Disclaimer in part 1. Additional beta thanks to Mary. And thanks to all the reviewers!

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Chapter 2

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

After two days of examining US Geological Survey websites and downloading technical papers and journal articles, Charlie's head was spinning. The mathematics was fairly complicated, and some of the numbers were simply staggering. What occasionally tripped him up was realizing that the dry language of slope failures and liquefaction masked the deaths of hundreds, sometimes thousands of people in a single event. It left him grateful that even though he might not contribute much of practical value to the world with his own research, at least people's lives weren't depending it.

Or at least they hadn't been before he'd started helping his brother. Larry's scorn for messy problems with too many human variables might arise out of a strong sense of order and routine, but for Charlie, it was different. Keeping the variables abstract kept him from realizing that he was literally playing with people's lives. It was something he still hadn't adjusted to: knowing that his consulting deadlines weren't the usual self-imposed restrictions of academia, but were sometimes clocks winding down on people's lives. He wasn't sure whether to be in awe of how Don and his colleagues could compartmentalize their work, or worry that they had become inured to it, and that he would, too, given enough time.

He shook his head and returned to his technical paper on slope stability and the probability of debris flows. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he glanced at his brother, stretched out on the couch with his face buried in the sports section of the L.A. Times. Don's unerring nose for steak had landed him at the Eppes house for dinner, and he seemed in no hurry to leave.

'This is the perfect opportunity,' whispered a nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like Larry. Charlie opened his mouth to ask, then changed his mind. Two paragraphs later, he tried again, but lost his nerve. Finally, he cleared his throat. "So, Don, you're not working on that case in San Marento, are you? The landslide?"

"No, I haven't really had anything to do with it. A couple of the agents I supervise are in charge of it, but they seem to be doing all right." He turned the page of the newspaper, then lowered it and looked at Charlie. "How'd you know that was an active case?"

"Oh, uh, I read it in the paper. Something about suspicious circumstances, the FBI was investigating and all that. I was just curious."

"Uh huh." Don dropped the paper into his lap. "You've never been 'just curious' about one of my cases before, Charlie."

"No, really, that's all it is." Damn, he knew this was a bad idea. Charlie rose from his seat and tucked the report under his arm before grabbing the empty bottles off the coffee table. "You want another beer?"

"Wait, I get it. You heard there's a suspect at CalSci and you're fishing for information."

He shrugged one shoulder and picked at the label on one of the bottles. "Maybe, yeah."

Don sighed. "I can't tell you anything if it's not a case you're consulting on, you know that."

Charlie stayed quiet. Sometimes, if you stretched out the silence enough, Don would feel obligated to fill it in with words. Sure enough, his mouth opened again. "Do you know the guy?"

"Uh, no, I don't." Technically, that was true. He'd only met Brett yesterday, so it wasn't like he actually knew him. Though after talking with him, he agreed with Larry: the guy was innocent. He might have some strongly held views about where it was and wasn't appropriate to tear up the landscape to put in million-dollar homes, but Charlie often found himself in sympathy with those views. It didn't mean he was going to go off and destroy someone's property, and he didn't think it was true of Brett, either. But he needed to know more about San Marento than what was in the papers if he was going to help him out. A long strip of the label started peeling off under his fidgeting fingers.

"Come on, tell me the truth."

The slightly patronizing tone in his brother's voice was enough to make Charlie shoot him a glare. "I told you I didn't know him, okay?"

The corner of Don's mouth turned up. "Charlie, you couldn't lie to save your life. How do you know Rangadar?"

The label came all the way off, and Charlie crushed it in his hand. He'd always hated it when Don made him feel like this, like he was missing some crucial social skill that the rest of the world had. He'd gotten better at shrugging it off, but knowing that he wasn't getting away with his "subtle" questioning was making him irritated. "So what if I can't lie?" he muttered.

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Wrong with what?" Alan had entered the room, and he paused, arms full of laundry.

"Nothing, Dad. Charlie's trying to get some information out of me about a case that might involve someone at CalSci."

"Oh, that eco-terrorism thing, right?"

"It's not proven that that's what it is," Charlie interrupted. "It might have been a natural landslide."

"Based on the geotechnical report for the Crescenta Court development, no, it couldn't have been natural. The slope was geologically stable."

Charlie looked sharply at his brother. "So you are involved with the case."

Don gave a half shrug. "Yeah, I've looked at some of the evidence. I have to keep tabs on what my agents are doing."

"But you told me you didn't have anything to do with it."

"That's not exactly what I said, it was -- "

"Boys, come on." Their father's quiet voice cut through the rising tension in the room. "What's this about?"

"Yeah, that's a good question." Don stared at Charlie. "What is this about?"

Charlie took a deep breath. Sometimes the old resentment came barreling back without any warning, the resentment at being treated like a child by the rest of his family even when he no longer was one. Don telling him he was or wasn't capable of something, like he knew him better than he knew himself. "It's nothing," he said quietly, starting towards the kitchen. "Forget it."

"Charlie, come on." Don's tone softened.

He paused and turned to face him, keeping his tone as light as he could. "You're right. If I'm not on the case, then it's confidential information. Forget I said anything."

He carried the bottles into the kitchen, put them in the recycling bin, and stared out the back window over the lawn. Maybe someday he'd get over these inferiority attacks. Maybe someday when Don rubbed him the wrong way, he wouldn't need to retreat and lick his wounds like this, wounds that his brother probably didn't even know he was inflicting. He sighed. He'd been right when he told Larry this was a futile idea. Now he was going to have to do something else to try and clear Brett Rangadar.