See disclaimers.

The room was a dive, but it was decent. Chase stepped out of the small shower and began working a towel through her hair as she went over the particulars of her plan.

It had worked fairly well. At least, the first part had, anyway. Walking over to the double bed, Chase tossed the towel down and picked up her handheld, which held all of the information she'd been able to get out of the prison. She quickly dialed a familiar number, and got a groggy voice on the other end of the line.

"So much for sleep."

"And good morning to you, Garcia. How's things?"

"Between your midnight visit and the team calling about that video, I might as well have just stayed in my office. I mean, that chair can't be all that bad, can it?"

"There was another video?"

"Oh. Yeah. Hang on," the tech said, trying to remain personable after three days of almost no sleep. Soon there was a familiar 'ding' as the link was uploaded to Chase's phone.

"I'll have a look in a second," the woman said. "Did you get the footage I set you?"

"Every gory and boring detail. I almost wish he'd just stop breathing."

"You might just get your wish."

"I might?"

"Yeah. He's in the terminal ward. His odds…not the best."

"Geez." Then a pause. "Chase, you sure you know what you're doing?"

"We have to draw this guy out," Chase said. "And his theme seems to be family, so…"

"Well, yeah, but I went through the records already—according to them, Thomas Carlyle never visited once."

"Did you check phone and email records?"

The silence on the other end spoke volumes. "I am an idiot," Garcia nearly shrieked.

"No, Garcia, you're just tired. So are we all, believe me."

"Okay, phone records for Patrick Callahan…oh, here we go…looks like he got two calls a month for the last two years…nngh, damn."

"What?"

"The name on the phone account's no good—it's a fake."

"How do you know?"

"Cause I'm pretty sure that John Parker from Campbell, Virginia has never used a telephone in his life, not the way you describe him."

"Son of a bitch," Chase said, holding her head. "Garcia, run property records again. This time look up anything that we're holding."

"We?"

"You, me, your team, my boys," Chase clarified. "Look under our parents' names, company names, everything. Trust me, you'll know when something's not right."

"You really think he's learned that much about us?"

"I think I'll feel a lot better when we put him on edge," Chase said. "How does the clip look?"

"You didn't really…did you?"

Chase fell silent. "We'll have to find out, won't we?"

"Now, I can trace him as far back as Kyle's email, but then it gets strange," Garcia pointed out. I took off the encryption on your end, and I'm still running the encryption on his. This might take a while."

"Can't we just reply to the original message?"

"We can, but it won't tell us anything, like where he is…"

"Send it that way. Trust me, if this works, he'll be calling me. You have the tap on my phone when he does?"

"Yep. Routed to all of our team's handhelds, and streaming live. Uninterruptable cyber-newsbreak at eleven."

"Good. Man, your bosses are gonna want my head on a plate."

"Good luck," Garcia said sincerely.

"Yeah."

-----

That evening Landon was marched into the dining room, the same as always. He sullenly took his seat, the smell of whatever was under the serving dishes sincerely making him want to puke.

--I'm not hungry,-- Landon said.

--You still have to make an appearance,-- Carlyle said sternly. –You can walk, you come to dinner.—

--I'm not feeling well.—

--Nothing serious?—

--I think I caught cold in that room yesterday.—

Carlyle tipped his head once, ladling out a bowl of chili. –You shouldn't have tried to run, Landon.—

Heaving a sigh of exasperation, Landon fell silent. He stirred his chili but did not eat any.

--Try the soup. It might help.—

--I'm not feeling well.—

--Very well,-- Carlyle said, calmly resuming his own meal. Landon watched as he crushed up a handful of butter crackers and dropped them in his bowl.

The ornate gold wallpaper seemed too bright for Landon. Outside, the rain fell harder, with droplets of water splattering at record speeds. The window looked like a windshield when he drove through thunderstorms at home.

--Happy birthday,-- Carlyle said suddenly.

Landon looked up from his barely touched dinner. –Say again?—he asked.

--Happy birthday.—

--How did you…?"

--I've done my homework. Now, seeing as you couldn't eat your dinner, we'll save the cake. However, despite your actions yesterday, there's no reason you shouldn't have your birthday present.—

--You'll let me go home?-- Landon's eyes widened, shining hopefully.

Carlyle shook his head. –Out of the question. We've been over this.—

--Then there isn't anything you have I could possibly want.-- Landon folded his arms and dropped his gaze towards the floor.

--Nothing? Not even the chance to speak to your family?—

--Say again?-- Landon's eyes had caught the sign for 'family,' but the rest had been lost.

--I said, you don't want the chance to speak to your family?—

Landon looked as though he'd just been offered a brass ring. "I can?"

--Yes. By telephone, of course.--

--Telephone? But…Kyle can't hear that! Nor can my father!—

--The choice is yours, Landon. Either make the call through relay or don't, but it's your one chance.-- Carlyle folded his arms across his chest, and Landon knew the man meant business.

Knowing the next chance wouldn't present itself for a long time, if ever, Landon said, --I'll take it.—

--Very well,-- the man said, signaling the end of dinner. –The call will be set up, and when we're ready you'll be sent for. Until then…---

Landon looked at his sides, where the four guards patiently waited. "No," he cried, his eyes pleading with his captor.

--You ran off. Now you have to accept those consequences.-- To the guards he said, "Take him to his room. If he should get hungry, send for the kitchen staff—they'll know what to do."

The four large men nodded silently, and then Alonzo and Steve picked Landon up forcibly from his chair and pressed him forward.

Someday, Landon, that won't be necessary, Carlyle thought. But until then…

Just then a well-dressed man entered the dining room's threshold. "Sir?" he said timidly?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"There's been a breach in the security…"

"Oh, damn it all," Carlyle fumed. "He's not trying to escape again, is he?"

"No, sir, not here on the grounds," the man clarified. Looking sheepish, he added, "Someone sent you an email. Sender unknown."

Carlyle stared at the bearer of this news for a long moment. "Well?"

"Per your instructions, sir, we did not open it. That's why I'm here."

"Nathan…" Carlyle began, then fell silent. "Very well. I need you and Marcus to set up a relay call from this house. The usual scrambling, and it has to go through a relay operator."

"Sir, wouldn't it be easier to just stream video from a secure point on the grounds?"

"There are ten people looking for any clue as to our whereabouts, Nathan," Carlyle said sharply. "I'm not about to give them the clue they need."

"Yes sir. We'll have it arranged."

"And show me this mysterious email, Nathan," Carlyle said, following the tiny man out of the dining room. "Now I'm curious."