Chapter 21

Don's phone rang while they were waiting for the rental car. He picked it up automatically. "Eppes."

"Agent Eppes, I have a message from your brother." The voice was stunningly familiar. It was the man who'd threatened to kill their father, the man who'd made Charlie tie them up.

"Where is he?" Don demanded.

"He needs you, Agent Eppes," the man said. "He's not doing as we ask, and we have no use for him otherwise. He needs you to encourage him."

"What are you talking about?" Don asked. Megan was looking at him with alarm, and Colby was on his phone.

"You're a good brother, Agent Eppes, and I know you'll want to protect your brother from what we can do to him."

Don opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the sound on the phone changed, and he heard a voice that was even more familiar. "No, I won't!" It was Charlie's voice, and he sounded both angry and desperate.

"Charlie?" Don exclaimed. "Charlie, we –"

A loud cry of pain chopped off his words and made his hand clench on his phone. "I won't help you!" Charlie cried out. "No! Stop!"

"Charlie, I –" The sound of Charlie's anguished pleading cut off with an abruptness that made it clear that it was a recording. Don was left staring, appalled, at nothing.

"Now, I know you want to help your brother," the man said in a hateful, unctuous voice.

"What do you want from me?" Don asked, his voice harsh.

"I want you to come out to the coast. Near the camp store in Leo Carrillo State Park you'll find an old blue pickup truck. Under the front seat you'll find a briefcase with combination locks. Your birthday is on the left, your brother's is on the right. Follow the instructions inside."

"You –"

"If no one comes or someone else shows up, you'll get a video of the consequences." There was a click and Don looked at his phone. The call was gone.

"I couldn't get a trace," Colby said apologetically, and then he wrapped up his call.

"What is it, Don?" Megan asked. "Did you talk to Charlie?"

"Let's get moving," Colby said, glancing around. "I think we need to get under cover."

"Right." Megan bustled Don into the back seat of the car and climbed in next to him. Colby set off driving. "Don, what happened?"

Don shook his head. He realized he was still holding the phone and it fell out of his hand to the floor of the car. "It was the guy . . . the one who came to the house that first night," he said. His voice sounded wholly unnatural to his own ears. "He said that Charlie's not cooperating, and that they don't have any use for him if he doesn't."

"Okay," Megan said in her calm voice. "And?"

"And they want me to come encourage him, otherwise . . ." Don rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. "They hurt him. They played me tape of them hurting him."

"God!" Megan exclaimed. "What . . . what did he say?"

Don clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. "Not much beyond 'I won't' and 'stop,'" he said. "It was recorded, just a demonstration."

"But what did they want from you? Encourage him? What does that mean?"

Don shook his head. "I don't know, I think it means that I take his place as punching bag."

"What did they tell you to do?" Colby asked.

"I was supposed to go find instructions at Leo Carrillo Beach."

"Which means that they don't know you've left LA," Megan pointed out. "That's a good sign."

"There is nothing good about any of this," Don growled. Megan squeezed his shoulder and fell silent after that.

It was nearly one a.m. before they reached the FBI office in Seattle, and Don was surprised to find that the floor they were directed to was bustling with activity. David hurried over to them. "We think we know where they are."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Don demanded.

"There's at least ten guys on the property. We need a plan that keeps Charlie safe."

Don grimaced unhappily. Unfortunately, that made all too much sense. "What do we have?"

"A farmhouse," David said. "It's been under watch by the ATF because the guy who owns it is kind of a survivalist. Lots of guns, lots of friends, lots of drinking. But when the FBI around here started asking questions about cement trucks, it set off alarms with the ATF surveillance team."

"Yeah," said a guy walking up with a donut. "We though they were building a bunker."

"Do you mean that there have been people watching this place this whole time, the whole week Charlie's been gone?" Don asked incredulously.

"We never saw any sign of a prisoner," the guy said. "I'm Agent Cochrane of the ATF."

"What do you mean, no sign?" Don asked.

"The only guys we've seen are on the list of people who've been there before," Cochrane said. "No one with an outstanding warrant, just a lot of people under suspicion for a lot of things."

From a little ways off, Don heard an unexpected voice. "What do you mean, there are complications to my plan?" Edgerton demanded. "I've been after this guy for three months now, and I know he's on that –" As he'd spoken, his voice had gotten closer. He broke off as he came around the corner and saw Don. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the man he'd been talking to. "Eppes? The voodooman is my complication?"

"Voodooman?" Cochrane repeated with a puzzled grin at Don and Colby.

Don nodded. "That's what he likes to call my brother," he said, then he turned to Edgerton. "Your guy is on this farm they're telling me about?"

"Your brother?" Cochrane said. "You're this guy's brother?"

"Agent Don Eppes," Don said. "FBI."

Cochrane turned towards the man Edgerton had been talking to. "Garrick, did you know that –"

Garrick, a tall guy with pure white hair, scowled and said, "Yes, and I'm not happy about it."

Don opened his mouth to retort, but Megan caught his arm to silence him. "We understand your concern," she said. "But Dr. Eppes . . . like many other people of his extreme intelligence . . . has some profound weaknesses. We're not at all sure how he'll react to anyone who isn't close family. With a choice between a city planner in his sixties and an FBI agent, we thought Don was the better bet."

Garrick turned to Don. "You are under my authority, young man, do you understand that?"

Before Don could respond, Fogarty pushed to the front of the group. "Actually, he's here under my authority, Agent Garrick," he said with a glance at Don. "And he understands that he's here in a support role. He will not participate in the raid, but we will need him nearby in case Dr. Eppes needs his presence."

Don grimaced and shook his head. Thrilled as he was that the LA contingent were taking such care that he not get himself into trouble, he thought everyone was missing a key point. "Has it occurred to any of you that Charlie's liable to panic if he's approached by a bunch of strangers with guns?" he demanded. "He may see your people coming and just run."

Garrick gazed at Don, blinking throughfully. "Your brother's a federal consultant. Is he that easily spooked?"

Don looked down briefly and sighed. He didn't really want to make Charlie look foolish, but he also didn't want to risk anyone freaking his brother out. He looked up and met Garrick's eyes. "I don't have any way to guess what these guys are doing to him, except that I got to hear them smack him around." Garrick grimaced uncomfortably. "Anyway, he doesn't react well to certain kinds of pressure or any kind of violence. He's liable to . . ." Don trailed off uncertainly, and Megan took up the slack.

"Long story short, Charlie's a consultant, not a field agent. He doesn't handle violence or guns real well. He's going to need his brother on scene."

Garrick pursed his lips. "Fogarty, I want all of your guys in the conference room in fifteen minutes. Anyone who hasn't eaten recently, grab something to eat and drink. Cochrane, grab your senior guys. Tom, grab our guys."

Charlie lay awake most of the night, staring at the invisible ceiling. His ribs and arms ached, and he felt disgusted with himself for having shouted enough for them get a recording to send Don. Not that his brother would be idiot enough to turn himself over to these bastards, but it was embarrassing. And it would make things harder for Don.

And if they did get him, if they did start torturing Don to get him to work, what would he do? What could he do? He couldn't kill hundreds or thousands to save his brother's life. He hoped Don would understand that. He thought his brother would not only understand it but agree with it; he knew his father would. He just hoped he never had to face the question.

By the time the lights came on, he hadn't slept at all. He blinked against the sudden brightness and rolled himself slowly to his feet. He suspected the false congeniality of the previous morning had been an attempt to get him calm enough to actually ingest and digest the food he'd been given. It seemed an odd touch of irony. They hadn't wanted to torture him on a completely empty stomach.

He managed to get himself cleaned up and presentable before Bill arrived, and he walked out into the work room without being asked. There was another cup of beef broth and a glass of juice. Charlie picked up the broth at once.

Bill walked over and sat down with him. "Dr. Eppes, I really didn't like doing that to you," he said, and Charlie ignored him. "We must have your help, and if your brother refuses to cooperate, which he has so far, we may have to take more drastic steps."

Charlie closed his eyes and sighed. "You're going to do whatever you choose, I get that," he said. "But you'll do it without my help."

"You leave us with no alternative, Dr. Eppes."

"You have lots of alternatives," Charlie said wearily. "You could always drop this idiotic plan and let me go."

"Or we could try to get hold of your father instead," Bill suggested softly.

"The FBI undoubtedly have a cordon about six thick around him by now," Charlie replied, hoping it was true. "If you've made an attempt – or two – to get hold of Don, I'm sure they've picked up on the fact that Dad's in danger, too."

"It doesn't worry you that we might try to capture your father?"

Charlie seized the glass of juice, hurled the contents of it into Bill's face and then threw it as hard as he could into the corner of the room. It was heavy plastic, so it just bounced, sending reddish droplets flying to the floor and walls. He couldn't find words to respond to the moronic question, so he just returned to drinking his broth.

Bill rose, also wordlessly, and disappeared into the cell. A moment later, Charlie could hear water running in the bathroom. He kept drinking the broth, hoping that the storm his anxious stomach was brewing wouldn't bring it back up again. The door opened while Bill was still in the bathroom, and another masked figure entered. His mask was on crooked, and Charlie could see a bit of skin and brown hair at his neck. He looked at the man curiously. He gave a strong impression of agitation even without facial expression.

The new man looked at the guards who pointed towards the cell, and then he went into the cell himself. Charlie heard hushed voices inside and walked over to hear what they had to say. One of the guards interceded, blocking his path, and Charlie ground his teeth. A moment later, Bill and the stranger emerged, and all four men left the workroom. Charlie looked around at the mathematics they'd left on the boards and sighed. He finished his broth and then went to lie down.

Megan knew that both Don and Colby were furious at being left behind, but Garrick and Fogarty had agreed firmly that a man who had been in a hospital bed with injuries and infection less than a week previously had no business being part of a raid like this one, and no one besides Don thought that their victim's brother should risk himself.

The compromise that had been hammered out left her working with total strangers, a situation she didn't altogether like but had to deal with. Don was right, they needed at least one person Charlie knew well in every team. With Don and Colby out of the running, that left her, David and Edgerton. Fogarty just didn't quite make it, and they didn't have anyone else in Seattle who fit that description.

"We'll bring you in as soon as it's safe, Don, I promise you," Fogarty said as they got out of the truck. Don grimaced, and Megan reached out to squeeze his arm. He met her eyes with an intense look, and she nodded, accepting his trust with that gesture.

Exhaustion had finally drawn Charlie into an uneasy sleep when the door to the work room slammed open. Startled by the sudden noise, he sat bolt upright, which sent his head swimming. Five guys in masks came barreling into the tiny room and converged on Charlie.

"What's going on?" Charlie exclaimed, but no one said anything. They got him onto his feet and cuffed his hands in front of him. From behind him, someone brought the hood down over his head and secured it around his neck. "Let me go!" Charlie demanded, pulling at the hands that held him. Abruptly, the answer to his question came to him. Rescue. The FBI was here, and his captors were trying to escape with him.

This realization galvanized him. They took him out into the workroom and out through the door he'd never seen the other side of. As they went up the steps, Charlie began to struggle and shout at the top of his lungs, hoping to catch the attention of someone friendly. One of the men slammed a fist into his solar plexus, doubling Charlie up and putting paid to both shouts and struggles.

"What the hell was that for?" Bill demanded.

"We don't have time for a gag," an unfamiliar voice answered. "Move, gentlemen!"

Charlie didn't think the word 'gentleman' described any of his current companions, but he didn't have the breath to say so.

They half-carried him through unknown space and into some kind of vehicle. Charlie heard the door slam shut. Then they lifted him off his feet and lowered him into a space no wider than his shoulders. He tried to sit up, tried to get loose, but they forced him back and then a lid came down on top of him, and he began to panic. He could feel the top of the box too close to his face, and he couldn't even pound properly with his hands still cuffed in front of him. All of the walls were padded, so even his kicking was muffled. The darkness was absolute.

He forced his breathing to slow down. Panic wouldn't help him get through this. Fight or flight was only a useful response when one or the other was possible. Otherwise, it just wound you up and wore you out to no purpose.

Locked into a box that was barely big enough for him, he had trouble applying rationality to his physical reactions.

Listening to the raid was insanely frustrating. Don and Colby sat side by side in the mobile surveillance van, headphones on. The teams had raided the house and the barn at the same time. In the house they had found only two guys, both clearly packing things up for a hurried getaway. The barn proved to be more populated, and Don kept clenching his fists. Waiting for news about Charlie was killing him.

Then David's voice came over the radio. "Well, he's been here," David said. "No doubt about it, but he's not here now."

"I thought he wasn't helping," Garrick said.

"This isn't helping, man, I can tell you that," David replied.

"What do you see?" Don asked before he could stop himself.

"Math. That P stuff, I think."

Don swore under his breath. If they had driven him to that stupid P vs. NP problem in less than a week . . .

He went silent again, just listening.

So far, they hadn't found Charlie. They'd found signs, disturbing ones, but they hadn't found Charlie himself. Megan came back upstairs out of the little prison that they'd found, glaring at the bastards who'd been keeping Charlie in that little space. Most of them were in some level of tactical gear, clearly in the process of changing into street clothes. Garrick was asking them one at a time for Charlie's location, and most of them were faking out like they didn't know.

Megan climbed into the back of the van that occupied the center of the barn, looking around at it. The benches along the sides were wide, clearly designed to carry large numbers of people in maximum comfort. She went down on her knees. There was also plenty of space for storage inside them. She felt under the edge of one of them to see if she could find a latch, and found one almost instantly. The lid still wouldn't open, though, so she felt further along. There appeared to be three latches evenly spaced along the front of the bench. She lifted the lid, prepared for almost anything, but all it revealed were more illegal machine guns and boxes of ammo. Turning, she checked the same spots on the other side, and as soon as she popped the last one, the lid flew up and slammed against the wall of the van to reveal a slight figure in dark sweats and a black hood, hands cuffed in front of him.

She could hear him panting under the hood, and he kept trying to sit up without much success. Megan shoved her gun into her belt and fished for her handcuff keys even as she leaned forward to reassure him. "Charlie, it's Megan."

"Let go of me," Charlie moaned, straining to get up. "Let go . . ."

Megan undid the handcuffs as quick as she could and helped him sit up. He smacked at her, but she could tell he hadn't recognized her yet. She found the ties that held the hood closed and loosened it, pulling it off. "Charlie, it's me, Megan."

He stared at her, blinking in the brightness, then he flung his arms around her and buried his face in her chest.