Author's Note: So many thanks to Amilyn for her help on this one.

Chapter 12: Everything Put Together Falls Apart.

Booth swerved onto the shoulder of the road and threw the SUV into park. He no longer trusted himself behind the wheel, not when the only thing he could see was an anger-fueled, red haze. Unable to stay confined, he got out of the vehicle, slammed the driver-side door and began pacing the shoulder.

When he spoke, his tone was low and deadly. "What do you mean, 'with my people'? What the hell does that mean?"

"He's in protective custody." Booth hear the break in the other man's voice. Even over the phone, he could tell Russ was barely hanging on. "He didn't tell me much. God, Booth, you know how he is. All he said was the prosecutor, the one from his trial, she approached him about testifying against one of his old associates. That's all I know. He called me, he told me what I just told you, and he was gone. That's all I know. None of this was supposed to touch Tempe. She was supposed to be away from this, on an island, in the middle of goddamned ocean. I-"

Booth cut him off. Something had just occurred to him, and he hated himself for how little time he had spent with his partner recently. "Did she know, Russ? Bones said that your father had gone to live with you, to help with Hayley. Was she lying about that, or did she really have no idea?"

"She didn't know. She was gone. You know how it was, you couldn't even call her. Dad didn't want her to know. He said she'd worry for no reason, and it would be safer for her if she didn't know. It was supposed to be over before she ever got back, and she never had to know. Hayley has been sick, and Dad had been spending weekends down here before he left. He wrote to Tempe that he was staying with us in order to explain his absence at the Jeffersonian."

Booth kicked the tire of his SUV and pounded the hood. Max and Russ. If he could actually get his hands on either of them, he'd beat them into a bloody pulp. He shook the phone in his fist, wishing he could do the same to the man on the other line. "Did either of you think for a moment that perhaps you owed Temperance the truth? Did either of you take just a second to remember how badly lying turned out last time?"

Russ sounded defeated. "Dad didn't tell me anything about the man he's testifying against, other than the fact that he used to be quite dangerous. Tempe wasn't supposed to come home, so he said that the less information she had, the safer she'd be."

"Well, she came home, Russ, and you knew she did" Booth yelled, oblivious to the curious looks of the drivers zipping past him. "She came home, and she didn't know the truth, and you didn't tell her, and a bunch of men with guns came, and they took her. They took your little sister, Russ. You knew your father was involved in something dangerous, but when I called you and told you that she had been abducted, you still saw no reason to clue me in, to tell the fucking truth."

Russ tried to interrupt, but Booth decided he wasn't interested in whatever pathetic explanation the man had to offer. If he had no more information that could help bring Bones home, Booth was done with Russ Brennan. He ended the call when Russ was mid-sentence. He gave his tire one more kick before getting back on the road.

oOo

He didn't remember the trip to Caroline's office. He had been consumed with trying to recall every last detail of the file he'd put together on Max Keenan all those years ago. He remembered the kind of people who had inhabited Max and Ruth's world back before they'd become Matthew and Christine: people like McVicar. Those were the kind of people who had Bones, and he felt like he was going out of his mind.

He ignored Caroline's secretary and barged right into her office, barking, "Where the hell is-"

He stopped short at the sight of Andrew Hacker sitting with Caroline at her conference table. Hacker nodded and smiled at him grimly, "Agent Booth."

Booth just stared, looking from the attorney to the Director. They knew why he was here. They knew, and they were looking back at him like parents who were trying to find the kindest way to tell their child that they'd accidentally destroyed his favorite toy.

"Where's Max Keenan?" Booth asked through gritted teeth.

"You know I can't tell you that cher." Caroline at least had the good grace to look regretful.

"Don't give me that southern belle bullshit, Caroline. I don't have time for it. Bones doesn't have time for it. Where is he?"

"Agent Booth," Hacker stood and put a hand on Booth's shoulder, "I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that the federal government doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

Booth glared at the hand on his shoulder, succeeding in making his superior uncomfortable enough to remove it. "Is that who they are? Terrorists?"

Now Caroline stood too, holding a file folder. She handed it to Booth, explaining, "I got a call just minutes ago from Dr. Brennan's brother. I told him the same thing I told you- that I can't reveal the location of Max Keenan...nor can I get a message to him about his daughter." Hearing Booth's sharp intake of breath, she squeezed his arm. "I can, however, give you everything I have about the man he's testifying against." She nodded to the file in his hands. "Meet the Phantom."

Booth looked down at the photograph paper-clipped to the top of the folder. The man in the picture looked to be in his early to mid-sixties. He was completely bald and had the iciest blue eyes Booth had ever seen. He looked back up at Caroline, waiting for more.

"Marshall Coker, head of the White Heritage Republic."

"The what?"

"Exactly." It was Hacker who spoke now. "No one's ever heard of them. Hell, no one's even sure there is a them. You know that string of seemingly racially motivated murders throughout Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky a few years back?" At Booth's nod, Hacker continued, "Well, what was never released to the public is that the Bureau received letters and text messages from someone, or a group of someones, referring to themselves as the White Heritage Republic and taking credit for the murders. Hate Crimes has been working this since 2007, and they've been able to link WHR to abortion clinic bombings across the country, as well as threats sent to immigrant-owned businesses and several non-profits. The group is ghost-like in its operations. Everything they've done could possibly have been pulled of by a single man acting alone. The level of planning and organization, though, indicate a larger network. They were largely impossible to trace until we cross-referenced a rather unusual ingredient in some of the bombs with our explosives database. Turns out, that ingredient happened to be the signature of a man wanted for a series of bank robberies back in the seventies. Guess who had happened to cross paths with this man on a job or two back in the day?"

Booth felt sick. "Max Keenan."

"That's right, cher. Max Keenan. In fact, he'd actually been present at the production of one of these special bombs in 1975. It was used to blow the door off of a safe. So, when we tracked down Marshall Coker, a man whose only traceable crimes were connected to bank robberies back in the seventies, well...you see why Max Keenan's testimony is important."

Booth rubbed his hand hard over his face. "So, the White Republic, or whoever the hell they are, are you saying they took Bones to stop Max from testifying? I thought you said you weren't even sure they're an actual group."

Hacker met Booth's eyes, and he looked sorry. He looked really, really sorry. "We weren't. Until now. Whoever these people are, they've been flying under the radar for years. If it hadn't been for the bombs, we wouldn't have been able to link a single person to the group. If it hadn't been for Temperance's kidnapping, we'd still be unsure that it was a group."

"I need to talk to this Marshall Coker. As soon as possible."

Caroline nodded, but she looked skeptical. "I need to warn you, Marshall Coker isn't saying a word. He's even gone on hunger strike. I doubt you'll be able to get anything from him." She took in the look on Booth's face and added, "But I'll arrange for the meeting."

Booth glanced at the thin file in his hand, the only solid lead he'd had since this whole thing had begun and turned to leave. He stalked down the hall, not acknowledging Caroline calling after him to express her regret that this had caught up to his partner.

He went straight to his office, picked up some stupid glass paperweight he'd gotten god-knows-where, and heaved it at the wall, watching in satisfaction as the tiny glass shards rained down over his filing cabinet. The sound of a woman's gasp had him turning back toward his door, and he was greeted by a doorway full of squints...and Sweets.

They were staring at him, gaping at the broken glass. All he could think was that of course Sweets had to be there to see him practicing his pitching skills and how, when this was over, he was probably going to get called in for more mandatory therapy. He decided he wouldn't mind, that he'd go to mandatory therapy every week for the rest of his life, as long as this being over meant that Bones was home, safe and sound. He was just trying to formulate this into a formal deal with God when he remembered he wasn't alone.

It was Cam, ever the professional, who pulled it together to speak first. "You left without an explanation. The number you gave us was from a disposable cell- completely untraceable. The picture of Dr. Brennan was disturbing, but uninformative. We're ready for that update now, Booth."

He shrugged and handed over the folder...all he had. "Max is in protective custody, scheduled to testify against that guy- the supposed head of some shadowy hate group. The text I got was most likely from members of that group giving me two days to get Max and trade him for Bones." He dropped his head into his hands. God, he was tired.

All of the sudden, Angela was in front of him, pulling on the lapels of his jacket.

"They want Max? They'll give us Bren, if you give them Max?" She sounded slightly hysterical.

Booth closed his eyes and nodded, knowing what was coming next.

"Then get him! Booth." Angela was shaking him. "Get him. You'll get him, and you'll get her back. Right? Booth?"

For the second time that day, Booth was infinitely grateful to Sweets. This time, it was because the kid spared him having to tell Angela what, deep down, she already knew.

"He won't. He can't. The FBI can't negotiate like that."

"They will this time!" Angela was shrieking now, still clutching his lapels. "They have to. They will this time. Right, Booth? BOOTH?"

He opened his eyes to meet hers, letting her see all of the helplessness he felt. She lost it then. He could no longer understand her words, they could no longer be distinguished, mixed as they were with sobs. She was hitting him. Taking her fists and pounding at his chest.

And he let her, because he deserved it. He let her, because he wished he had someone to pound.

It only lasted a little while. Soon, Hodgins was wrapping his arms around his wife, ushering her out of the office. Cam and Sweets were still there, but Booth had nothing left to say. He'd given them all he had. Just the folder. He took it back and sank down against his file cabinet to read it, making himself comfortable amidst the shards of shattered glass.