A/N: I got a bonus disclaimer here: nothing in this part of the chapter came from the comments; some of you are just good guessers. :)
Regular disclaimer and acknowledgments in the Prologue.
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1:15 A.M. (Mountain)
American Flight 2404
Dina pressed the call button over her head. When the flight attendant appeared, she quietly notified her that she was going to be using the phone in the seatback in front of her for official FBI business and that she wasn't to be disturbed. Earlier in the flight, she had asked to be reseated at the rear of the aircraft where there were fewer people to be disturbed by her conversation. She didn't mean disturbing their sleep, given the content of the conversation she was likely to be having,. The flight attendant had agreed and moved the handful of nearby passengers several rows forward, figuring that they didn't need to hear words like "hostages" and "gunpoint" being spoken on a commercial aircraft, even by an FBI agent.
She pulled the phone out of the seatback and dialed the L.A. field office. They transferred her to the Dallas office, and then to the officer in charge at the scene. His Texas drawl was milder than she had expected, and she mentally berated herself for expecting a stereotype. Officer Rick Tyler certainly sounded on top of the situation, describing in detail what they had been able to glean off the store cameras, which wasn't much beyond confirming that Don Eppes was present. At first, he had been in the back aisle of the store with the other three hostages, but about two hours ago he had exchanged some words with Foster, and then the camera footage had disappeared when the clerk was forced to turn it off before all of them disappeared into the back office.
The next time they tried calling, Eppes had answered the phone and repeated Foster's earlier demands, throwing in safe passage for himself. In exchange, they had let one of the hostages go, a young woman who refused to leave the scene since her boyfriend was still inside. They pumped her for information, but all she could tell them about Eppes was that he had told the gunman he was on his side.
Dina frowned at the news. Had he really decided to throw his lot in with a convenience store robber? What kind of a deal had the two of them struck?
"I'd like to talk to him," she said, "Can you patch me through?"
"You think that'll make a difference?" Tyler sounded doubtful.
She kept her tone courteous but firm. "I've been investigating Eppes for a long time. I know him and what he's thinking better than anyone you have on the ground, and probably better than anyone else, for that matter."
"All right, we'll see what we can do."
She waited for a couple of minutes, listening to a series of clicks on the other end of the line and looking out the window of the plane. Checking her watch, she saw that there were still a good three hours before she would land in Dallas. Anything could happen in that time. But if she could figure out why Eppes was doing this, she could hand the officers on the scene some valuable information. Hopefully, she'd be there in time to take him into custody.
There was a low ringing sound, and she straightened in her seat. A few seconds later, the voice of the man she'd last seen pointing her own gun at her came on the line. "Hello?"
"Branching out a bit, are we?" she started.
The sharp intake of breath told her that he hadn't known whom he was going to be talking to, which was interesting. His reply was terse. "Not exactly."
She stared out the window at the darkness below, lit by only a few pinpricks of orange light. Unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice, she went on, "No, I guess this is just a more direct way of stealing money than getting it wired into your bank account, isn't it?"
"What do you want, Javier?" His voice was tense, which was hardly surprising. She still wasn't sure how he had expected to pull this off, or why, but that was the purpose of her call.
She kept her voice down. Even though the nearest passenger was three rows away, there was no need to alarm anyone who overheard her words. "What I want, Eppes, is for you to let your hostages go and turn yourself in."
There was a soft snort on the other end of the line that she barely heard. "They're not –" There was a pause, and he started again. "It's not exactly my decision to make."
"So what's your role in the division of labor? Offering pointers on how to get past the police? It's not going to happen and you know it. You've got local cops out there ready to take a shot at you, and I'll be there to pick up the pieces after they do."
She heard a long inhalation, slightly shaky, but again that was to be expected given the situation. When he next spoke, his voice was more intense. "You want to know why I'm doing this?"
Unconsciously, she leaned forward in the seat, her forehead touching the plastic of the window pane. "Yes, I do."
He spoke quickly and confidently. "Ask Agent Green. He'll tell you all about it."
She frowned. "Agent Green? Who is that?"
There was a pause. Then he said, his voice now less sure, "Just ask him." There was another pause. "You have Foster's demands. There's nothing more to say." There was a click, and he was gone.
Dina hung up the phone and thought for a moment, staring out the small window. The points of orange light far below were starting to grow indistinct, and she realized they were passing over a thin cloud layer. She wracked her memory trying to think of every name in file #24601 but could not recall the agent Eppes had spoken of. Whoever he was, he seemed to be the key to what was going on here, and so she opened the phone again and re-dialed Los Angeles.
"I need a home phone number for Agent Megan Reeves," she told the FBI operator. The operator connected her through, and she listened to the phone ring, looking at her watch and wincing. No matter; this can't wait.
A man's sleepy voice answered the phone. "This is the domicile of Megan Reeves."
She furrowed her brow at the unconventional greeting. "Is Agent Reeves in?"
There was a rustling noise, and her voice came on, more alert than the original speaker. "This is Reeves."
"This is Dina Javier," she began. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I need some information."
"Must be important," Reeves answered. She heard another rustling sound, and figured it was the other woman sitting up against her headboard. "Do you know what time it is?"
"No," she lied. "I need you to tell me who Agent Green is and how Don knows him."
"Who?" came the response with more than a touch of bewilderment.
"Agent Green. I just had a conversation with Eppes in which he referred to this man, and it's extremely important that I find out who he is."
Reeves spoke slowly, not with the slurring of tiredness, but as if she were trying to make her point very, very clear. "There is no one by that name at the Los Angeles field office, and I cannot recall Don ever mentioning someone by that name."
Dina pursed her lips. "In other words, it's somebody from before your time." She sighed. That would mean a lot more digging in to Eppes' background. And at this time of night, no matter which field office she contacted in which time zone, nobody would be available to do the research.
"Hang on." Reeves' voice had sharpened. "You would have to check the records to verify this, but…'Agent Green' was one of the code words on the list last year for an agent under duress. I'm pretty sure it was in use the last time Don was in the field." Her voice turned wry. "I remember Colby making a joke about Soylent Green and Don laughing with the rest of us."
Her eyes narrowed. How dare he? "An agent under duress? That son-of-a—"
"What's going on, Javier?" Reeves cut her off. "What did Don say in that conversation of yours?"
"Thank you for your time, Agent. I'm sorry to have disturbed your sleep." She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Did he think he was being funny? According to the released hostage, he'd gladly thrown his lot in with the robber. What was he trying to pull?
She thought for a moment before reaching up and ringing the call button. When the same flight attendant came by, she requested to be awakened half an hour before landing, as she would have another phone call to make. The young woman nodded and said softly, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I did overhear part of your conversation." She leaned closer. "I hope you get him."
"Me too," Dina responded with a smile of thanks, and curled up against the window to catch a couple hours of sleep. The blanket she had pulled around her was a little too close to her throat, and she tugged it back despite the cold air blowing down on her from the vent overhead. Better a little chill than risking a repeat of the old nightmare about her serial killer in Ohio. Besides, drowsy as she was, a little cold air wasn't likely to keep her from the blessed escape of sleep.
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4:30 A.M. (Central)
Hutchins, TX
Two hours after hanging up with Javier, Don didn't know how much more he could take. His nerves had been stretched to the limit almost since entering the store, and subsequent events had only sent the tension higher. The phone call with the FBI agent had been the most difficult. He'd been shocked to hear her voice on the phone, and the distinctive ding that sounded in the background told him she was on a plane, probably on her way here. At the same time, he'd been staring down the barrel of Foster's gun once again, trying to get his message across to Javier without simultaneously tipping off their captor. He didn't know if she would recognize the duress code or if she would even believe it, but it had been the only thing he could think of to say.
He checked his watch and noted that her flight was still an hour away from landing, based on what he remembered of the red-eye schedule. Not that the presence of one more law enforcement officer outside would make a difference, given the swarm of flashing lights he had seen earlier. But there was something about knowing his own personal demon was out there waiting for him that would make the situation even worse.
The phone rang, and he gave a start. "Go ahead," Foster said, gesturing with the .38.
He picked up the receiver. "Yeah?"
"We're ready. You get the car, we get a hostage."
"That's the deal," he agreed, and at Foster's gesture, hung up.
"All right, you." Foster pointed his gun at the clerk. "Get up and get over here." He grabbed the clerk's arm and pressed the gun into his side before looking at the blond man. "You, out in front. Either of you try anything…" He cocked the gun and gave them a meaningful look. Then he looked at Don. "Same for you. Anyone out there thinks you're someone who needs to be rescued, I'll make sure you won't be."
He clenched his jaw and gave a short nod. They were about to enter the most crucial phase of the standoff: the moment where they were completely exposed to the police outside, and one misstep on anybody's part would mean a lot of guns going off and their odds of survival going way down. He would have to keep a close eye on Foster to see if there was any chance of disarming him and getting the clerk free. If it meant he took a bullet himself, well, in some sense that beat what was waiting for him in California. At least it would be a death of his own choosing. He shook his head to clear it of his morbid thoughts. The fact that he had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now wasn't exactly helping his state of mind.
For all his worry, the transfer went surprisingly well. Foster kept the clerk in front of him as a shield the entire time, forcing Don into the driver's seat while he and his hostage climbed in the back. The blond man raced out of the line of fire as soon as he could, and out of the corner of his eye, Don saw him reuniting with his girlfriend behind the phalanx of police cars. But then his attention was diverted by Foster snapping from the back seat, "Come on, let's go."
He eased out of the parking lot, the surreal situation almost making him laugh. There he was, driving past a dozen police cars and two dozen cops who he was sure would like nothing more than to get their hands on him but were unable to because of his supposed accomplice and hostage in the back seat. He, on the other hand, would like nothing more than to see that hostage safely released and Foster in custody. There was still time for either scenario to happen, he knew. Just because they were being allowed to drive out of the parking lot didn't mean they would be allowed to get very far.
They drove down the four-lane highway, Foster constantly looking over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. The sun wouldn't be rising for well over an hour yet, although as they headed east, Don thought he saw a paler shade of darkness on the horizon. After a couple of miles, when the divided highway became a two-lane road and they were clearly beyond the edge of the city, he slowed the car.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Foster snapped.
He kept his voice calm. "You agreed to let him go once we got away." They were nowhere near "getting away," but he hoped the gunman didn't realize that. There might not be any helicopters overhead or flashing lights in the rearview mirror, but that didn't mean they weren't being watched.
"Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind."
Don's heart sank. "Look," he tried, "he's just going to slow you down, he's one more thing you have to worry about. Let me pull over and let him off. You've still got me."
"Fat lot of good you'll do me," the other man sneered.
"Hey, I'm the one on the run, remember?" he snapped back, unable to keep his temper in check any longer. "I kind of have a vested interest in getting away. And trust me, it's easier without a hostage." That was Don Eppes the FBI agent speaking, not Don Eppes the fugitive, but again, Foster didn't need to know that.
There was a moment of silence. Then he said, "All right, pull over." Don did so, and came to a stop on the gravel at the side of the road. "Get out," Foster said, shoving the clerk towards the door. The young man scrambled for the door handle and dove out of the car, running down the shoulder the way they had come without a backwards glance.
Keeping his gun trained on Don, Foster climbed out of the back seat and entered the front, pulling the seatbelt over himself as he sat down. "Let's go."
Don took a deep breath and started to drive again. He was having trouble concentrating on the road, tired as he was, but his mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do next. He'd actually accomplished his goal: getting all of the hostages out in one piece. Now, he realized that there was a small possibility he might actually get out of this mess himself. There was just the matter of the gunman next to him and the police pursuit he was expecting to see any minute.
They rounded a curve, and far off in the distance, he thought he saw flashing lights. Swearing under his breath, he searched the sides of the highway and found what he was looking for. "Hold on," he muttered as he hit the brakes and gave the wheel a sharp turn.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Foster's voice was sharp as he grabbed at the dashboard as they spun around the corner.
They bounced onto the unpaved road, Don having a ridiculous flashback to watching "Dukes of Hazzard" as a kid as they fishtailed slightly on the gravel. "They might have let us get out of the immediate vicinity, but they'll have roadblocks set up on all the main highways. If we take the side roads, we might be able to slip past."
"Roadblocks, huh?" Foster sneered as he pointed the .38 back in Don's direction. "I suppose there's a reason you didn't tell me about that before I let the kid go?"
He glanced to the side and saw the gun wavering around as they bounded over the pitted road. He slowed slightly, checking the speedometer. Perfect. Then aloud he said, "Yeah, there is. I didn't want you to get away."
Before Foster could react, he reached over, unbuckled the man's seatbelt, and slammed on the brakes with full force.
The car was too old to have airbags, but Don trusted that his seatbelt would hold. It did, sending him forward against the steering wheel but thankfully not into it. Foster didn't fare as well; the seatbelt was still tangled across his chest, but it was no longer stretched taut to hold him back. The sudden loss of the car's forward momentum meant that Newton's First Law of Motion now applied only to his body, which went sailing forward to crash through the safety glass of the windshield, coming to a stop halfway out of the vehicle.
Don hastily unbuckled his own belt and reached forward, checking the gunman's pulse in the wrist that was draped over the dashboard. It was strong, and he was already moving around a little. He climbed out of the car, reached across the hood to grab the gun out of the other man's hand, and after a quick check in both directions, sprinted down the gravel in the direction they'd been headed.
After the unbearable tension of the last eight hours, even dog-tired as he was, it felt good to run. In a minute he would have to consider his route more carefully, but for now, he was going to move as fast as he could, leaving behind the no-longer-armed robber and the police who would soon be in pursuit. He had an hour of darkness to work with, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.
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Monday, March 4, 2008
3:14 P.M.
L.A. FBI Field Office
"That's the last of it." Agent Chad Danvers rubbed his eyes and sat back from the computer screen. "All eight hours of thrilling action."
Dina looked up from the maps of Texas she was examining, wishing one of them had a dot labeled "Don Eppes." "Any luck on the sound?"
He shook his head. "Seems to be video only. The store owner might have mistrusted his manager enough to set up a camera on a separate circuit in the office, but he wasn't willing to spring for the audio component."
She gave a soft snort. If the cops had been able to get a hold of the owner while the robbery was underway and found out about the remaining functional camera, they could have been watching it live instead of going through the tapes after the fact. "So, what have you got?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Some pretty interesting stuff. For one, Eppes was clearly not actually an accomplice, no matter what Foster said. He spent more time than anyone else at the other end of the gun."
"You mean he really was under duress," she frowned.
Danvers nodded. "By the time they drove off, there was one bad guy and two hostages, not the other way around."
"Damn." She thought about it for a moment, taking off her reading glasses and staring out the window at the glass-and-steel skyline of downtown. If the local authorities had known Eppes was a hostage, too, they would have been much more willing to spring a trap on Foster before he'd gotten out of the parking lot. The irony of it burned her: she hadn't believed his warning signal, and because of it, he'd gotten away. "Damn!" she repeated, tapping her fist on the top of her desk.
"Dina?" The third member of her task force entered their cubicle, a man a couple of years younger than her who had been part of the L.A. field office for nearly a decade. Tom Metzke had volunteered to help her as soon as she had arrived in town, and she had quickly gotten the feeling that he was even more determined than her to make Eppes pay for what he'd done. He'd been enthusiastic about going through old records and case files, digging up a surprisingly large amount of evidence against such a well-respected agent. Eventually she figured out that he was taking it personally that one of his colleagues could have turned on them all like he did. Still, he kept a professional air and was one of the most dedicated people she could have hoped for to have under her command.
"I've got the latest report from the Texas State Troopers." Metzke shook his head grimly. "No sign of him."
She drew in a slow breath. "Maybe it's time to widen the net," she said. "Contact the adjoining states and tell them to start watching the bus stations and truck stops. I'm going to add him to the Major Case Fugitive Program; that'll get some more resources going our way."
He nodded and ran a hand through his short-cropped red hair. "Oh, and they found the weapon used in the robbery. It was lying in the weeds about a quarter-mile from where the car and Foster were."
"It's strange that he keeps getting rid of the guns he comes across," Danvers said. "First…well, first yours, and now this. You would think he'd be taking advantage of the opportunity."
"You would think," she echoed, lost in thought for a moment. Eppes wasn't behaving like the typical fugitive at all. But then, the typical fugitive hasn't spent years hunting down other people on the run, she reminded herself. He would know all of the tricks and tactics available, including the lower priority that would be placed on him if he was known not to be armed.
She sighed and looked up at Metzke. "Contact the adjoining states, and then get the armed and dangerous designation removed from his description." He frowned, and she shrugged one shoulder. There was nothing they could do.
Don Eppes had apparently won this round, but she wasn't going to stop until she had brought him down.
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A/N: I can't take credit for the no-seatbelt-going-through-the-windshield thing; that's from the episode "Sanctuary" in the 2000-01 TV version of "The Fugitive."
