Disclaimer: see chapter 1
A/N: …and a happy new year!

38. Force and Freedom

Amita hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the call button. Should she really tell him right now? He'd been released from the hospital only this morning. She'd helped bring him home, or anyway, into Charlie's house; Alan had insisted on him staying with him and hadn't hesitated a second to expand the invitation towards her. When Don had told them about the security detail, she'd accepted, even though she wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep in Charlie's bed alone, without him. However, she was also glad that staying at his house gave her an opportunity to help Alan to take care of Larry a bit. He seemed to be needing it, he was still looking rather weary.

She wouldn't call him now. He needed to rest. There would be time for that later. Right now, she could handle things on her own, even though she felt a bit lost at the FBI without the team being around. Without Charlie.

There was another call she had to make, though.

"Yeah, Eppes?"

The connection was bad; there was a static noise, then it was suddenly better, then worse again. "Hey, Don," Amita said, a bit louder than usual, hoping he'd be able to hear her this way.

"Amita? Is that you? Did you find something?"

"I think so. We –"

"Wait a sec," Don interrupted her. There was some more static, but when he came back on the line, the connection seemed clearer. "This should be better. I'm sorry, but we're looking for the kidnappers' hiding-place, and the cell network here is a veritable disaster. So you found something?"

"Yes, I think we finally got enough data points to try again and find a match in your databases. By the way, one of the men from CalSci's security footage is identical with the man from the rental car company."

"Alright… Hold on, you said 'we'? How's Larry doing?"

"He's with your dad, resting. They released him from the hospital today."

There was a short pause at the other end and Amita thought she could hear Don breathe a sigh of relief. "That's great. Give him my best. And try checking with the data bases. The more we know about the kidnappers, the better."

"Okay, I'll do that. And… Don?"

"Yeah?"

Her heart was beating wildly and she didn't know how to phrase what she needed to say. "Will you… are you going to find Charlie?"

Again, Don didn't answer at once, but when he did, his voice sounded soothingly hopeful. "I think so, yeah." Again, he hesitated. Eventually, however, he seemed to make up his mind and let her in. "The problem is that he's been kidnapped almost two weeks ago and… well, we should find him as soon as possible."

Amita was silent as well then. Her heart, however, was still beating like crazy. It was as if it was trying to make her do something, become active, become useful. "Is there something I can do to help?"

Again, the reply came with a second of delay. "Yeah, I mean, I'm not sure. Is it possible to narrow down the search area somehow? I don't know, find spots or areas the possibility of finding them would be higher?"

"That should certainly be possible, we just need some data so we can apply some game theory," she said and thought for a second. "I just don't know how much that's going to help you, it's possible we won't be able to narrow the locations down by much."

"We'd be grateful for every indication you can give us. Just ask Rick over there and he'll make sure you'll get all the data you need, alright?"

"Okay."

"Okay then. Thanks, Amita."

Amita bit her lip, but couldn't hold herself back. "Don? Please… find him."

And again, she'd made him hesitate. "We will," he finally said. "Take care."

"You, too."

Amita ended the call and swallowed, hard. The more often she talked to Don, the clearer it became to her that this whole mess was a lot more serious and forlorn than she allowed herself to hope.

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The search had been in vain. They'd been walking for miles and miles and still hadn't been able to take a single step forward. Even worse, they had to stop the search now if they didn't want to get lost in the dark themselves.

Slowly, gradually, while he and Ian were making their way back to their log cabin headquarters, Don realized what Agent Blake had meant by the area being 'too big'. Of course he'd known before that the national park was vast, gigantic even, but he hadn't been able to imagine just how desperate their endeavor was.

Don estimated that they hadn't even gone through one percent of their search area today – and their search area was only a fracture of the park's area. Charlie might probably call it a 'hot zone'. But if in the end it turned out that their kidnappers weren't in that hot zone, that they were hiding in another part of the park – well, they could just as easily go home now and save themselves the trouble. Just that Don would never return home without his brother.

Once again, his guts felt as though someone had taken them apart and knotted them back together in a most unnatural way. What would happen if he didn't find Charlie? They'd come so far, they were so close now to cracking this case – and yet there were standing here in this gigantic park without a trace.

At this point, Don's greatest hope was that Amita – maybe even with Larry's help – might be able to somehow optimize their search. However, even though it sometimes seemed like they could, Don knew that they couldn't just pull rabbits out of their hat only because they needed them to. And even though Don knew that they would work on it relentlessly, he was also quite aware that it was going to take a while until they could deliver any results. Even then, they would probably still have a huge area to search while Charlie was counting on them to find him.

Don couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was letting him down. Sure, they were doing everything in their power – but was it enough? Don had already tried to get some backup, but they'd just had too little evidence to be on the right track to justify the workforce of more than two teams.

And if they were wrong?

Don swallowed. He noticed that he was starting shivering. What if this whole search was completely futile, if Charlie wasn't anywhere near this place? What would they do then? If they were really wrong with their suspicions, they were currently wasting their time, time they needed to spend finding Charlie. But this lead sounded so promising…

"Hey, Don, everything alright?"

Don turned his head around. Ian had come up from behind and had surprised him with a friendly, casual slap on his shoulder. Don wasn't sure whether to be grateful for Ian's casualness or be irritated by it. Of course he knew that his self-accusations and second-guessing weren't helping them. But how could Ian pretend that everything was perfectly alright?

"You know, I remember you being a bit more talkative. You're getting even more taciturn than me."

Don tried to remain calm, but that also meant that he had to swallow his anger, which reflected in the tone of his voice. "Maybe you didn't realize, but the man we're looking for is my brother."

Ian's reaction was one of mock surprise. "Clifford Wellman's your brother? I didn't know that."

Don was silent, clenching his teeth. Couldn't Ian just leave him alone? Too bad his chances that either of them would find someone else to talk to was lingering about zero. They had gone on the search in four teams of two while Megan had remained at their headquarters to hold the fort. As if four search teams would get them anywhere.

Ian made a well-measured pause before he went on, "You do realize that technically, the job of Blake's team and me is to find the kidnappers and not Charlie, right?"

Don stood abruptly, staring at Ian with unbelieving eyes. "You're kidding."

"I'm just saying. You should be careful not to lose sight of the big picture."

There was a dangerous glimmer in Don's eyes. "What exactly are you trying to tell me?"

All of a sudden, there could be no doubt left that kidding wasn't Ian's goal; he was dead serious. "I'm trying to give you some good advice, Don: don't let this case get to you."

Don shook his head. Ian was out of his mind. "Don't let it get to me? Ian – you do realize that this is about Charlie, right? So maybe you don't give a damn about him, alright, but he's still my brother! I don't think you have the slightest idea what that means."

"I think I do, maybe more than you. Look, Don – I know you're a good agent. But I also know that Charlie's your weak spot, and that's why you should be careful. You have to keep your head together, and you shouldn't ignore the possibility that we might not find him, or that we might not find him alive."

For a few seconds, the words took Don's breath away. Ian's openness was quite overwhelming at times. "So what are you saying I should do?" he asked eventually, his teeth still clenched, when he realized how well Ian was seeing through him.

"Stop blaming yourself," Ian said as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Don shook his head again. "You really have no idea what you're talking about. Can't you see that all this is my fault?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "That's what I'm talking about, you're –"

"Stop it!" Don interrupted him. He wasn't sure where his anger emanated from, he only knew that he couldn't keep it from erupting. "Just shut your mouth and listen to me! We know that with all probability Charlie has been kidnapped by the same people that held him captive last fall, and we all know that even last fall everything had been suspicious, but what did I do? Huh, what did I do? Nothing! Nothing, Ian, and there's nothing you or anyone else can say to change that! If I had looked into the matter after the notification of his death, I might have found out what was going on. But I didn't. I didn't do a thing. Do you understand what that means? I abandoned him right when he would have needed me most. If I hadn't given up on him –" Don's voice failed him. He had to take a few breaths before he could go on. "If I hadn't given up on him then, all this could never have happened."

Don was breathing heavily. It hadn't been easy for him to say this whole self-accusation out loud, to let it out in the open where it could neither be hidden nor taken back, but his anger at Ian and at himself had been a strong catalyst. Besides, what reason was there to keep himself from saying these words? There was no doubt about their horrible truth, but the fact they described would preserve its horrible truth whether or not he enunciated them. He'd abandoned Charlie. He'd accepted the notification of his death too easily although the contradictions and inconsistencies had been blatantly obvious. He'd let his brother down.

Ian, however, still didn't seem convinced. One more member in the group of illusionists who liked to ignore the obvious facts. "Well," he said, "after all, you thought he was dead."

As if that was an excuse. "But he wasn't dead," Don said. His voice was still trembling, but in his heart, a much calmer voice added, Doesn't mean he couldn't be dead now.

Don had to swallow hard, but it didn't help much. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this, remain calm on the outside. But then again, he wasn't calm on the outside. His whole body was trembling with suppressed emotions.

"Alright," Ian eventually said, sounding final. "Let's assume for argument's sake that you made a mistake last fall. Even if that's true, there's nothing you can do about it now. So how about you stop thinking about it and we come back to that when we found Charlie and his kidnappers?"

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Charlie was startled when, as if through a mist of silence, he heard noises at the door. He'd been about to fall asleep and it took him a while to realize that he wasn't in his cell but in his office, but before the realization had fully sunken in, the door had already opened and the dark-haired agent appeared in it, Dexter Johnson. He didn't look happy.

"Get up!" he ordered curtly.

Charlie could feel nausea arise, and in combination with his trembling knees and the heat in his head, it felt a bit as though he had a fever. Or maybe just the physical effects of a fright, maybe of stage fright, for if his premonitions were correct, he'd soon have to give his opponents another performance of his ignorance and naivety.

As soon as Charlie reached the door, the dark-haired agent grabbed him harshly at his upper arms. After all these days in captivity, those spots had been affected so much that he felt as though he would never get rid of the bruises.

He was led back into the interrogation room and left alone with Rosenthal. It was only then, when he saw the usual water, bread, ham and cheese sitting on the table, that he realized how hungry he was. They'd given him water when he had started his work, but it had been over a day since he'd last eaten. His stomach was rumbling. But that, it occurred to him, could just as easily be caused by his fright.

"Sit down!" Rosenthal ordered just as curtly as his colleague. He too didn't seem very happy.

Charlie obeyed. Without being able to resist the urge, his hand jerked towards the food, but Rosenthal's voice stopped his movement abruptly. "Don't even think about it. You won't eat until you give us some results."

Charlie swallowed. "I'm working on it," he lied. His voice was trembling slightly and thus, he didn't sound even half as convincing as it would have been necessary.

"Stop lying!" Rosenthal snapped at him, slamming his hand on the table. Charlie flinched. At the same time, a memory flashed through him, only for the fracture of a second: Don, standing there in front of a faceless suspect, slamming his hand on the table, shouting at the other man with a voice that imposed authority…

"Stop trying to fool us, Eppes," Rosenthal cut the memory short. "Do you really think we don't realize what you're doing? You're stalling for time! But that won't work, Eppes. Either you give us the first location tonight or you can say good-bye to your pretty girlfriend. We warned you, we're not just playing around."

Charlie was shivering. The more heated Rosenthal's furious clamor became, the colder he felt.

"I… I need more time," he stuttered.

The eruption wasn't unexpected, and still Charlie flinched violently. "We won't give you more time! Just get the job done, Eppes, you started that algorithm last fall, just go ahead and finish it!"

"I… I can't. I… I don't know what you're talking about." He felt hot now, albeit only in his head. It had occurred to him the fracture of a second too late that according to what his opponents believed, he couldn't remember a thing about last fall. "I can't give you an algorithm that fast."

"Oh right! And why's that?!"

"I don't…" And suddenly, the stutter was gone, because there was no need to lie anymore. "I can't go on like this!" the words burst out of him. "I can't keep doing this, I'm beat, I'm hungry, I need to sleep…" He was about to add that he'd been their captive for several days now, but he didn't find words to explain that to this bastard. Maybe, however, it was self-preservation that kept him from saying it.

Rosenthal stared into his eyes, and if Charlie hadn't been filled with desperate anger as well, he would have surely averted his gaze. The look in Rosenthal's eyes was piercing and hostile, and for a brief moment, Charlie was filled with relief that looks couldn't really kill you.

Eventually, Rosenthal turned away from him and went up and down behind the table. "Very well," the terrorist said when he had apparently calmed down. "Very well. You may sleep." Charlie could hear the 'but' even before Rosenthal said it, "But you have to give us results."

Charlie's breathing was still quickened while he tried to think of a way how to get out of this dilemma, when he was unexpectedly granted a little more time. Steps could be heard on the outside, quick steps, leading towards them.

The door was jerked open and the youngest member of their team entered – at least the youngest one that Charlie had seen so far. He seemed upset. Charlie, whose nerves had been oversensitive the whole time anyway, pricked up his ears even more. Something must have happened. The only question was, was that good for him or bad?

"What now, Mike?" Rosenthal impatiently snapped at his colleague.

Charlie made a mental note. So this was Mike. The hacker. During the past couple of days, his memory and the interrogations had fed him with enough information to allow him to paint a rough picture of the group of his kidnappers. Too bad all the information he gathered didn't help him much. On the contrary. The only reason they were so unreserved with information around him could be that they didn't believe that their captive would be able to forward the information to someone else.

"They're here," Mike burst out and Charlie's not very optimistic train of thoughts came to a sudden stop. "They're looking for us, here, in the park."

For the first time, Charlie thought he could recognize something like fear in Rosenthal's eyes. "What?" he said, alarmed. "Who? Who's looking for us?"

"His brother." He gave Charlie a short nod without looking at him. If he'd deigned a look at him, he couldn't have missed the frenzied glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Dexter heard it from one of his contacts. Eppes and his team are here. They joined another team and since Wayne and Dexter have been to California and the brother and his team probably know better than that other team what's going on, their chances –"

"Shut up!" Rosenthal interrupted him indignantly. "I have to think."

Not just Mike, but Charlie too were waiting anxiously for whatever result that short meditation would yield. Luckily, they didn't have to wait for long. "Tell the others to go and stock up with provisions, but tell them to go outside the park so that they won't attract attention. We'll have to be a bit more invisible for a couple of days than we've been so far. And tell them to spread out," Rosenthal ordered and Mike left.

Charlie tried to stay as calm as he could, to arouse Rosenthal's attention as little as possible, while his heart was leaping with tension and tentative joy. They were here! Don was here! And it could only be a matter of time until they would find him!

On the other hand… what if they didn't find him? If Charlie had gotten that right, there was another team that had been searching for the kidnappers for some time now. They hadn't been successful. Thus, his kidnappers' hiding-place seemed to be rather good. Maybe it would be too good for Don as well…?

Charlie's heart was still beating with a painful velocity when he realized he had to do something. He couldn't just wait and hope that Don would find him, he couldn't run the risk of things going wrong, not now that the rescue was so imminent. He had to become active himself somehow, had to make some kind of contribution to his liberation…

It was a flash of inspiration. Charlie's eyes fell upon the dangerously looking knife on the table in front of him, right between the bread and cheese, and it seemed as though his plan was already made and had always been made, as though he'd only waited for this opportunity to put it into action. The hiding-place was abandoned. Only Rosenthal and Mike were left behind. Two opponents whom he could probably take on without having to abandon every hope of success. He had to try.

The heat in his head was back with a vengeance when Charlie played out the plan in his mind. He was feeling jittery. Adrenaline, he told himself, that's all this is, just adrenaline…

Mike returned to the interrogation room.

"They're gone," he told Rosenthal, and in Charlie's crazed gaze, he had some strange similarity with an agitated question mark, with a confused bundle of nerves that was cluelessly waiting for further orders.

"Alright," said Rosenthal, who seemed as calm as his accomplice seemed agitated. "Take him back to his cell," he then ordered him with a curt nod in Charlie's direction. "We'll deal with him later."

Charlie wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but he didn't really care. Everything that mattered now was the right timing. And following through. Once he decided to act, there would be no going back, and no time for second thoughts. If there was one thing he'd learned from being around Don and his team, it was the realization that a moment's hesitation at the wrong time could cost you your life.

The tiredness, the exhaustion were gone now. All his senses were sharpened. In fact, Charlie was as tense as he'd hardly ever been before while at the same time, he tried not to let that show as he watched Mike coming towards him. Now he was standing next to him, he bent down slightly and grabbed him under his left shoulder in an attempt to pull him up. This was the moment, the moment to act.

Before the terrorists knew what was going on, Charlie had grabbed the knife from the table in front of him, wound his left arm around Mike's neck and, with his right hand, put the knife against his throat.

Charlie was breathing heavily. Mike, too. Rosenthal didn't seem to be breathing at all. It was apparent that he would have never dreamt of such a change in the balance of power. Worse, he was used to everything going according to plan, according to the rules he himself had set up.

Charlie was a bit startled by his own bravado. He hadn't really believed that he would actually manage to do this. Now however, when he saw and felt his opponents' reactions, he felt a little more at ease, more secure. He'd actually done it, and the moment of surprise was still working in favor of him.

He was still breathing heavily and kept wishing his heart would stop that painfully vehement beating when he realized that he had to follow through; he couldn't allow himself to lose the moment of surprise.

"Stay back, against the wall," he told Rosenthal because it was the first thing he could think of. He had to be careful. He couldn't lose control of the situation, but his position wasn't optimal. His footing wasn't very firm, he was standing a little twisted between the table, the chair and his hostage, and if the hacker made a sudden movement, they would probably both go down. He couldn't let that happen.

With some relief, Charlie watched Rosenthal comply with his order and retreat to the wall that was opposite the door. Now, he was at a sufficient distance and Mike was still sufficiently startled so that Charlie could dare kicking the chair out of his way – without letting either of them out of his sight, of course.

Now, his way was clear, and Charlie dragged Mike with him to the interrogation room's steel door. His memory from the times they'd led him in here was confirmed: this was a safety lock. A safety lock with a missing key.

"Where's the key?'"

Nobody answered. In Rosenthal's eyes, Charlie saw a hatred that made shudders run down his spine. He couldn't lose his nerves, however, not now. He had to follow this through. Everything else would be suicide.

"Where's the key! Answer me, or I'll cut his throat!"

Some seconds of tense silence passed. Desperation had made his words forceful, but they were establishing an appearance of resolution Charlie didn't really feel. He was hoping fervently that Rosenthal was going to give him an answer, because he had no idea what he was supposed to do if he didn't. He only knew that killing the man in his power wasn't an option.

Eventually, Rosenthal dipped his hand in his trouser pocket.

"Don't make a wrong move!" Charlie warned him.

But Rosenthal just gave him another look full of hatred before he slowly pulled out a thin key ring and then, with admirably calm hands, removed one of the keys from the ring and held it up demonstratively.

"Put it on the table," Charlie ordered. Rosenthal complied.

Charlie waited until Rosenthal was back in his corner before he shoved himself and Mike slowly to the table. "Take it."

Mike did as he was told. Slowly, they retreated to the door. Charlie was thinking feverishly. This had to work, he had to make sure it would work…

They were standing at the open door now, but still inside the interrogation room. "Try if it fits and if the door can be locked," Charlie told his hostage.

This was a delicate part. While Mike, still in Charlie's grip, turned the key around in the lock of the open door, Charlie had to keep both him and Rosenthal in sight. But it worked. And the key fit.

Charlie felt a great urge to breathe a sigh of relief, but he knew it was too early for that. "Turn it back and leave it in the lock," he told Mike, who, despite his trembling hands, actually managed to comply so that the door could now be closed again.

Charlie retreated further, Mike still in his grip, until they stood on the threshold. Rosenthal was at a distance of only a couple of yards, but it had to be enough. Charlie took one last deep breath and forced himself not to pay any attention to the trembling of his body. Then, with a swift movement, he withdrew the knife from Mike's neck and, almost simultaneously, pushed him away from himself with all the force he could muster. Mike staggered forward, but Charlie hardly paid attention to him. He pulled the door shut and turned the key around. His kidnappers were locked in.

Still trembling, Charlie leaned against the door and took some deep breaths. However, he knew that he couldn't allow himself to lose too much time. He knew that the other CIA terrorists had left the hiding -place, but he had no idea when they would be back.

He hurried through the underground corridors, opening every door he passed. The toilet, an office, another office, some kind of torture chamber, a control room...

Charlie stood abruptly. He thought his heart had stopped beating. A control room. Made for surveillance. Surveillance with GPS signals. From here, GPS signals were monitored. And he too was sending out one of those signals, he'd almost forgotten about that! This damn signal would have thwarted his last attempted escape last fall if he only had come so far, and he couldn't let it happen again. He had to eliminate the possibility of them tracking him, he had to get rid of the GPS signal somehow, had to…

All of a sudden, Charlie realized that he was still holding the knife in his hand. It was trembling. He couldn't lose his head now, though. He had to keep calm. There was only one possibility, so he didn't hesitate, but just took the knife and swiftly cut his left arm open. He remembered where they had inserted the chip, it had been somewhere near his wrist. He didn't find it at once, but after a couple of seconds, his fingers felt solid, artificial material which certainly didn't belong in his arm. Despite his trembling fingers, it took only another couple of seconds until the chip was out. Charlie let it fall on the floor and crushed it underneath his foot.

He briefly thought if there was another possibility for his kidnappers to trace him, but since he didn't have anything with him, he couldn't see one. Only when he looked down at himself and saw his bleeding arm, it occurred to him that they might follow the blood trail he would leave behind. He had to find something to fix that, anything to…

A moment later, he stood in the underground toilet and wrapped some toilet tissue around his wrist. This had to do. Now, there was no more reason for hesitation.

Within few seconds, he'd found the exit, a steel door like all the others, just that this one didn't lead into another office or an interrogation room, but into the brisk, cool night.

He was free.