Here's two in one day - I'm trying to make up for missing yesterday.

Chapter 10

"Okay, pop the trunk." The trooper handed Lenny back his driver's license, and Lenny nodded, coolly releasing the trunk latch. Sean exchanged a glance with him as the trooper stepped back to inspect their trunk and then returned to the window, waving them onward. "All right, move ahead."

Lenny pulled the car forward through the roadblock, and Sean fought down the urge to reach for his cell phone until they were past the watchful eyes of the troopers. He was glad they hadn't asked for his ID, too; by now he was sure they knew the identities of the escaped prisoners, and the last name Moran would have thrown up a red flag. 'Leonard Angelo,' on the other hand, wouldn't ring a bell. Sean was glad, too, they weren't doing body searches. A concealed weapon and a couple of hits of meth would have attracted just a bit of attention.

They were past the checkpoint now, and he jabbed at his speed dial, and waited impatiently for Tommy to answer. "Tommy, we got a problem. We just went through the roadblock down here by Arrowhead Farms – they're checkin' the vehicles out, poppin' trunks and everything. You ain't gonna make it through this. You need to pull off somewhere."

Tommy scowled at Charlie. "Yeah, like where?" he whined. "There ain't nothin' but dead-end gravel roads. Nothin' that goes through."

"Well, you're just gonna have to pick one and hide out there. They just set up this checkpoint – we saw 'em let some cars through the roadblock; then all of a sudden, a few cars ahead of us, they started checkin' IDs and vehicles. Someone must have called 'em. If you can get out of sight for a little while, they might think you made it through before they set up this check. After a few hours, I bet they give up on it, and just start checkin' the cars coming in again." Sean broke off and motioned to their left, as they hit a side road, and Lenny turned at the last minute, tires squealing. "Me and Lenny will pull over here, and keep an eye out. I'll let you know when they stop checkin' vehicles comin' out."

Tommy lowered the phone and yelled up to Jazz. "We gotta pull over, man. Pick the next road – they set up a checkpoint."

Jazz squinted through the windshield. "Looks like there's one to the right up here." He slowed, and a moment later, Charlie felt the vehicle turn and heard the crunch of the tires on gravel. His heart pounding, he listened as Tommy spoke into the cell phone.

"Okay, we pulled off on a gravel road on the right," Tommy said into the phone. He pushed the tarp back and sat up with a grunt of pain. "Goddamn shoulder…," He rode in silence for a moment, the phone to his ear. "There's a sign for some kinda construction place up here. Maybe we can hole up there."

"That's good," said Sean. "Try to hide your vehicle. I'll call you back and let you know when you can come out."

Tommy disconnected, and several minutes later, Charlie felt the SUV come to a halt. Jazz jumped out and opened the hatch, and Tommy clambered stiffly out. As soon as he was out of the vehicle, Charlie shifted over away from the body with a shudder, and using the side of the vehicle as support, pushed himself into a sitting position. It was dark, but from what he could see, they were on a desolate gravel road lined with scrub. The only sign of any buildings were the two in front of them – a good-sized office building and what looked like a large garage, with seven bays.

Jazz had disappeared, and moments later, a light came on in the garage and one of the bay doors lifted. Tommy shuffled to the back of the SUV. "Get out," he ordered, and Charlie scooted to the end of the rear bed, and slid out, on shaky legs. Jazz joined them, and he and Tommy looked at the body, half concealed by the tarp.

"Garage door was unlocked," remarked Jazz. "Probably left a couple doors open in case firefighters needed to get in. Looks like they moved out all of their equipment – the bays are all empty in the garage."

"Good," replied Tommy, rolling his injured shoulder uncomfortably. "They evacuated then – they probably won't be back for a while."

"Should we leave him in the SUV?" asked Jazz, indicating the body.

"Nah, he'll stink it up. We'll take him in the office and stick him somewhere until we figure out what to do with him." His eyes shifted toward Charlie, and he grinned, his face a demonic mask in the dim light. "He can keep Eppes company."

He stepped toward Charlie, and motioned with the pistol toward the office building. "Walk."

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It was close to 10:00 pm, but Wright answered immediately. To be truthful, he'd thought of checking with his SAC more than once during the last hour. Protocol decreed the agent in charge should report in on a field operation – the operative's superiors were not supposed to try to contact agents – a call to an engaged field agent could be distracting, maybe even dangerous, depending on what the situation was. So he'd held off, following protocol, and when the phone finally rang, he pounced on it. "Yes, Agent Eppes, I've been waiting for your call. What's the situation?"

Don took a deep breath, and began to deliver a condensed version of the events. "I told you earlier there were three prison escapees, and a possible hostage situation, all of them headed south on 18. We confirmed that. The State Highway Patrol set up a roadblock, but the fugitives holed up in a business, a packaging plant just before the checkpoint. Somehow - maybe they caught a glimpse of it – they knew the roadblock was there, and they pulled off at the packaging plant. They threatened to kill the hostage if we didn't remove the roadblock. I had Reeves negotiate."

He paused, as an image of Charlie's face, tense, scared, flashed though his mind. "Our consensus was they were desperate, and would die trying to escape if we rushed them, and take the hostage out with them. The fire was approaching, so we decided to let them out, and set up a roadblock further up the road. Before we could communicate that, one of the troopers rushed the building, killed one of the escapees, and wounded another. The remaining two men got back in the car with the hostage, and we had no choice but to let them go – we had no way to get a shot at the man covering the hostage."

"They ended up going south, right into a section of road closed by the fire. I followed with my team, but we lost them in the smoke plume. We found their car abandoned there; we now think they may be in another vehicle and we have another checkpoint set up further down on 18, just north of Arrowhead Farms. We are currently a few miles north of there, at a fire command center, so they should be between us and the roadblock. My team is being treated for smoke inhalation; as soon as they're done we're going to follow." He stopped, waiting for Wright's response. He could almost see the frown on his face.

"There was no way to take out the driver when they pulled out?"

"I thought of that," Don admitted. "I had no way of knowing how the man in the rear seat would react. He'd made it clear he would rather die than go back in – I was afraid if we cornered him, he'd take the hostage out with him. Reeves recommended we let them go and set up surveillance, give them some time to think about what they were doing." He paused nervously; then continued. "Sir, I'm not just calling to give you an update. I'm letting you know I'm taking myself off this one, and putting Reeves in charge."

"And why is that?"

"The hostage is Charlie." The words, spoken aloud, seemed to stick in his throat, and he choked back a cough.

There was dead silence for a moment. "When did you know this?"

"A few minutes before we reached the packaging plant. About two hours ago." Don stopped, wincing, knowing how this sounded.

"You're telling me you've been in charge up to this point – that you made the calls on this case until now?"

"Yes, sir," answered Don quietly. "I considered Reeve's recommendations, but I made the calls."

Silence again. When Wright spoke, Don could hear the frustration in his voice. "What was Charlie doing out there, anyway?"

"He was on his way back from a conference in San Francisco, and he apparently stopped to help – first at Santa Clarita, then at the Lake Arrowhead fire."

"At your direction."

"No, sir. He maintained it wasn't FBI work - he was working with the fire marshals."

"Maintained?"

Don sighed. "My team and I had a meeting with our arson experts at the Lake Arrowhead fire. When I got there, Charlie was talking with them. He and they swore it was a casual conversation. Charlie never applied for consulting status or for pay on this."

"It also means he had no documented clearance to be in the field at an investigation, am I right?"

"No, sir, he didn't. You're correct." Don replied, glumly.

"You seem to have a disconcerting lack of control over your staff, agent." Wright's voice was dry.

"Yes sir."

Wright's voice softened a bit. "Look, Don, I know we're talking about your brother here, and the fact that he ended up in the middle of this was more than likely driven by the most innocent circumstances, but you need to understand, this will not look good. You should have relinquished control, in fact, removed yourself entirely from the proceedings as soon as you knew your brother was involved. The fact that you had a consultant out in the field without clearance is not going to help the situation – whether or not he was actually consulting for us; the appearance is bad. You said you considered Agent Reeves' recommendations. Does that mean you followed them?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, that's something. I need you to remove yourself from the field, immediately, come into the office, and begin a report. I'll try to put the best spin on it I can, but I will tell you, how it's perceived will depend on how the situation turns out. If the team recovers your brother, you will at best get a slap on the hand, possibly a reprimand, at worst a short suspension. If something – more serious – happens to your brother, my superiors will likely feel compelled to take a more drastic action. In that case, it could cost you your career, although at that point, I'm sure that would be the least of your worries."

Don could hear sympathy in the Assistant Director's voice, but also concern and disappointment. He wasn't sure which of the three made him feel the worst. "Yes, sir. I'm going to let Reeves know she's in charge, and I'll be on my way in. I'll have her call you for direction."

Wright disconnected, and Don snapped the phone shut. His shoulders drooping with fatigue and dejection, he turned, and slowly made his way toward the ambulance, where his team was clustered. As demoralizing as it was to have his command and his decisions questioned, it was worse to be removed from the field. He'd known the chances of being allowed to continue under Megan's command were slim, but he hadn't realized how desperately he felt the need to be part of this. Leaving, going back into the office without Charlie, felt like desertion. His brother needed him, and he'd be stuck miles away, filling out reports. He'd never in his life felt so helpless, or so uncertain.

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The key to the office building was under the proverbial mat, either the owners wanted to give the firefighters access, or they were lax when it came to security. Tommy pushed Charlie through the doorway as Jazz flicked on a light. The room contained a few metal desks and some file cabinets, and a water cooler stood in the corner, nearly full. An open doorway at the far end appeared to lead into a small kitchen area, and another on the back wall to a storage area. The floor was scuffed linoleum, the lights uncovered fluorescent rods, set in the ceiling. It suggested utility – the no-nonsense office of working men. Even so, it appeared bare somehow; then Charlie realized there were no computers on the desks. The owners had removed them along with their equipment in the garage.

Jazz disappeared behind them, and Tommy gave Charlie a jab with the pistol, herding him toward the door to the storage room. "In there," he commanded.

Charlie shuffled slowly, trying to flex his shoulders. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were screaming from the awkward position into which they'd been forced, his wrists were raw from the rough twine, and he was losing the feeling in his fingers. His cheek was sore and felt swollen, the cut inside still oozing small amounts of blood, producing a metallic taste in his mouth.

He moved reluctantly through the doorway and into the storage area, which was apparently a repository for files and parts alike; it was a good-sized room, but was filled with metal racks crammed with boxes. He heard noise in the outer room; then Jazz appeared in the storage room doorway behind them, facing backwards, panting with the effort of dragging the dead firefighter. He dumped him unceremoniously on the floor, and fished the ball of twine out of his pocket.

"On the floor," barked Tommy. Charlie turned to face him. He could see Tommy's entire upper sleeve was now drenched with blood, although it was no longer dripping. It appeared to be a flesh wound, but it did look like something that needed prompt medical attention. Maybe that would play in Charlie's favor.

Charlie sank to his knees and then shifted awkwardly to a sitting position, but he protested as Jazz approached him with the twine, figuring the man intended to bind his ankles. "Look, you don't need that anymore – on my wrists, either. My hands are going numb. There's no way out of this room except through that door-,"

"Shut up and lay down," growled Tommy. "There ain't no door to lock you in, and we don't need you sneakin' out if we try to catch some sleep."

Jazz pushed him over onto his side, and began wrapping the twine around his ankles. The dead firefighter was facing him, his face frozen in an expression of stupor, his mouth and eyes open, his tongue protruding slightly, his pupils already cloudy. Charlie twisted his neck, trying to look away, and caught Tommy's smirk of amusement. "What, you don't like your friend?" His eyes glinted, and he squatted, and flicked off the safety. "Maybe it'd be easier if you joined him." He stuck the pistol against Charlie's temple, hard, forcing his head against the cold linoleum. "What d'ya think, Eppes?"

Charlie's breath caught and he closed his eyes, his heart pounding. He heard Jazz's voice from somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. "I wouldn't, Tommy, we might still need him."

Charlie felt Tommy's grip shift on the pistol. "I don't know, Jazz," came Tommy's voice, soft, teasing. "I kinda think we should cut him loose. Bury him out back with the fireman. In fact, I think I'll off him right now. Say good-bye, Eppes."

Charlie felt a sensation of pure ice flash through him, and even as he closed his eyes, he felt his senses heighten. Sounds and sensation suddenly seemed strangely sharp, vivid. Was this how he would die, then? On a cold, dirty linoleum floor, in the middle of the night? He stiffened, trembling, his eyes shut tight, as Tommy pivoted the barrel, lining it up with the center of his temple, and through the barrel; he felt the hand tense as a finger found the trigger.

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End Chapter 10