A/N: Sorry for the late post. Thanks to AlecTowser, Leyapearl, Caranath, Xenitha, & "Guest" for the reviews & comments! Guest: Mar hasn't run into Hammond personally, but knows of him & his history with supposedly "subversive" groups. The Native American/Indian rights movements that started in the '40s (and ongoing today) brought the Tribes into heavy conflict with the US Government over land & civil rights issues, and too many Indians have FBI/CIA files & surveillance, simply for demanding the rights & freedoms guaranteed to all US citizens. My characters are fictional; the Native American/Indian situation, unfortunately, is not.

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One of these days, Joe would find whoever invented the phrase "early bird catches the worm" and beat the living tar out of them.

Sunday passed, boring and restless, with Joe playing nursemaid to Frank and Kris, with both playing much sicker than they actually were. Hammond had left shortly after the confrontation on Saturday and hadn't been back, but Carson camped out in the living room, glaring whenever Joe limped out to the kitchen to get food. However, they couldn't keep Dad out, not without excuses that would bring the bombs down, along with the entire building and half the city in the fall-out. But to Joe's surprise, Dad had that smile on his face: he knew very well what his sons were pulling, but wasn't going to give them away.

Not yet, anyway. If Dad suspected that his sons were hiding something, all bets would be off. It was a wonder that Dad had put Carson off this long, and a miracle that Hammond hadn't stormed the Center with warrant in hand. But Dad couldn't put Hammond off for much longer.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have to.

Early Monday — too early; the godawful hour of 9 AM was not meant for human beings, as far as Joe was concerned — he and Frank slipped out of the suite, leaving a note for Kris on where they were going. They didn't even stop for breakfast or coffee; the less chance of running into Dad or Carson, the better.

When they got down to the commons, Joe and Frank were assaulted by a small missile screaming "¡Ángeles! ¡Ángeles!" Luckily Frank caught little Rita and swept her up onto her shoulders before she bowled Joe over.

"You're up early," Frank said as Rita wiggled, then gently interrupted the child's excited tumble of Spanish. "Ritacita…English, remember?"

"I keep telling her." Emelio climbed over tables and chairs in a straight line towards the brothers. "But she don't listen."

"Doesn't," Frank said.

"Ease up, Frank, it's too early to play school teacher." Joe glanced up at the landing, just in case. They didn't need Carson to stroll through and catch them out in the open.

"If you two are done," Downs drawled, scowling, from the edge of the Commons, "my rug-rats have a dentist appointment. Rita, Eme, move. You can play later."

"Dentist," Joe said, glancing at Frank. "Downtown, by any chance?" Catching a ride and not having to worry about the Muni schedules would be worth dealing with the pain-in-the-neck for an hour or so.

Downs's gaze flickered up to the landing. "Outside," he said, with a jerk of his head, then herded the children out and waited until Frank and Joe had shut the doors behind them. "Kearney Street, as it happens, Bait. And no, you can't have a ride."

Kearney Street divided Downtown and Chinatown, just a hop-skip-jump from Embarcadero. The man could at least pretend to be polite. "Look, Harold, you're supposed to be helping —"

"Joe," Frank said, soft warning.

"Look yourself, Bait. Bad enough you two pretty boys got the FBI to invade the place —" Downs's glare gave no quarter, no mercy, "— but I don't need your daddy and his friends constantly seeing you with my munchkins —" Downs nodded at Rita and Emelio, who watched the exchange with wide eyes, "— then deciding to get CPS involved because they think I'm buddy-buddy with a pair of possible kidnappers. ¿Comprende?"

That brought Joe up short.

"Well? Would you and pretty boy there like more examples of how you've screwed everyone over with this?"

"Back off, Harold," Frank said calmly. "If you know how we could've avoided it, we're all ears."

Downs snorted. "You're not worth the time, pretty boy. As I said, I've got an appointment to get to. But obviously you don't use your ears, either." Downs herded Rita and Emelio towards his car, then, as if on afterthought, spoke over his shoulder, quieter, "Embarcadero Center?"

Joe exchanged a quick look with Frank. "Yeah," Joe said. "Folks said the view from some of those buildings is pretty amazing."

Downs got the children into the car and shut the door, headed around to the driver's side. "Interesting fact. Weldon Rathbone lives in a penthouse in one of the towers down there. That's what the wife says. Make a side trip. Sneak up and throw yourselves off. Save us all the trouble."

"The guy married to Greata Delquist." Joe didn't need Frank's tight grip on his shoulder to tell him to keep cool. Something else was going on here.

Downs shrugged. "Got me. I just know he's our local hermit."

Rita and Emelio were watching through the car window. Punching out Downs in front of them was probably a bad idea. "Your dentist lives there, too?" Joe said.

"That's none of your damn business, Bait." Downs slid into the driver's seat. "Enjoy the Muni ride."

"I really want to punch him out," Joe muttered. "After this is all over, I get to indulge myself. Remember that."

"Good luck with that," Frank murmured, looking around grounds. "He knows about your crutch now."

"I didn't say I'd use my crutch." Joe eyed the hill and the walk down to the Muni stop, and sighed. "Wonder if we can make it before the next one comes in?"

But, scowling, Frank was now gazing after Downs's car. "Come on. We're taking a junker."

That was unusual. Frank usually wanted nothing to do with driving downtown during Monday business hours, and that wasn't the only odd thing, either: Frank was acting spooked. Joe eyed him, but said nothing until they were in the car and halfway down the hill.

"Was it just me or was he acting weird?" Joe said. "That wasn't his usual you-two-are-CIA-flunky-scum routine."

Frank kept his gaze on the road. "Yeah, that was odd. Something…" He fell silent.

"Maybe because of Rita and Eme. I know Josh and Eli have been on his case about that lately."

"He didn't call me 'mundane'," Frank said.

Joe was used to Frank's sudden topic changes when an idea hit — it was a habit the brothers shared. Joe waited; Frank would explain sooner or later.

Seeing Joe's expression, Frank breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Come on, Joe, he never lets up with that nonsense. But this time —"

"'Pretty boy'. But he's calls us that a lot."

"He calls both of us that. He hits you with that stupid bait thing —"

Joe scowled. Bait was short for gay-bait, something Downs had been taunting Joe with non-stop since the brothers had arrived last month. It didn't help that Joshua flirted with the brothers and called them Beautiful and Handsome whenever he wasn't being official, but Joshua's teasing was only in fun. Downs meant it.

"— but I get the mundane nonsense. Why not now? Rita and Eme don't care about that crap, and Downs doesn't care who hears him…" Then Frank stopped.

"Unless someone was listening that he did care," Joe said.

"Someone who might interpret that mundane the right way…" Frank said, "…like someone spying on the Center."

Joe caught the connection. "Downs is a 'path. So he'd know. Especially once we got outside the wards."

"He herded us outside because he didn't want Dad or Carson overhearing," Frank said, "but then found someone else was listening in. Hammond?"

"Bet on it," Joe said.

Frank's mouth was a tight line. Joe stared out the window, watching the passing Bay, bridge, buildings.

"If either of us ever say that 'how much trouble can she be' line again," Joe said finally, "I vote for dropping that person into the Bay, with concrete shoes and a Walkman with a tape-loop of that 'If' song duct-taped to his head."

"You'll have to catch me first," Frank said.

Luckily, they managed to get the parking garage close to the Port. The day was bright, the sky clear, the morning sun blinding. They grabbed bagels and coffee from a bakery-cart on the plaza (toasted and studded with raisins and cinnamon, and the cream cheese mixed with fresh strawberries), then the brothers crossed the Embarcadero to the Muni stop in front of the Port. Frank stood there a long time, staring at the skyscrapers and office buildings that made up the Financial District and Embarcadero Center.

"Well?" Joe said finally.

Slowly Frank shook his head. "Nothing looks like what I saw. Nothing. Tag said it — it all changes. I should've known — I should've known. There's no magic shortcuts. No such thing as a free lunch. We're back to the hard way and square one and Nancy…" Frank choked off, head bowed.

His brother, skeptical, everything-has-to-make-sense Frank, having to deal with his own disbelief, the spooky stuff, whatever he'd encountered out in the in-between — Joe wasn't going to let him off the hook that easy. "What else do you remember? Anything?" When Frank shook his head, Joe grabbed him by the shoulder. "I told you, don't second-guess this stuff. What do you remember?"

Frank sagged back against the rails of the stop with a frustrated sigh. "The Port. Something big and white, anyway. And…I thought I saw the Muni Station."

Joe nodded at the stop and the surrounding people waiting for the incoming line. "This?"

"No, not the stop. Embarcadero Station. That's what I thought it was. I couldn't tell. Something like a big metal spider. And the pyramid. We were up pretty high — it was hard to see."

Wait…Frank had said this before, and it'd slipped past Joe's brain. "'Up pretty high'? Like…from a penthouse?"

Now Frank was looking at him.

"The pyramid building's that way, past the park." Joe nodded that direction. "We can't see it from here."

"It wasn't the pyramid. I could see it, but that's not where we were." Frank stared out at the traffic and buildings.

"A tower around the Financial District," Joe said. "That's where the man lives, Downs said. That could be any of these, for all we know."

"No." Frank's face lit, fierce and certain. "It'd have to be a tower he owned. And Nancy had that list of businesses in her notes."

"Not necessarily. He's a businessman, not a landlord." Joe settled against the railing and dug into his back pocket. He'd pulled that page out of the notebook before they'd left. "Here."

Frank frowned over the list. "Masters…Intercontinental…wait, California Street? That's near here." His gaze fixed on the office towers across the Embarcadero. "Come on."

When Frank got on the hunt, there wasn't anything Joe could do but follow…not that Joe minded. They were close, they had to be. And when they passed the 400 block of California and crossed Montgomery, Frank suddenly stopped. "The pyramid — that's what I saw. Look."

A couple blocks down Montgomery was the elegant Transamerica pyramid, one of the odder buildings in the city. "There's definitely no penthouse up there," Joe said.

"No, I saw that from where I was. We must be close." Frank looked around…then up. "There. That's it." He took off at a half-jog, until Joe yelped at him to slow down — dealing with a crutch in the middle of the heavy downtown pedestrian traffic during business hours was asking for a major accident. Frank looked impatient as Joe caught up, then took off again at a slower pace that Joe could match.

555 California was a tall skyscraper with ridges of window-bays running the full length of the tower, and an open plaza with marble benches — it was all familiar…then Joe remembered where he'd seen it: not good. But then he saw the street signs and scowled. Right at the intersection with Kearney Street.

Downs either had deliberately been a jerk or…well…was just being his usual jerk.

"Joe…"

Joe followed his brother's gaze to the massive chiseled-marble sign out front: Rathbone Tower.

"This is it," Frank breathed. "It has to be it. It has to be."

"You know where this is, right?" Joe said as they went into the building through the huge smoked-glass doors. "They used this place in The Towering Inferno. The plaza out there, for all the outdoor shots."

Frank headed for the building directory in the center of the lobby, near the architectural displays of coming construction. "We'll come back with our cameras and play tourist later." He scowled over the listings: hundreds of names on the front and back, over fifty floors. "Great."

"If Rathbone's a hermit, he won't be listed." Joe scowled over the names himself. "He'll have some private elevator or key-only access —"

"That's what I've got you for," Frank said, and Joe rolled his eyes. But then Frank lowered his voice. "Feel anything?"

Joe settled against a nearby marble planter, brushing the ficus leaves out of his face as Frank sat next to him: just two guys taking a breather out of the sun, nothing out of the ordinary. "Something…" Joe murmured. "It's way up there — can't really tell down here." He shook his head. "It's not mage-Gift, but it's not whatever started those fires, either. I can tell that much."

"So we'll have to invade a busy office building so you can lie down and space out in the middle of the floor to get up close and personal with whatever they're doing up there," Frank said. "Piece of cake."

"Famous last words," Joe said, as they went back to look over the directory. But then something caught his eye. "'Brother…'"

"What?"

"No, 'brother'. Look." Joe levered himself down. Right there at the bottom of the listing, 51st floor: Weldon Rathbone Foundation, A Brotherhood of Companies.

Frank's breath caught. "Brother. She must've meant brotherhood. 'It all leads back to the brother'…she was investigating the entire Rathbone Foundation?"

Joe dug the notebook paper out again, unfolded it, laid it over the directory so that one of Nancy's doodles overlaid the logo. "It's the logo. It matches exactly." Joe looked up. "If she stumbled over something bigger than what everyone thought…"

He didn't finish the thought. For a multi-million-dollar corporation, dealing with a lone woman like Nancy would've been like swatting an irritating fly, with no hesitation or compunction.

"How much do you want to bet that this place is called Rathbone Tower because he lives here?" Frank said.

"You owe me too much pizza already."

Frank smiled — the first real smile Joe had seen from him since Nancy had been grabbed. "Well…then let's go have a talk with him."