DISCLAIMER: Previous disclaimer omission unintended; still not in charge of these characters but just playing with them for a bit.

THANK YOU ALL for the helpful comments and encouragement. Just when ya think a part isn't working so well, someone gets a charge out of it. That keeps the ink flowing!

CHAPTER 7

WAREHOUSE DISTRICT: 2:45 A.M.

Logan watched in fascination as the computer screens glowed in the darkened van. In a distant corner of his mind he knew that he had he not been so focused on finding Max, he'd be looking for excuses to have "Carter" stick around –the equipment the man had in the van boggled the mind.

The van's doors had rolled open for Logan, revealing a bank of computers, sensory equipment, and toys Logan could only dream of obtaining. The man rather kindly asked Logan if he could hop up into the van from his chair, and from the van floor to a stool bolted into the van's floor, to see the displays. It took only a moment for Logan to be nose to screen with the state of the art equipment, drawn in by the array.

At the moment, the microphones picked up nothing–no one was talking or otherwise stirring at any point along the block. But bless Sebastian to have been so insistent–two of the four buildings had heat signatures indicating human inhabitation. The building where he'd seen the oil drum fire had showed a bright, circular glow with about 8 or 10 small, oval lights around it–human forms, according to Carter, the two wriggly ones moving nearer to the fire. At Logan's confirming description to Carter of what he'd seen through the window the man nodded, clearly used to the wonder of the equipment, and went on to scan the other buildings. And when he came to the third one, he adjusted the readings.

Carter spoke, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Hmmm. Look here–there appear to be only three people–one here, one here, another here" he indicated, pointing out the distance between each. They're quiet, too–sleeping, looks like."

"It's got to be them" Logan muttered, almost afraid to be optimistic. There were too many ways even one figure could be bad news...

"And look..." Carter shifted a knob, and the display shifted, pulled back–and Logan understood he was looking at a wider area around the block he'd been studying. "There are a couple people here...one or two here..." Carter pointed, "but they're like your buddies at the oil drum–just looking for a quiet night's sleep. Other than that–no one, Logan. Those guys have no reinforcements. If one is your friend–then the worst odds you have are two to one." Carter's eyes carried hope for the home team. Special ops, if he'd even met one–Logan knew Sebastian had some game, but damn...he felt his reluctant spirits begin to rise.

"Two to one can still take me out–all the more quickly if they're armed" Logan muttered, not wanting to jinx this with too much hope. "I don't suppose any of them are in a chair, too?" He joked, wanly.

"I suspect that's too much to ask" Carter smiled softly. "But better than an army. Look, do you have a weapon?" At Logan's nod, he paused, then asked, "Looks like you have your target. Anything else you want to see, or look into?"

With a shrug, Logan shook his head. "Only if you can get them to talk."

Carter mused "Not at this distance." He allowed a wry look, and added, "For that, the old fashioned, low tech methods work a bit better."

Logan's eyebrow quirked in agreement, looking back at the thermal image, already turning a plan half hatched earlier into bold shape in his head. It definitely was unorthodox, and could make matters worse. Still, any attempt could put Max and himself at risk, and considering the building's barriers–and his own limitations–it just might be his only option. And oddly enough, it would provide the absolute best way to make an entrance, if by some miracle this was not anything sinister after all, but merely a meeting of siblings. He had to admit his appreciation of this plan was heavily influenced by the fact he wouldn't look like an overly obscessive worry-wart if he busted into a family reunion...

He offered his hand and his thanks to Carter, who closed up the van and drove away silently, once Logan had been deposited back in his chair. Logan watched him go, then made two phone calls, speaking quickly, low. After the second, he disconnected the call, looked across to the entry through which he'd struggled before. With a sigh, focused now in his determination, Logan started crossing to the building opposite in open sight, making no move to be covert. "Here goes everything,' he breathed...

1011 ELLIS STREET, SEATTLE: 2:59 A.M.

With stubborn resolve, Logan went back to the third building he'd tried before, coasting directly up the partly-opened doors, and quickly moved out of his chair and onto the floor. Disassembling his chair, he leaned through to put the wheels, then the chair frame, through the narrow opening. Pulling himself through after, he rebuilt the chair not so patiently, muttering to himself, in some gallows' humor, about the good old days when the ADA was actually enforced...

He locked the wheels to stabilize the chair and worked his way back into the seat, still quietly– although he knew it wouldn't matter soon, he wanted to be in control of the noise, and not a victim of it.

Settling feet into the footrests of the chair frame, he looked around, peering into the larger, open room and again trying the door in the hall. All was as it had been, and it was still quiet. With a deep breath, murmuring a prayer of hope that this was the right move, and another of more self-encouragement that he could pull this off, he banged at the door, hard, rattling the handle, and began call, loudly, "Max! Max...? Hey Max, you here? Jondy?" A pause... "Hey? Anyone here? Maxxxx...!"

MAMA'S CHAMBER: 3:21 A.M.

"Briley--"

His mother's voice disturbed the flitting dreams he'd been having as he napped in the armchair in the corner of her room.

"Briley–wake up" she hissed. "Someone is out there..."

He listened, and agreed that even in the heavy building the sounds that filtered through the ventilation systems, back here to what had to have been offices and small showrooms, back in the day, echoed from the large workshop area. Someone was inside.

It certainly wasn't someone who was sneaking up on them. It was a man's voice, caterwauling, clearly looking for someone–

"Max..." He heard, echoing. That was the name 452 had been repeating, all this time...

With all his planning and organizing, it hadn't really occurred to him that 452 would have anyone come looking for her–if it was another X5, he would have a real problem. The man quickly got to his feet to grab and load the tranquilizer gun with AR-320, to put down any potential attack from this intruder. He gulped, moisture beading along his hairline. He had no plan for how to handle this, and really wasn't too good at making decisions on his feet...

Swallowing hard, hearing the voice still looking for "Max," and even adding "Jondy" as it rang through the empty warehouse, Briley came silently down the hall and unlocked the entry door as quietly as he could. Peering out around the door in trepidation, Briley blinked, fearful of who–or what–awaited him...

And he snorted, straightening in superior relief, at the sight: the intruder was a man, back to him, in a wheelchair, bleating the names in powerless frustration. And the chair, an expensive custom model as compared to his mother's industrial issue, told him that the chair was a permanent accessory and the man dependent on it–and suddenly this interruption became no threat at all...

ELLIS STREET WAREHOUSE: 3:27 A.M.

"Excuse me" the grating, male voice interrupted the performance, the voice carrying some annoyance ... and Logan slowly pivoted to see a nondescript, bespectacled man looking at him in irritation, as if he were an inconvenient interruption, like a pesky salesman –not some stranger showing up in a deserted warehouse at 4 A.M. "Well, what do you want?" he demanded, testily. He held a firearm by his side–one that Logan realized was a veterinarian's dart gun. Logan focused, refusing to let the oddness of the situation throw him.

"I'm looking for someone" Logan dug in and used every ounce of experience, every ounce of acting skill he'd honed as a journalist who had wheedled and cajoled and charmed information from countless sources, pulling out a vacuous smile–if his host was going to ignore the hour, he would, too. "She was supposed to meet her sister here, but that was hours ago."

The man snorted. "Sister..." He mocked, low.

Logan managed an innocent look, to play on his reaction. "Her name's Max," he dared. "Have you seen her?"

"Maybe." The man looked down on him, smug and superior. For once Logan embraced it, hoping the man was like so many who discounted anyone in a chair... "who are you?"

"My name's Logan Cale." he began. "And I just wanted to be certain..."

"Logan Cale?" The man's expression actually softened slightly as he blinked in surprise. "The writer? The series last month, on the chemical dumping off the coast–you wrote that?"

It took all his strength for Logan to keep his jaw from dropping. He was sick with anxiety for Max, hunting for her amid abandoned buildings, far from safety, and this creep was a fan? "Yes, I did–you read it?" he smiled. 'I swear I'll quit writing,' he vowed silently, and managed to continue, "It's gotten a lot of nice attention... 'I can't do this...'

"All three parts–it was excellent" the man's face smoothed, as he reflected. "You said exactly what needed to be said, what with the destruction of the bay waters."

'This is insane,' Logan thought. "I'm glad you think so, thanks."

The man had relaxed somewhat, understanding now filling his eyes. "So you're really not a friend of 452, are you? You're on a story... or were you looking for her because of ..." The man's eyes dropped to his legs...the chair... "You know..."

Logan blinked for a moment at the non sequitur: The man had just used Max's designation without preamble, indicating at least some knowledge of Manticore and an assumption that Logan knew about it, too. And what the hell did he mean with the reference to his injury? He decided that trying to bluff the guy without knowing more was too dangerous, so stuck to the truth and slowly, he shook his head. "Nooo...she's just a friend." When the man's eyes narrowed, suspicion growing, Logan explained, "She said she was going to meet the sister she hadn't seen in years. That was almost twenty hours ago." Logan's eyes met the challenge. "And this was the address she was given."

The man sneered. "She has a sister–that's what she told you?"

Logan looked long at the man, feeling less concern for his own safety as he felt more worry for Max, knowing his nerves were fraying from fatigue and anxiety. With an effort, he cocked his head, but his smile was less affable. "What are you getting at?" he dared. "Do you know either of these women?"

"I know what they are" the man actually laughed a little, a derisive sound, again nodding at the chair, "apparently more than you do."

It was too much. "Look, you twisted little shit–where is she?" Logan's growled outburst appeared to startle–and anger–the man, who raised the dart gun toward Logan's chest, but did so awkwardly, doubtless not a familiar action for him..

"452 isn't done here yet. When we're done with her, we'll let her go." He looked down his nose to the man's motionless legs, and smirked, "I hope you won't need much–she's not going to last much longer. The sedative I had to use...turns out it's toxic when used over time. I hadn't realized that until we'd started. By then, there wasn't much I could do..."

Logan felt anger surge through him. Enraged by this slimy little man and his own impotence to help Max, fueled even further by exhaustion and continued guilt for her disappearance, Logan's hand shot out before the other could react. Logan grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, violently, out and up, hearing the sickening crunch of bone that somewhere past the anger, surprised even Logan. In his pain the man buckled, causing the dart gun to fly out of his other hand and arc across the floor. "She's done now" Logan rumbled, cruelly maintaining the pressure in the splintered joint "and you're going to take me to her."

"No.." the man whimpered in pain and his own surprise.

"Where is she??" Logan yelled. The man bent with the twisting motion Logan applied to his arm, but suddenly brought his free arm to the chair and, bracing himself, kicked at it, thrusting the chair back and forcing Logan to break his hold and grab onto the wheels to remain upright and seated.

Now freed, the man scrambled toward the dart gun, across the wide entry.

"No you don't--" Logan snarled, pivoting sharply and thrusting his chair forward in a move he'd honed on the basketball court. "Damn it..." he swore as the other neared the weapon and was crouching to reach for the handle...

Until Logan slammed into him from behind, full force, the collision knocking Cale forward to grab the smaller man, tackling him still in mid air, both crashing the last few feet to the floor. Driven now, Logan's aim was perfect when he seized the swelling, damaged wrist and pulled up, hard, pinning the man beneath him. Briley could not move without seeing stars, the pain excruciating.

"Where is she?" Logan hissed.

...to be continued...

...WE INTERRUPT OUR PROGRAM...

WEATHER ALERT .....Be advised there is a FLUFF WATCH in effect...this does not mean that fluff is in your immediate vicinity, only that conditions are right for the development of fluff ...the WATCH will be in effect for the next few chapters....

...stay tuned...