See disclaimers.
"It was research, guys," Oliver said as he strode back in side the Paulson substation. "The London plot was research."
"Research?" Morgan asked.
"Yeah. I talked with the head of the fringe group that was implicated in the plot—name's Neville, nice guy if you like a smug, arrogant asshole," Chase said. "Basically, they got approached by a guy with money to spare and offered to finance them if he could see how such a plot would be carried out. Then, once the plot was made, the group 'mysteriously' gets picked up. Sound familiar?"
Several heads in the room nodded.
"There something I'm missing, people?" Captain Benson asked. "I mean, I've figured out there's a history between all you people, but…"
"We've dealt with this individual before," Hotch offered as a form of explanation. "This man likes to use others to fulfill his grand schemes, often using either unscrupulous people or those he knows he can control by playing to a particular vice. Ambition is a favorite target of his."
"He's not above putting others in danger to achieve his ends, be they his intended target or just someone standing in the way," Rossi added.
"But that doesn't explain the Owen kid," Benson pointed out. "If our guy already has money, why is he taking the family for every dime they've got?"
"Which brings us to Point Number Two," Oliver said. "I spoke with that British family—the Bales? Again, nice people. Makes me think of the Sopranos with accents."
"What about it?" Hotch said.
"Six weeks after the London plot, they said a guy kept coming around asking questions. Described him as tall, athletic, blue eyes, Australian accent…"
The room suddenly went quiet. "Australian accent?" Emily asked. "Are you sure?"
"They were adamant. Guy wanted to know what part they played in the plot, how they worked with the group that pulled it off."
"So the family did have something to do with it."
"Yes and no," Oliver continued as Rossi and Morgan quickly headed out of the building. "They were never directly involved, but they did give the group information on what routes to take, places to hide, things like that. Where're they off to?" he added, pointing towards the door.
"So you're saying there's two people involved in this thing?" Benson cried. "Jesus—no wonder nothing made sense!"
"Actually, it sounds like there's even more than that," piped up Reid, who was coming out of the glass cubicle with John and Kyle Parker and Patricia Owen. "We know the man behind Landon's kidnapping is out for revenge, probably against all of you." He swept a finger towards Chase, Oliver and Kyle, and all three shifted a little under Patricia Owen's shocked stare.
"This is revenge? My son, he's…"
"Ma'am, that's only part of it," Hotch interjected. "The person who took Landon Parker is fueled by revenge—at least, we're fairly certain of that."
"There's another person involved in this, ma'am," Oliver added. "Do you know anyone who fits this description…" He related the description he'd given the team only moments before.
Patricia's eyes widened. "My God," she said, and it took some doing to get a chair underneath her falling legs. "My God, it can't be…"
"Who, Mrs. Owen?" Emily said, dropping to eye level. "Who is it?"
"I knew he had troubles…but, why would he…"
"Mrs. Owen, who is it?" Emily repeated.
"Michael Rourke," the stunned woman said. "You just described my brother-in-law."
Chase took Reid's phone and punched a number. "Morgan, it's Chase," she said quickly. "Our guy's name is Michael Rourke—one of 'em, anyway. Where are you?"
"Campus housing," came the reply. "Rourke left with Liam Owen, said they were going back to the suite they'd been staying in…"
--What's going on?—John Parker asked, watching as most of the government people, as well as Chase and Oliver, raced out the door. The confused look on the man's face was enough for JJ to pull out a piece of paper and write: They're going after one of the people who might have taken the boys.
Kyle stayed back, trying to keep his father from heading out the door with them. –Dad, let them do their job,-- he said.
--You should be with them.—
--I'm a lousy shot.—
Both Parkers looked over at Mrs. Owen, who looked as though someone had taken the world out from under her feet. Tapping her gently on the shoulder, Kyle said, --"It's okay, Mrs. Owen. They'll find him."—
The sobs coming out of the poor woman were unmistakable.
----
Landon woke to the smell of pancakes. He loved pancakes, especially with good butter and loads of syrup on top. Joseph Stackhouse always made pancakes just like that for him whenever Landon went to the Stackhouse Café for cards or dinner.
Why am I sleeping in a restaurant? he wondered. He moved his arms and legs, trying to stretch them out, and he noticed the soft silk that rubbed up against them. His eyes fluttered open, and the sight of a purple silk pillow greeted his view.
Where am I? he thought, confused. Landon remembered the swim meet, remembered the fight with Owen, then…darkness. Walking for miles. Being starved and beaten. Being locked up in a tiny hole in the wall. Being chained. The sight of Eamon, fighting off people trying to attack him…
Eamon! Landon thought. Okay, if I'm here, then Eamon can't be too far away…
Slowly, the young man picked his head up off of the pillow and began to take in his surroundings. He was lying on a great four-poster, dressed in purple silk. The floors were parquet, made of what looked like a kind of ebony or other dark wood. Nearby was a small table that held a large covered serving tray. The walls were a bright yellow color, making the small room seem larger than it really was.
Landon stepped off of the bed and walked towards a large window. There was the sight of green grass outside, and several large pines that created a sort of decorative windbreak. He tried opening the window, but it wouldn't budge. Outside, the decorative metal scrollwork shutters looked like they were permanently welded shut, allowing for someone to see out but not escape.
Damn it, he thought. Well, not getting out this way…
Off to the left of the window lay a small door. Landon tried it. Behind the door was a small bathroom—pedestal sink, glassed-in shower, marble floor. Except for the silver sink and shower faucet handles, everything in it was black—even the toilet seat and the thick plastic soap dish.
An uneasy feeling settled over the nineteen year-old as he walked over to a set of double doors, much larger and thicker than the bathroom door. These doors had decorative door handles instead of knobs. When Landon pressed them down and pushed, the doors never moved an inch. He tried again, only to get the same reaction.
How did I get in here? Landon wondered. Where is 'here'? And where's Eamon?
The sight of a flashing light caught his eye, and Landon looked up at the door to see a bright blue light blinking rapidly. Is there an alarm of some kind? he guessed, knowing what the lights did when the doorbell or the phone rang at home.
Thnking of the phone, Landon searched every corner of the room for one, even a simple hearing-person phone. There was no sign of one to be had.
The smell of the pancakes was becoming too intense. Landon knew that he'd also find bacon along with them, if whoever put the tray there was following Joseph Stackhouse's recipe. Settling uneasily into a plush purple chair, he carefully lifted the tray lid to find a plate of ten silver dollar pancakes, a smaller plate of bacon, a glass container filled with orange juice, and a bowl full of strawberries and raspberries. There was also a small plate of toast and a bowl filled with butter and strawberry jam packets.
Joseph could take lessons from this guy, Landon thought. He wondered where the food had come from, and was a little apprehensive about eating it. He remembered Kyle's story about his experience in Silver Spring, and wondered idly if something had been put into the food. However, Landon's stomach threatened to climb out of his throat and make quick work of the spread on the table if he didn't start eating, and soon, so Landon settled for taking small bites and eating slowly.
As he ate, a thousand questions ran through his mind. Was he free? No, Landon reasoned, because if that were true I'd be able to walk out the front doors.
If he was still a prisoner, then why the change in accommodations? Because someone's still toying with me, he decided. It's about keeping me away from Dad, and Kyle and Chase and Oliver. Not working, though—I want to go home, and soon…
Where was Eamon? Surely they didn't… No, Landon thought. His family would pay the ransom, and he's probably here somewhere…or home, finally…
The thought of never going home weighed heavily on Landon's mind. He stopped eating for a minute, though his stomach still demanded food be put into it. What the hell is going on? he wondered, growing angry. Am I here because this is someone's idea of a sick game? Or are they going to kill me, and they've decided to make my last day or two comfortable? But that doesn't make any sense at all…not after the last five days…
Or did someone else get hold of me, and now the plan's changed?
Landon hated not knowing, and the fact that he couldn't get out of this room or send a message out was grinding on his nerves. He finished the rest of the breakfast and walked back over towards the window, having decided to take a closer look at what was keeping the window pane stuck.
Maybe there's a way through that scrollwork, he thought. And maybe an escape…
---
"Hello?" Eamon called out. "Is anyone there?"
The sound of wind rustling through his ears was the Australian's only reply. Bits of sandy soil and pebbles tumbled over in the stiff breeze, drowning out his cries for help.
The sun beat down terribly, and Eamon had to resist the urge to pull off his shirt. He looked inside the wooden box he'd escaped, only to find it was empty save for a small canister of water and a crust of bread.
Terrific, he thought. Keep me in chains for days only to let me die of exposure…
He thought quickly about what to do in the middle of nowhere, and was drawing a blank. Eamon had taken a trip to the Outback several years before, where he'd learned rock climbing, but this was nothing like the wasteland he was used to. This wasteland had greenery, as evidenced by the ground covering, and the prospect of water…somewhere.
Bastard, he thought angrily. Now he's got his money, he can leave me to die? Makes sense…can't leave any evidence…
Eamon began looking for a place to find shelter. The midday heat was beginning to get to him, and he knew that the longer he spent out in it the likelier he was to suffer heatstroke. However, the nearest rock formation looked like it was over five kilometers away.
There's nothing for it, he decided, picking up the crust and the canister. The box was a magnet for heat, and it was too small to provide enough shade. Perhaps there's some water near that rock…
The trip took a long time, partly because of the drugs still cycling out of Eamon's system and the fact that the distance between him and the giant rock formation was actually closer to eight kilometers than five. A couple of times Eamon felt as though he might collapse due to exhaustion and the heat, but he stubbornly plodded on.
Where's Landon? he wondered. Did they drop him in some other remote part of this wasteland to die, like me? Is he home, with his family, maybe still looking for me? Or did they…
Eamon refused to entertain that thought.
After what seemed like hours, Eamon finally collapsed beside a strange looking rock formation that resembled a dragon's mouth coming up from the ground itself. The sun was beginning to set in the west, and the eastern side provided plenty of shade in which to cool off.
Just a quick nap, Eamon thought. Some water and a nap, and I'll be in much better shape to figure out what to do next…