardison. The hacker couldn't see shit with all the water spraying different colors in his face, but she yanked his leg and pulled him down. Lower water lines weren't that strong. He managed to crawl on all four to the back room with laptop that should've controlled all this mess and prevent it.
Nate could see him typing, but nothing happened. Only when he slammed the laptop shut did the water stop.
Hardison took one sloshy step back into the main office. "My laptops… my searches…" He choked out the word, glancing around the destroyed room. "My data…my-" A nudge at his back stopped him, and Parker raised the shoe to him.
"You should try this."
"Hardison," Nate said before the hacker could articulate his reply. "You have two laptops back in there, and an entire console in Lucille. Just continue where you stopped. But do it now." He looked at Parker and the strange eagerness in her waiting. "Parker, bring me that shoe."
She hurried to him and he scratched a little of green sticky stuff. Sophie peeked over the chair with disbelief in her eyes.
He sighed and put it in his mouth.
I'll be damned.
"Hardison," he said. "You should try this."
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Buck had only come home three hours before she showed up on his doorstep, unceremoniously waking him up, so he dozed off two minutes after their plane took off.
She wasn't that lucky. She wanted, but she couldn't sleep the world away.
Two long hours aboard this flight would put her through a most terrible test. With nothing to do and no means with which to divert her mind from her fear, she was left alone with her thoughts.
The old Florence, the one before she had first seen Eliot standing in his elephant and daisy pajamas in her corridor, would probably curl up in a ball of desperation and wail. The new one, forged during those tense days embedded with the Leverage team would probably… well, curl up in a ball of desperation, too, but she wouldn't wail. Wailing spent precious energy, and she wasn't going to waste her resources.
She felt her necklace; the crystal circle was cold to touch, but it reminded her of all the changes she had been through.
Orion watched her from his seat, squinting with one eye through the slits in his carrier.
"I know," she said. "I'm working on the happy ending. Tragic endings are only tragic endings if they happen right before the closing credits. We are far away from that. For now, everything bad that happens is just a plot twist, nothing more."
She clutched the necklace tighter and started plotting the sequel.
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"I will buy it, I swear! I will buy that entire facility; I will buy it, it will be mine and only mine. Mine! Did I mention I'm going to buy it?"
"Yeah, Hardison, you might have mentioned it," Nate said with a sigh. That didn't dissuade the pacing hacker.
Nate turned to Parker and Sophie who had changed into dry clothes and were seated in their chairs, the only dry place left in the office. He noticed they'd both changed into black clothes; clearly someone wasn't convinced that they wouldn't have to go on a last minute rescue mission, and they wanted to be prepared.
Hardison sped up his long stride to and fro. "Can you imagine all those pipes, full? Full, Parker! Liters... no, hectoliters of it within my reach! All those pipes, Parker! Full! All those pipes, fu-"
"Will you please stop repeat-"
"Full of liquid gummy frogs!" Hardison spread his arms, not even glancing at Sophie who sighed and closed her mouth. "Gummy frogs flowing all around me! I will buy it, I swear, I will buy that entire facility and it will be only mine! I will buy it and all those pipes, full of-"
"Enough!" Nate had to slam his hand on the table to draw his attention. Hardison did turn his head to him, but his eyes were still glazed over. "We got it, you'll buy it. Now stop."
"But pipes-"
"But Florence. Searches. LA trouble. Eliot. Ground control to Major Hardison – are you with us?"
Hardison first lowered his gaze to Nate's shoes, as if studying the amount of lick-able green goo on them, then shook his head and nodded. "All right. I'm here. I only have to change and-"
Parker raised a handful of clothes waiting for him. Black shirt, black trousers, black jacket.
"Yeah, thank you. And then, we'll go to Lucille and continue with our work until this mess dries up. My computer in Lucille is always mirrored with those that I have here, so my searches didn't stop. That way, too, we'll be closer to the airport, if needed." Hardison unbuttoned his jacket and shirt, and checked his pockets.
Nate could clearly see the moment he froze. He pulled out the hand with a dripping phone in it.
"This," Hardison said slowly and clearly, "is very bad."
"Why?" Parker frowned. "You have many of those."
"But only this one had Eliot's new number in its memory. I can't call him now."
Sophie got up first, so Nate didn't have to hurry them to move. "He would find a way to contact us, Hardison," she said. "Let's go now. While we were busy showering, maybe your searches found out something crucial about Florence."
That sped them all up. Hardison and Parker ran to and fro collecting every piece of equipment dry enough to be taken with them, putting them all in two big bags. They all rushed to Lucille parked in a back yard.
Nate drove, Sophie took shotgun.
"You were right, Soph," Hardison said while they were still in their street. "We have news. Good news, and good news. Which one do you want first?"
Nate gave him one deadly stare in the rear view mirror.
"Okay, okay, no need to get nasty. Good news numero uno is that the attempted burglary at Florence's apartment has been classified as a false alarm. No casualties, no victims, no stolen property. And, numero due – I have five 'white cat' results on my cameras and overall searches. Three of them are within LAX data."
Hardison's grin was the answer to his unspoken question, but Nate nevertheless asked it, "And one of them is assigned to a passenger Portland-bound, perhaps?"
"Yep. Travelling with Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. That would be a little confusing for everybody except for me – hell, that would even lead Chaos into a dead end, so praise me - but yours truly checked the seat numbers. Every airplane company has a few seats in first class reserved for unexpected VIPs who are often travelling incognito. Our lovely pair with the cat took three of those. Robinsons are false names – she used someone from her show to smuggle her under the radar. Now tell me, how did you know we should follow the cat? Because if I had tried to track Florence, I would never have stumbled upon this."
"Pixie has sure learned how to hide," he said. "If Eliot tortured the poor woman with only a fifth of what I suspect he did, even bounty hunters would have trouble finding her if she wanted to disappear."
"And lest we forget she knew a lot even before she met us." Sophie threw a disapproving glance at him.
He ignored it. "ETA, Hardison?"
"She'll land in about an hour."
"Okay. Continue with the Francouer searches and find out how the hell he managed to fill his facility with liquid gummy frogs. And why. Have you found the manufacturer of that facial recognition camera?"
"Found it. But tracking the serial number takes a little more time. Be patient."
"However, now we know why they have that strange name for the green goo. Lithobates 042983 Catesbeianus," Parker said. "American bullfrog – a code name for liquid gummy frogs. Minus the number."
Indeed. Nate met Hardison's eyes in the rear mirror again. "And work on other connections, too."
With those frogs, their fourth cursed job had more chance not to be connected with the other three. There were no frogs involved with Drag Queen, not even anything green. Nothing for the Hospital Two job either. The Elevator Three, with Japanese and elevators, the least of all the three could be connected with the frogs of any kind.
He needed only one last thing, one tiny little detail that might show him a connection through all of them, nothing more needed. Trouble was, it was evading him currently, but once he got it, he would know it was time for some serious plotting. And, he'd soon discover if someone was messing with his game.
He still had time for that. Now, however, it was time to start collecting his weary wayfarers and bring them all home.
He pressed down harder on the gas pedal and took the turn towards the airport.
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There was no sign of forced entry at the cabin. Eliot circled around the garden twice, checking the perimeter before he repeated the same within the cabin. The front door was locked.
Dozens of little things he'd positioned and marked all over the rooms when they left it the last time remained untouched, and so with some accuracy he could tell Florence's movements within the confines of their hideout.
She had only entered the hall, living room, and kitchen. Two coffee cups were washed and put to dry. Two cups. She wouldn't bring someone with her, not at her own free will. If she had been forced to bring someone here, they wouldn't be drinking coffee. Unless she did it on purpose to leave him a trail. Or, he admitted to himself, she made coffee for him while waiting for his arrival, like she always did. Both were equally possible.
He was never good with uncertainty. His ability to function with two or more different possibilities at the same time, balancing them in his mind and acting without knowing for sure which one was true, was sometimes none to zero. He had to know, to have a clear course of action. Strategists could tiptoe with an unclear picture until it cleared up; he couldn't. He was a tactician. When on step A, he needed to know what step B was. After that, nothing mattered; he could go there in a straight line, or follow a labyrinth of webs and little paths.
He needed a damn target, and all he had was a fistful of elusive mist all around him, that was ever changing.
He found a few white cat hairs on the porch hammock. She'd brought Orion with her.
There were no tire marks or skid marks on the driveway. He taught her how to do that when starting a car, in order to leave a message that something was wrong. She also had dozens of other little signs she could've left around for him to find. He found none.
Whoever was after both of them and possibly the team, only knew about her apartment and not this place. He surely had done everything he could to keep it below the radar.
He went to the bedroom and found new clothes to change from his wet ones, and added a jacket to keep the chill away.
Tired, bruised and with a tickling in his throat, he sat on the edge of the bed to think about what he might do next. He sneezed, and his brain painfully bounced off the inside of his skull. Yep, catching a cold was naturally the next step.
He knew that Hardison's searches couldn't be pushed any faster, but maybe the hacker had found something else relevant to this. He took out his phone and called him.
His call went directly to voice mail.
He stared at the phone in stark disbelief.
For more than five years, this hadn't happened even once. The phone was Hardison's working tool, and it was impossible to fathom him being without it. Not even once.
Maybe he'd simply clicked something wrong. He tried again, entering the number digit by digit.
The voice mail again. The phone was either turned off – and Hardison would never, ever turn his phone off - or destroyed.
His blood ran cold.
Eliot knew Hardison's number because the hacker rarely changed that mighty machine, instead opting to upgrade it constantly. Numbers for the others, well, that was a different story. He had told himself that he'd pay more attention and always memorize them each time Hardison gave them new phones with new numbers, and especially since their adventure in Knudsen's slaughterhouse. Only Parker knew Nate and Sophie's numbers back then. Of course he forgot about it, counting on Hardison to always be there with his phones and earbuds.
He didn't even know the number of the Bridgeport Brew Pub, but at least it was a legitimate business, listed and findable.
There could be many normal explanations for Hardison's dead phone. Maybe they triggered that damn water system again. Maybe he'd simply dropped it.
Nate said they wouldn't take a fifth job, so they were all safe and sound in the office, probably working on finding Florence for him. No reason for anything bad to happen there.
The fact he was trying to calm himself, finding numerous benign reasons for this, scared him the most.
He got up off the bed and started pacing up and down, clicking on the phone.
He found the brewery number and called, and a familiar voice answered immediately.
"Amy Palavi, Bridgeport Brew Pub. How can I help you?"
"Eliot here. Amy, I need Hardison ASAP – or any of them. Go to the back offi-"
"They left, all of them. I saw them leaving in a hurry with bags, dressed in black like ninjas. They drove off in that van of yours. What should I tell them when they return?"
"Just give them this number. Thank you."
All his calming himself instantly crumbled. They weren't safe in the office. Hardison's phone was likely destroyed, while they were God only knows where, doing something. Dressed in black like ninjas.
He told Hardison that Florence was maybe taken less than an hour ago. They wouldn't just leave to do something else and abandon that search – unless it was something far more dangerous than Florence's fate. Or, maybe it was all connected. Perhaps Nate found out who had been monitoring them while they were investigating what had happened with Florence? What if they took off to solve that – without a hitter and protection - and fell into a trap?
Hardison never, ever, turned his phone off.
Cold, gnawing fear constricted around his heart. Somebody made a move. And the team was without their hitter.
He sat on the bed, still holding the useless phone.
Simultaneous attacks. Florence taken, maybe dead. Team attacked, maybe dead.
And their hitter, the one who should've protected them all, was stuck in the middle of nowhere, unable to reach any of them.
He stared at the phone in his hand, but he looked straight through it; he watched everything that he loved taken from him.
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