A/N - Thanks for the reviews. The action is going to start to pick up ...
Chapter 7
Tuesday morning, Megan eyed the suspect, a man named Joey 'the Moose' Muccino, through the one-way glass, as Colby and David put him through an unusually intense grilling. After all, the man had nearly managed to kill their SAC the night before. That SAC was standing next to her, his brow furrowed.
"So how did they run him down?"
Megan glanced at him with a slightly amused expression. "The guy's not a rocket scientist, by any means."
Don smiled back at her. "And you should know."
She colored a little, and her grinned widened. "There was a robbery at a pet store on Saturday evening. Surveillance cameras caught a picture of the man, but it was dark and the image wasn't great. LAPD didn't have a lot to go on – they figured this was a lost cause; that most of the pets would be sold on the black market. That is, until the snake showed up."
"How'd they know it was the same snake?"
"Black mambas are not generally indigenous to the L.A. area," she said dryly. "When we told them you were working the Marciano investigation, they immediately narrowed their lists of suspects to Marciano's associates, and Joey Muccino came up as a match to the figure in the video." Their eyes turned toward the scowling brute in the interrogation seat, unaware of the figure that had stepped quietly behind them.
"So tell me, how did you manage to get hold of it before it bit you?" asked Megan.
Don shook his head. "Instinct, I guess. It shot out of the box, and I jerked my head back and grabbed at the same time, and just flung it across the room."
"Flung what across the room?" Charlie's voice came from behind them, and they turned to see an anxious face, and wide eyes.
"Nothing, Charlie. Just a snake. It was a pitiful attempt at a scare tactic." Don spoke soothingly.
Megan murmured. "I'd say it was a little more than a scare tactic."
Charlie licked suddenly dry lips. "What kind of snake?"
Don exchanged a glance with Megan. "A black mamba. It was nothing, Charlie -."
"Nothing! A black mamba was nothing? That's one of the deadliest snakes in the world!" protested Charlie, blanching. "When did this happen? Why didn't you say something?"
"Last night, and I didn't say anything for just this reason," replied Don, with exasperation. "Don't go getting all freaked out about this, now, and do me a favor – don't tell Dad. He's been through enough with us lately – and anyway nothing happened. It was a stupid stunt, and it's over. What are you doing here, anyway?"
Charlie was staring at the man in the interrogation room, his face still pale. "I finished up my analysis. Everything's there – I think you'll have plenty to hang Marciano with." His face darkened. "And I hope you do."
Less than an hour later, Muccino caved, admitting Marciano had told him to come up with a rattlesnake from a dealer in the desert, but that he'd decided to hit the exotic pet store, which was closer, instead. With that, and Charlie's analysis, they had all they needed to put Marciano away for an extended stay. To add to it, there was an arrest warrant for the pet storeowner for selling illegal exotics – just icing on the cake, as Colby put it. Things were looking up, Don thought to himself, as he settled at his desk with a well-deserved cup of coffee. Things were looking up.
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Jason Walsh sat at his office desk at FBI headquarters, tapping a pencil, his mind spinning. He suddenly reached for his phone, but instead of dialing, he picked up a paper knife and pried off the faceplate, lifting it carefully from the keys. Nothing. Frowning, he replaced it, and rose, following the phone cord with his eyes until it disappeared behind a file cabinet. He stepped toward the cabinet, and placing the paper knife on top, carefully slid it out from the wall. Using the paper knife as a screwdriver, he removed the wall plate, and sucked in a sharp breath. There it was- a tap on the phone line in his own office – irrefutable evidence that he was being watched. He had been suspicious for days, and that suspicion had been growing to an unbearable level. All of it had been adding up - Maxwell's clandestine visit to Philly, the director's quiet redirections of conversation when Walsh gently tried to probe – Maxwell had never left him out of the latest investigations before. Now Jason knew – he was the latest investigation.
The thought brought a surge of panic, and his hands shook as he replaced the plate. Thankfully, he never contacted Dillon Moran from the office phone, or his home phone, for that matter. He had received one call from Moran last Sunday on his cell phone, but he and Dillon corresponded for the most part on disposable cells from outside locations. His mind raced frantically back over that Sunday call, wondering if there was a bug in his home office that might have picked up his end of the conversation. To his recollection, his piece of the discourse had been fairly innocuous – he had mentioned LaBonte's name, but not the context. If anyone had been listening in, they might think it was merely referral to an internal control investigation.
No, he more than likely hadn't incriminated himself yet, or they would have been there with an arrest warrant by now. If Dillon's computer man did his job, there would soon be no evidence at all to tie him to Moran and his man in Philly, Patrick Conaghan. The revelation that SAC Wilhelm had a consultant secretly assigned was most definitely cause for concern, however. He and Moran had agreed the day before that it warranted putting surveillance on Dr. Eppes, which Dillon had arranged immediately.
Walsh moved the cabinet back into place, and grabbing his jacket, stepped out of his office. He told the receptionist outside that he was heading out for lunch, with a glance toward Maxwell's office door. It was shut, and the very sight invoked an image in Walsh's mind, an image that spoke of threat and secrecy.
It was November, and chilly, but he parked his car at a nearby park and walked away from it, pulling out his cell phone, and dialing. "Can you talk?"
"Just a minute," responded Moran. Jason could hear movement on the other end, and Dillon's voice came over the line. "I stepped outside. What's up?"
"They bugged me," said Jason. "I got a goddamn tap on my office line. Did you get a man on Eppes?"
Dillon's stomach twisted uncomfortably. This was a serious development for both of them. "Yeah. He's still right here in L.A. Whoever's working on this in Philly isn't him."
Jason pursed his lips. "That's good, but we need to keep an eye on him. If they have a problem with this consultant for some reason, they may still go to him."
"I can arrange a problem," replied Dillon, "if we can find out where their consultant is. We got LaBonte working on it."
"How's your computer guy doing?"
"He's almost halfway through it. We need to get our hands on those tax records, pronto."
"Already done," said Jason quietly. "I had them lifted a week ago, and your man has the electronic copies. As soon as he's finished, we'll replace the hard copies with his modified versions." He paused. "I've got vacation coming up – I put in for it awhile ago. I usually go golfing with some buddies the same week every year. I'm taking the vacation – I don't want to arouse suspicion, but instead of the golf trip, maybe we should meet."
"What if they check your plane tickets?"
Walsh smiled; a dry grimace. "They can go ahead. They're for L.A. – we were going to play Lakeside and San Gabriel in L.A., and take a drive up the coast to Pebble Beach. I can play sick or something, skip the Pebble Beach part."
Moran's response was just as dry. "How convenient. Yeah, you're right – it might be good if we meet."
There was a brief silence; then Dillon spoke again. "Well, for now we're doing all we can. We need to get to that consultant, slow them down a bit, and we should be home free. Let me know what you decide about the trip, and in the meantime just sit tight."
Walsh snorted. "Not like I have a lot of choice there. I gotta go." He flipped the phone shut, and on the way back to the office stopped and picked up a sandwich for which he had no appetite. Maxwell was stepping out of his office as Jason came back in to the outer reception area.
"Dave," said Walsh, with a cool smile and nod of his head.
"Jason," returned Maxwell, with an enigmatic smile of his own.
They passed in the vestibule without another word.
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The phone rang, and Don glanced at the clock as he leaned forward to grab it. Wednesday, 11:30 a.m., and it was Charlie. They had talked about going to lunch, but Charlie hadn't been certain yet if he could – he'd taken time off for a doctor's appointment that morning.
"Hey, Buddy."
"Can you talk?"
"Yeah. How'd your appointment go?"
Hesitation. "Good. Really good, in fact. The doctor said strength-wise, I'm doing way better than expected. We looked at the scans and he pointed out some areas of scar tissue, which he believes is the main reason my mobility is limited. He thinks he can alleviate a lot of the tightness with surgery- he said I would probably regain most of my range of motion."
Don grinned into the phone. "That's great – did you expect to hear that?"
"Actually, no, it was something of a surprise." So were the two agents from Philadelphia sitting in his office, Charlie thought to himself. "Look, I know we talked about lunch. Is there any way you could meet me here?"
"Yeah, sure. Noon?"
"Yeah, that's good."
A half hour later, he was standing in the doorway of Charlie's office, brought up short by the two suits. One of them had stepped forward respectfully, extending a hand. "Agent Eppes, I'm Agent Brad Decker from the Philly office. This is Agent Zuckerman. We'd like to discuss something with you and your brother."
Don glanced at Charlie, who sat quietly behind his desk, with an odd expression on his face that Don couldn't quite place. Anxiety? He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.
The agents moved over to some chairs pulled up to Charlie's desk and sat, but Don ignored them, choosing instead to lean against Charlie's desk with his arms crossed, placing himself between the agents and his brother. He looked down at them from his vantage point, and they shifted a bit uncomfortably under his gaze. "What's this about?"
Decker spoke. "Dillon Moran. We need some help on the investigation into his Philadelphia area operations. We were hoping your brother could come out to Philly to assist us."
Don shook his head, and behind him, Charlie cleared his throat. "I told them my involvement didn't work out so well in the L.A. case."
"Actually, it did work out well," said Don evenly. "We took down nearly two dozen meth labs." He shot a glance behind him, catching Charlie's flush, and the look of quiet gratitude. "Charlie's right, though, the judge had a problem with his involvement in the Moran case. A minor thing, really, just a little kidnapping and attempted murder, but the judge seemed to think it was an issue."
Decker seemed unperturbed by the sarcasm. He was solid, good-looking, and clean cut, and reminded Don just a bit of Colby with darker hair. "We're aware of that. We already have a consultant lined up to the do the work – we just want Dr. Eppes to show him how. The guy could probably do it on his own, but not in the timeframe we need – we just need to give him a jump-start."
"So why are you involving me? Charlie makes his own decisions."
Zuckerman spoke up. He was lean, tough looking, with a street feel to him that was emphasized by his middle-class Jersey accent. "Two reasons. One, we could use your input too. Any dope you have on the way the meth labs operated, how they pushed the drugs – stuff your office uncovered during their investigation. Two, this operation is under wraps. No one's supposed to know he's out there or what he's doing. It always helps to have someone on the home end to assist with the story. Plus, I imagine he'd tell you anyway."
Don's eyes narrowed. "So why the secrecy?"
Zuckerman exchanged a glance with Decker, who spoke. "We think there's someone from the Bureau involved."
Don's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"We're not at liberty to say, sir. The investigation is being tightly controlled. Zuckerman and I are the only agents on it, and we report directly to our SAC, Pete Wilhelm. He reports up through A.D. Norris directly to Maxwell on this. The only other people in on it are the consultant, the D.A., and a couple of cop bodyguards from Philly P.D."
Zuckerman added, "It goes without saying that neither of you can talk about this outside this group. Your A.D.'s okay – Maxwell's calling him today, if he hasn't already. Other than that, no one should know."
Charlie spoke up. "In the L.A. case, they doctored tax records and other legal documents to erase evidence. If they've done that already, we may be too late."
Decker grinned. "We'd heard that was an issue. One of the first things we did was to make hard copies of any records regarding Moran's businesses, including tax records, and file them in a safe place. We've got everything we need in terms of data – we just need to find the connection to Moran's associate, whoever it is."
Don looked at them. "When do you need a decision?"
"We flew out in a Bureau jet." Decker looked at Charlie. "We'd like you to come back with us this evening – we'll give you the afternoon to make arrangements here and to pack."
"I don't understand why he can't work it from here," Don protested.
Charlie spoke up quietly. "It will be a lot easier to do this in person, Don, and look at what their consultant has. I'm sure it won't take that long."
Don turned his head, and looked at him, then back at the agents. "Can you give us a minute?"
"Certainly," replied Decker, and they rose and slipped quietly out the door.
Don pulled himself away from the desk, and sat in a chair, facing Charlie across the desk. "Charlie, I don't know if this is such a hot idea."
Charlie held his gaze. "It sounds like they have it well under control. I don't see a lot of risk here."
"There's obviously some risk, if they're assigning bodyguards. Plus, you're already known to Moran. He may have someone watching for you in Philly."
Charlie sighed. "Look, I know you're trying to watch out for me, and I appreciate that. Plus, this isn't the best time for me to tackle this from a personal standpoint."
Don nodded, knowing he was referring to Amita. "So don't go. They can get someone else."
Charlie shook his head and looked at him earnestly. "Don, we both know they'll be light years ahead if they use me – I already have the search algorithms written. I can probably crash through this with their consultant in a day or two. Besides, Moran wiggled out of this the first time – don't you want to get him?"
Don stared back at him. There was a flash of something - a grim conviction in Charlie's eyes - that he'd never seen before, and he wondered if it was the same expression he wore when he was bearing down on a particularly heinous perp – a fierceness, a simmering anger, maybe even a little vindictiveness. He had to admit, he would love to see Dillon Moran behind bars – but not if it meant the slightest danger to Charlie. He sighed and shook his head, but before he could say anything, Charlie continued.
"I'm going. That's all there is to it. I don't even need to come up with a story for Dad – he's leaving this evening for that architecture conference in Tampa."
"I forgot about that," Don said slowly. "So he's going, then."
"Yeah, he'd told Stan he wasn't sure about it when everything was going on with us, but now that things have settled down, he finally decided to go with him." Charlie grimaced. "I pushed him a little. He needs to get out. He leaves tonight – I'll just take off after he does." He looked at Don. "The only thing I'm worried about – other than Amita – is you."
Don raised his eyebrows. "Me?"
"Yeah, you know – the snake thing – this case with Marciano."
Don snorted. "That's a done deal, Charlie. We got the arrest warrant, and rounded him up. He won't be trying anything again."
Charlie rose, looking unconvinced. "Yeah, well, anyway, be careful."
Don stood and their eyes met. "Yeah, I will. You too. It's too bad you don't have the license to carry a concealed weapon yet. You could have taken your pistol."
Charlie made a face. "That's okay. And don't worry, I won't be needing it." He glanced at his watch, and they both began to move toward the door. "I guess we missed lunch. Raincheck?"
Don grinned, and gave Charlie's back a light slap. "You bet. When you get back. I'll have my people call your people."
They stepped out to find Decker and Zuckerman looking at them expectantly. "I'm going," said Charlie. "It'll be better if we leave after eight."
Decker nodded. "Good." They began to move down the hallway, and he looked sideways at Don. "Maybe we can meet with you this afternoon, get some detail on the meth lab bust. It'll have to be off site."
They rounded the corner, and Charlie stopped short. Don glanced up in time catch the flush and the slightly guilty look on his brother's face, and followed his gaze to see Amita. She was coming down the hall toward them, but her steps were faltering, and it looked as though both of them wanted to be anywhere but there.
As the group passed, Charlie was trailing, and Amita stopped. He came to a halt in front of her as she spoke, her eyes suspiciously moist. "Well, it looks like you've made your choice." The words were bitter, her voice shaky.
After days of fighting guilt, Charlie felt suddenly, unaccountably angry. When he replied his voice was low and calm, but it resonated with that anger. "I'm doing what I decided - four years ago - that I love to do. That hasn't changed for me. You knew I was involved with this when we started to date." He stepped around her. "You're the one who's made a choice, here."
Without a backwards glance, he left her in the hallway, staring after him.
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End Chapter 7
