Disclaimer and beta thanks in Part 1.
Keep those seat belts fastened…and keep the reviews coming!
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Chapter 9Friday, March 25, 2005
"Could you go a little faster?"
Terry gave him an exasperated look. "I'm already doing 75 --" she broke off to negotiate a tight turn -- "on a road that was designed for --" they banked the other way -- "55. We'll get there, okay?"
Don didn't reply, but turned towards the window. Damn it, how had this happened? How had he let his brother down like this? Why had it not occurred to him that at some point, on one of these cases, Charlie was going to be in danger? "Why didn't I protect him?"
"He's a grown man, Don. He knew it might be dangerous to get involved in FBI work."
"And how was he supposed to know that? I never told him. I never said, 'Hey, buddy, could you help me out with this case, and by the way, your life might be in danger, but sorry, you're on your own there.' God, it wasn't even a real case, just him sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, thinking he knows all the answers. Getting himself -- " He couldn't say the words.
"Don, don't do this to yourself. He's going to be fine."
"Yeah, maybe." Don shook his head. "I'm not letting him work with us any more. It's too dangerous."
"Don't you think that's Charlie's decision to make?"
"No, I don't. I think I'm the one who knows the risks, and I'm the one who calls in the consultants, and I'm the one who needs to make the decision."
His cell phone rang, and he frantically flipped it open. "Charlie?"
"Is this Special Agent Eppes?"
Not Charlie. A woman's voice. "Yes, it is."
"This is the Pasadena police dispatcher. We have a report of the suspect's car headed north on the 210, past Lincoln Avenue. White Cadillac, license plate 5DTY184."
He exchanged a glance with Terry. "That's the route to San Marento."
"You think that's where he's headed? Why would he take Charlie there?"
"It's a good place to bury the evidence." The flip comment came out automatically, but his stomach twisted when he remembered what, or who, the evidence was. He briefly closed his eyes and addressed the dispatcher, still waiting on the other end of the phone. "We know where he's headed, and we're only ten minutes away. We'll meet you there."
"Roger that. Ten-four."
He flipped the phone shut. "Could you go a little faster?"
This time, she didn't argue.
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In the end, it hadn't mattered. Penneman had opened the trunk with his remote control, standing a safe distance away with the gun aimed at his captive. Charlie clambered out of the trunk, and the developer removed the rope from his wrists and had him carry the rope and a box that had been in the car, along with the piles of papers that had been scattered underneath him in the trunk.
He was marched inside one of the undamaged houses, at the base of the mountain and on the western edge of where the slide had stopped. He realized with a bitter twinge of irony that it was one of the three houses that wasn't supposed to be there, according to his calculations. The interior wasn't quite complete; a few of the walls were still bare studs, although he could see around the corner that the kitchen appliances had been installed.
Penneman directed Charlie to place the papers and the box on the floor. Then he took the rope and tied him up again, this time to one of the studs in the unfinished wall. Charlie watched as he opened the box and began to fiddle with the contents. "What is that?" he asked, hating how his voice shook.
"A little safety device. For me, that is." He took a small digital timer out of the box and attached it to the wall studs across the room, twisting a wire around the wood to hold it in place. After attaching two long pieces of metal and a small clip, he pressed a button on top. 20:00 flashed on the small LED screen, and started counting down.
"One thing about landslides, Dr. Eppes. The ground continues to settle for many days afterwards." Penneman rose to his feet and crossed the room into the kitchen. He reached behind the stove and deliberately yanked the gas pipe away from the appliance. A soft hissing noise began. "That's why the utilities are supposed to be turned off after such incidents, to prevent something unfortunate from happening."
Charlie tugged at the ropes around his wrists, but they were as tight as they had been in the car. He watched Penneman as he checked on his timing device again, then turned to face him. "It's amazing how much gas can leak into a room in as short a period as twenty minutes. And how the slightest spark will set it off. Whatever's left of you after the explosion should be buried when the blast sets off the landslide."
Charlie knew he was begging, but it was all he had left. "Please, don't do this. Don't kill me."
Penneman shook his head. "Too late, son." He raised the gun as if to fire it, and Charlie flinched.
The blond man gave a sardonic chuckle. "You think I'm going to use this? That could be dangerous if there was a gas leak." He tucked the gun into his waistband. "At least you won't have to wait for long," he said, nodding at the timer, now down to 17:55. Then he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
Charlie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden pillar. He tugged at the knots again, but the rope refused to give. He even leaned forward with all of his weight in case he could somehow loosen the stud. But the wood held.
The red light of the timer caught his eye in the dark, empty house, and he felt a trickle of sweat work its way down his back. Less than fifteen minutes now. He struggled more frantically against the rope, then paused as he realized the smell of the gas had grown stronger. He didn't know how much of a spark it would take to set it off, if his feet scuffling on the bare wooden floor or the friction of the rope against the wood would be enough. He tried to calculate the probability, but for once, the numbers wouldn't come. All he could see were the numbers growing smaller and smaller on the digital clock across the room, counting down the minutes he had left.
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Terry off turned the siren as they exited the freeway and wound their way up the streets of San Marento. The floral scents from backyard gardens gave way to the aroma of chaparral as the houses grew fewer and fewer in number. The roadway grew narrower the higher they went, until there was barely enough room for two cars to pass each other. As Terry rounded the corner past the "Crescenta Court" sign, she gunned the motor to climb the final hill.
Suddenly their headlights caught a flash of white. "Look out!" Don shouted.
She slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel sharply to the right. The rear of their car whipped around and towards the hood of the Cadillac that was barreling down the hill towards them, its lights out. The screech of brakes broke the stillness of the night, and the other vehicle came to a halt on the verge of smashing into their trunk.
Don was out of the car in an instant, weapon drawn. "Out of the car!" he shouted. "Now!"
The door of the Cadillac opened, and the tall blond man stepped out, hands carefully in the air. "Is there something wrong?"
"You know there is." Don took three long strides forward and grabbed the front of the man's shirt, slamming him against his car. "Where's Charlie?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. Agent Eppes, wasn't it?"
He put his gun to the man's throat. "Where is he?"
"Don," came Terry's warning voice behind him.
"I think his time's almost up." There was a hint of taunting in the tall man's voice.
"What do you mean?"
"Only that if someone were wandering around who wasn't experienced at construction sites, they might miss certain warning signs. Like when a gas main has broken, for example."
"Son of a -- " Don let go with a shove. "How much time?" When Penneman didn't answer, he cocked his weapon. "How much time?"
Don was maliciously pleased to see fear in the other man's eyes. "About fifteen minutes, I should think."
"Don, I have him. Go!"
Without a backwards look, he raced up the hill, praying that Penneman had the numbers wrong.