~Part Twenty-One~

Special Delivery

Logan was pacing the floor, waiting for the last of the coffee to drip into the pot. This would be his sixth cup. He'd been up since two, when Zack arrived, and it was now seven AM. He'd seen the sun rise. Bling would be here soon. He needed the caffeine to keep his head on straight, unlike Max and Zack, who had each drunk about two, maybe three cups. He'd ingested enough to make him twitch. He forced himself to stop pacing, and leaned against the counter. His fingers began to drum. "Maybe I aughta switch to decaf," he muttered, running his hand through his hair to keep from drumming his fingers.

He looked across the island at Max and Zack, who were seated at the dinner table, catching up. They were amazing. They had been up all night thinking and planning and strategizing – basically being good little soldiers – and then, in an instant, they slipped into the roles of brother and sister, catching up on old times.  Max leaned towards Zack as they laughed over a picture of Jace's baby, her hair brushing his forearm. Logan felt a slight pang of jealousy. Even though Max and Zack had straightened out the whole brother/sister/crush/commanding officer thing, there was something that they shared, which Logan had no part of. A part of Max that would always belong to Zack.

The coffee maker beeped impatiently, signaling him that it was ready. He yanked the pot out and poured some into his mug. Shoving the carafe back under the spout, the picked up his mug and walked to the table. Max looked up at him, as did Zack, and she smiled. "You look like hell," she remarked.

"Guess it's not in my genetic makeup to look like a supermodel on only three hours of sleep." Logan grinned. "I'm gonna go splash some water on my face before Bling arrives."

As if on cue the intercom buzzed. "Logan?" Bling's voice staticed over the wires, "I'm coming up."

Logan pushed the 'talk' button. "Okay. Let yourself in. Oh, and, uh . . . we've got company," he said, looking over at Zack.

"Good thing I got some bagels," Bling replied. Logan punched the disconnect and went to the bathroom to wash up before Bling got upstairs. He threw some cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and decided to skip the razor. 'I shaved yesterday . . .'  He heard a door open, and he ambled out to the main hall, where Bling had just arrived.

"You look like hell," Bling commented.

"So I've been told."

"This was outside the door," Bling said, holding out a manila envelope. "Special delivery."

Logan took the envelope and looked at it. No postmarks, no stamps. Just his name and address. He tore it open, and a letter wrapped around a smaller envelope fell out. Logan unfolded the letter and read:

Mr. Cale,

I know you have no idea who I am, and no reason to trust me. But I'm writing on behalf of a friend. I know she's been in contact with you about a kid – B, she calls him – the enclosed is a letter asking you to help him. However, she's in trouble herself, but she won't ask for help. I'm an old man who is about to become obsolete, but please, send help for her; she's in far more deeper than she knows.

Pete Merrigan

Logan looked up and handed the letter to Bling. Max and Zack crowded around, trying to see both letters. Logan opened the second one. It was a short note, no names, just a message:

I'm writing to you again about B. They're going to sell him to China. I can't help him any more, so I'm asking you to. Please.

Underneath was a Xerox of floor plans and security systems. There was a low whistle behind Logan. He turned, to see Zack looking over his shoulder. "Whoever got those took a huge risk," he said, the respect showing in his voice, then his tone hardened, "Either that or we're walking into a huge trap."