Special thanks to ancientmaverick for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.
Warning: slight reference to an attempted sexual assault
ZOE'S HELP II
Wed, Sept 23 - 12:10 - CalSci, Los Angeles
"Tell me again why you had to tell Colby?" Charlie looked out of the office window. His reflection stared back at him. The reflection of the glass morphed his face in a mask of fury.
"It's your work." Amita looked down. She was still pale. "And these photos and the handwriting ... I knew the handwriting. At first I didn't think much about it. But then," she paused. "I realized what this could mean." She turned full face to Charlie. "I don't need to tell you the probability of someone knowing your unpublished work and writing in Don's hand. It's-" Amita threw her hands in the air in search of good word.
"It's astronomical. Or miracle-like." Larry finished for her.
Neither of them needed to tell him that. But he couldn't finish the thought. He only could remember his nightmares. The sound of running feet as Don ran away just as the police had arrived. He had helped him but had run away as the police came. For Charlie, it meant one thing: Don would have trusted Charlie, but not Colby or Liz.
His anger boiled over. He turned around and stalked with tense steps to where Amita stood rooted on the spot.
"He will probably be gone by the time the FBI manages to get a location," Charlie shouted. "And if not, then he will run the moment he sees the police."
He stood in front of Amita, his hands raised, finger spread and shaking the air as if he wanted to shake her. "If you'd told me, she would have told me about Don. I am his brother. She would have trusted me."
"Charlie-"
"No! Instead you had to tell Colby, and they hauled her off before I could talk to her. Now she's probably in lock-up, and Don is going to disappear." His voice gave out with a hoarse whisper. "I was so close."
"Charlie, I'm sorry, but if she really knows Don, then she will help you if she's good. But what if she is in with Flynn Logistics? What if she wanted to use you to find Don?" Amita talked with her hands as much as Charlie had done. "I was glad that Colby was there, because the FBI has the time and the resources to determine her intentions."
"But I could already be with Don, if you -"
"Or you could already be used as leverage, a hostage, or walking into a trap," Amita pointed out. "You don't know, and being a little bit suspicious if suddenly a woman arrives who maybe has knowledge of Don's whereabouts isn't a bad thing."
Charlie clenched his fist and stared at her furiously. The perfect argument to rebut her argument was just out of his reach.
"Maybe," Amita started slowly, "maybe we find him ourselves if we use the data from her phone in our calculations?"
Charlie knew that his math would be the solution, but right this moment, he could only think to be as near as possible to his brother.
His shoulders sagged. "You do it." He grabbed his jacket. "It probably won't matter because he is going to run."
He trudged to the door. "I'll be at the FBI. Maybe they will tell me something."
"Charles," Larry called after him. "We need you for the necessary calculations, because if he has written these equations, than you are part of the solution. He is communicating with you by something only you know."
Charlie stopped.
Wed, Sept 23 - 12:30 - FBI Office, Los Angeles
She should have left it alone. She should have just left it alone. Suddenly she understood with all her being what John had meant. But now it was too late.
Her heart beat painfully in her chest. She had always been a good girl and never got into trouble. She tried to dry her sweaty palms on her trousers. It was a good thing that she had dressed regularly and not with her usual whimsy.
With fear-filled eyes, she looked around the glass cage. It was probably only an interview room, but for her it almost appeared stronger than the thickest wall. Nobody looked her way, but she still felt eyes on her body. It was worse than the day in high school she had a wardrobe malfunction.
That day now seemed like a walk in the park.
As the agents had asked her to accompany them, she hadn't dared to argue. Arguing only made things worse. Her father hadn't taught her much, but this lesson had stuck around. Whatever the agents wanted had to be important. They almost were more nervous and jumpy then she had been.
She jerked as suddenly the door was opened and two African-American agents marched into the room.
The woman seemed young, but the expression on her face made Zoe drop her gaze down on the table. The man had seemed more calm and soft. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad?
The female agent positioned herself opposite to her. She crossed her arms and didn't even try to hide her anger. "Where is he?" She also didn't waste any time.
Zoe sank lower. She should probably do something. Like asking for a lawyer? But she had no money. Not even to rent an apartment. How should she pay for a lawyer? She wasn't aware of anything bad that she could have possible done.
"Ms. Ramos." The man sat down next to her. He projected calm and trustworthiness. "Let's start with some introductions. My name is Special Agent Sinclair. This is Special Agent Betancourt."
"Where is he?" Agent Betancourt repeated.
Zoe shifted a little on the hard metal chair. Out of the corner of her eyes, she looked at Agent Sinclair. He really seemed far kinder than this Agent Betancourt. "I really don't know what this is about."
"Okay." He gave Betancourt a signal, and she sat down. "Let's explain it."
"These are the photos that you showed to Professor Charles Eppes." Agent Betancourt put on the table several high-resolution prints. How did they get them so fast? "Is this correct?"
"Yes." Zoe had to moistened her dry mouth and clear her throat. "Yes. Is something wrong with them? He said that I shouldn't have them, but I -"
Agent Sinclair held up his hand and stopped her explanation. "Did you take these photos from the original drawings?"
"I don't -"
"A simple yes or no would be sufficient," Agent Sinclair said as Agent Betancourt put down a new batch of John's math drawings.
"They're just drawings!" She pointed at the picture and started to sit up straighter. She had a responsibility toward John. He had wanted to drop it and enjoy what he had, and now she had destroyed it. But maybe she could save at least his freedom.
Both agents just stared at her. She lowered her head again. "Yes. I took them, but I -"
"Okay," Agent Sinclair eased himself up and circled around the table. "Then we need to know when and where you have taken these photos."
"Um-" She swallowed and tried to think of good lie. She had never been a good liar. She was better at telling stories, but outright lying in these circumstances wasn't part of her abilities.
"You know that we can trace your cell phone, and the pictures come with a timestamp." Agent Sinclair pointed out calmly.
Zoe shifted again. They really were after John. Why didn't she listen to him?
"Um, they were taken at work?" She offered at last. It was a half-truth.
"At work? Where do you work Ms Ramos?"
"Boyd's diner. It's a," she gave a little shrug, "diner."
"And? Ms. Ramos, you are hindering a federal investigation. You don't want to find out what this entails!" Agent Sinclair's voice had risen in volume and intensity.
Zoe swallowed hard. She just had wanted to help. Wringing her fingers, she stared down at the table top. "It's like I've told the professors at CalSci. I work as waitress and somebody asked me if I knew this math, but I didn't."
"So you went to CalSci to find out what it was."
"Yes." This was safer ground. She could just agree. Maybe they wouldn't want anything else.
Agent Sinclair sat back down. The whole interview room seemed to relax. "Did you know that they were part of Professor Eppes' work?"
"No, no. They told me that I wasn't supposed to have them, but I didn't mean any harm." She was an actress for goodness' sake. She just needed to swallow her fear and regain her composure like for any audition or play.
"That's good to hear. So, you can help us find the man who has written them."
"I don't-"
The female agent suddenly spoke up with fire in her voice. "You are in possession of important evidence. These equations were written by a man we are looking for."
Cold fear gripped her lungs and settle like ice in her veins. It was like John had feared. He wasn't paranoid after all. They really were out to get him.
She kept silent.
"Where is the man that wrote them? Where is Don Eppes?" Agent Betancourt asked.
Zoe dared to look up. "I don't know any Don." She had the feeling that she should recognize the name, but names never had been her strength.
Laughter erupted in the room. It sounded wrong. "Are you sure? Don't you watch TV?"
"Oh," she said as recognition sat in. "You mean the missing agent? But I don't know anything about him." This was easy. It was the truth. Zoe relaxed a little.
"But these were written by him."
"No, John wrote them."
Agent Sinclair leaned forward. "John?"
Suddenly her mouth was complete dry. She had walked right into their trap.
"John who, Ms. Ramos?"
She swallowed hard. Maybe her acting chops needed work. Maybe she really wasn't meant for this pressure. "Okay, okay. He works on the construction site near Boyd's diner. I met him through work, and I got all the stuff," she moved her hands over the pictures on the table, "from him. It's his drawings and calculations."
Agent Sinclair closed his eyes and appeared equally relieved and stressed. Agent Betancourt just looked even more furious with narrowed eyes and balled fists.
"When did you take the photos?"
"What did he do? I like him; he has always been nice to me." Zoe dared to ask.
Agent Bentacourt leaned down over the table. "When did you take these photos?" She repeated the question with even more heat.
Zoe shrank back. "Just today."
"Okay. See, that wasn't so hard." Agent Sinclair relaxed. "John wrote these equations, and you wanted to help him by asking Professor Eppes. Did you see him writing it?"
Her heart beat painfully in her chest. "No."
"So, he also could have stolen them? Or maybe he even met Don Eppes?"
"I don't think so. I don't …" She learned forward. If she couldn't help him with her acting ability, then maybe she could help him with her words. Maybe the agents would have mercy. "He works really hard and is often tired because he tries so hard. He really is a good guy. He helped me, and … he is a good guy. I don't think that he has anything to do with your missing agent. He isn't- … Why are you looking for him?"
Agent Sinclair massaged his forehead. "What do you know about your friend?"
Zoe leaned back. She had to at least buy some time. It didn't really matter what she said, they would doubt it and make her repeat it until she didn't even know it herself anymore.
So, the truth had to be it. If she could get out of here fast enough, she could warn him. He was paranoid enough to have a backup plan. She could give him everything she owned and the few dollars she had saved up. It had to be enough. Maybe she could send him to her parents? After all, he was a good guy; they could probably get him a job.
She took a deep breath. "His name is John Smith. I saw him first maybe two or three months ago. He came to the diner and bought a coffee. I see him pretty often because of where he works. Sometimes we deliver to the construction site and ..." She shrugged. If she kept the living arrangement out of it, it was a pretty boring tale.
Relaxing her arms, she leaned forward. "One day, a few customers got a little," she looked up to the ceiling trying to find the right word, "pushy. They made remarks, and I was the only employee. I got scared."
She got scared enough that even now in the supposed to be safe FBI office, she could feel goose bumps all over her body. She could almost feel the hot breath on her chin, the smell of work and sweat, and hear the raunchy words whispered in her ear.
She closed her eyes trying to push the images away.
"He came in and threw them out. And ...," she rubbed at her eyes. "He saved me, and I will never forget that. So ..."
"So?"
Zoe sighed. She still needed to tell more of the story. Trying to fix the idea what not to tell in her mind, she added another white lie. "Once he asked me for help, and I tried to. Help, I mean."
"What help?"
"He had a note-" Zoe stopped herself, "a notepad with math in it. He said that he dreamed it but couldn't remember what it meant. So he asked if I knew what it meant or could tell him who to talk to about it."
"And?" Agent Sinclair prompted as Zoe didn't know what else to tell him.
Zoe frowned, her thoughts furiously circling around trying to find a solution. Suddenly she had the easy way out. With a smile, she said: "That's the reason I went to Professor Eppes, to ask him to identify the math formula."
"Equation," Agent Sinclair corrected. "It's an equation."
"Okay. Equation. Math is not my strong suit."
Agent Betancourt crossed her arms and scowled. "And why didn't John Smith go himself to Professor Eppes?"
Zoe bit her lip. She didn't have a good answer for this. The truth would make look John even more suspicious.
Agent Sinclair leaned back in his chair. He tapped his finger on the table. "Could it be because he has something to hide and needed a scapegoat?"
Her reflex was to deny, but she doubted they'd believe it. She gave a little one-sided shrug. "He said that he had tried and hadn't any success, so I thought I would try again for him." It was the truth and so she dared to look at the agents.
"Ma'am, if he is as innocent as you claim, then he can tell us everything he knows and be on his way."
Agent Betancourt added with less civility: "Where can we find this John Smith?"
Now her gaze shifted back on the table. "I only know where he works: across from Boyd's diner, at the New Style Building."
As the agents stormed from the room, Zoe only hoped that John would forgive her.
TBC
