Please see disclaimer in Ch. 1.
Chase stared out of a large plate glass window overlooking much of the Paulson campus below. There had only been two other times in her life that she'd felt this completely useless, and the feeling didn't sit well with her.
The young woman watched as students began to mill about on a large square of fresh grass, some planning to catch a little of the cold sunny weather, other hurrying to get to another class. Was there ever a time I didn't think about the rest of the world around me? she wondered. A time when I just let things…be?
A tap on her shoulder snapped her out of the reverie. The reflection of a tall man with white hair and matching beard looked back at her in the window.
--He's awake,-- she saw John Parker sign. –They don't know for how long…--
--I'll call the others,-- she replied, reaching for her phone.
--You'll be in there with him?—
Chase looked up at John, noting that his bright eyes were devoid of that childlike mirth that made him such a character. Those eyes now held only worry—and sadness, and fear.
--Yes, John,-- she said. –I'll do the translation.—
The older man's head nodded once, briefly. –I've known Rick since we went to the Institute together,-- he said. –The thought of someone wanting to hurt him…just to get at my boy…-- A sniffle echoed though the small hallway, but went unnoticed by the man who made it.
--I know.—
--They say his arm might move again, but only a little. No more swimming for him.—
--Can he sign?—
--With work, they think.-- Chase worked hard not to call attention to the tears running down John Parker's cheeks, and quickly stepped over and gave the man she'd always thought of as another uncle a great hug.
--Where's Kyle?—Chase asked. She didn't want to leave John alone, not at a time like this.
--He wanted to go to help. He's looking at something at the pool…--
Chase privately made a note to check up on her oldest friend later, and then started walking in the direction of the stairs. –We'll find him, John. My word's on that.—
--I know you will,-- the older man replied. –But hurry.—
----
Kyle began pacing the interior of the dressing rooms what had to be the millionth time. He knew there was something that the local police and the agents missed—of that, he was sure.
Why take both of them? he wondered. Landon has no money to speak of; Owen is a more accessible face and better target for ransom. If it's about that, then why take a kid with few connections and no money?
On the other hand, he reasoned, this could be a private matter—one directed at me or Ollie or Chase. Kyle's thoughts swam back that horrible day in the compound at Silver Spring, and remembered the previous summer he'd spent hiding from a man that was bent on vengeance for their part in toppling the masterminds behind that vicious plot. The look on Chase and Oliver's faces when 'the man behind the curtain' had called them last November was one Kyle wouldn't soon forget.
The young man carefully retraced the steps he reasoned that Eamon Owen took, then went back and retraced the steps of his younger brother, and then played out the roles of the bodyguards, the coaches, and the people responsible for Landon's disappearance.
Owen came in, saw Landon at his locker, Kyle began to hypothesize. Owen's still mad about being beaten in the race, so they have words—or, he has words, anyway. Knowing Landon, he probably tried to brush the kid off. Maybe Owen doesn't take the brush-off, and it gets worse. Something brought the coaches in—a sound, maybe? Something knocked over, a shout, maybe Owen's voice getting louder?
Kyle changed his position, standing in the space where the 'unsubs'—to use the FBI's term—might have been watching. So there's a fight. Owen's screaming, Landon's trying to walk away, or maybe getting in a few words—he was pretty angry at the kid after the race—and the coaches and the guards come running. Now there's people everywhere.
No. Doesn't make sense. Why wait until there's a crowd?
Better idea: Owen and Landon are arguing. This is perfect—I can snatch one of them and make it look like the other one set it up. But something happens—the coaches call out, or the guards do, and now I've got a time problem. There's… Kyle counted the different foot patterns near the corner he stood next to. …five people here, all looking like they belong somehow. They walk up to the kids, maybe to 'break up' the fight, and next thing anyone knows they're being dragged off.
Or not. Maybe they always planned to take both of them. Still, I can't see why…
The young man was so deep in thought that the light touch on his shoulder startled him. He was certain he yelled pretty loud when he saw two familiar faces holding their ears.
--"Emily, Morgan,"—he said, hoping he was understood. –"You scared me!"—
Morgan made sure Kyle was looking at him before he spoke. "What are you doing here? This is an active investigation…"
--"I know. I'm working too."—
"You can't work this case, Kyle," Emily said, her face telling him she was trying to be sympathetic.
--"Try and stop me."— he said, his face ablaze with determination. –"I know you all are doing your best, but I can't just sit back and let someone do this, not to Landon. If this were Brian, I'd not even bother. But I'm going to see things differently than any of you, and I need to see it from that perspective."—
"Kyle, you're seeing it as a concerned older brother, not an impartial investigator…" Morgan reasoned.
--"I'm also seeing it as a deaf person. Like Landon. That's not something you can role play all that easy, Morgan. Though I know you'll try."—
The look on the agents' faces said that though they understood, there was a protocol.
--"Look,"—he said, going through his 'role play' again. "I'm Landon. I'm over there, grabbing my things. Why, I don't know—maybe I'm worried that someone might sabotage them, or they might get stolen, or something. Next thing I know I've got Owen in my face, screaming at me. I can't make out what he's saying, he's talking too fast. So I try to walk away, but something stops me." Kyle stopped at a familiar shoeprint near a small pool of blood that lay puddled near his feet.
"Dead bodies falling?" Emily guessed. "Or the bodyguards coming in?"
"No. He sees the kidnappers," Morgan replied. "Owen's too busy being pissed to notice, so by the time he sees them it's too late. But now they've taken Landon too—maybe to hide their crime, or because he's a target as well."
--"Haven't figured that out yet,"— Kyle admitted. –"But Owen starts yelling again, maybe. Enough so the coaches and his bodyguards come running."—
"Can Landon's coach hear?" Emily asked.
"No," Kyle said. –"He's profoundly deaf, like Landon and my dad."—
"So why does he come in, then?" the woman mused. "He wouldn't hear the argument, and certainly not Owen's screams for help…"
"Maybe he sees Owen's coach running towards the fight, notices something's wrong?" Morgan supplied.
--"That'd have to be it,"—Kyle confirmed. –"Otherwise he'd never have known."—
"So the coaches come in, and they're dispatched." Morgan began mimicking the shot patterns that corresponded to the wounds the men had on them. "Why don't I kill them?" he asked in mid-'fire'.
"Good question," Emily said. "You'd think the coaches would be collateral damage, after killing the guards that came in to protect Owen. But they only received wounds to non-fatal points…"
"Maybe because one of 'em's in on it?" Morgan theorized. "Remember, one got gut shot and is doing okay despite, but the other's still in a coma with arm, chest and stomach wounds…"
--"Why did Rick get hurt more?"—Kyle wondered. –"He wouldn't have known what was going on, really…more like him seeing a bad action picture unfolding. If anything was said, he wouldn't have caught it."—
"We need to talk to Owen's coach again," Emily said. "I think there's something he's not telling us."
