Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Seven

For Alan Eppes, the time had never crawled by more slowly. Frequently, his eyes strayed to his watch or to the clock on the wall, discouraged by the snail's pace at which the hands ticked around the face. His mind was constantly on his younger son, praying silently for his safety.

Regardless of the hour, there were agents milling about, using fax machines, telephones, copy machines, comparing notes on various crimes. Don and David continued to discuss the plans they intended to put into motion as soon as it was light enough to see. Alan had briefly wandered down to the snack room for coffee, and had reluctantly accepted a doughnut offered by a sympathetic agent who was aware of the situation. He now sat quietly but restlessly at the edge of Don's desk, drumming his fingers on the desktop, sipping the cup of coffee, and ignoring the doughnut for which he had no appetite.

A harsh buzzing sound on the desk startled him out of his thoughts, and his body flinched at the abruptness of it. Don snatched up the telephone before it could buzz again.

"Eppes." He listened for a moment, then said, "Excellent. Tell him we'll be right down." He slammed the receiver back on the hook and stood up. "That was the receptionist down in the lobby. The paramedic has arrived."

Following his son's lead, Alan rose slowly from his chair, but the word jolted into his mind. "Paramedic?"

David spoke up. "Yes. I have a friend who's a paramedic; Wade Gordon. I gave him a call while you were getting your coffee and doughnut. He's agreed to go out with us in case Charlie needs some medical attention."

"And don't forget, there's a chopper standing by if we need it," Don added. He reached for his suit coat, then changed his mind. It would be hot in the desert, so he began rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Alan's expression was one of gratitude as he gazed fondly at his son and his son's partner. "You two have thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Well, we hope we have," Don said. He turned over his wrist to glance at his watch for perhaps the one hundredth time during the night. It was nearly four thirty. "Okay, let's roll. We'll start seeing some daylight soon, and with any luck we'll be at the Oasis soon after sunrise." He turned to his father. "Dad, why don't you go on home? I'll call you when we find out something."

"No! No way!" Alan objected, visibly annoyed that Don would even suggest such a thing. "I'm going with you!"

Don sighed, heavily. If Charlie's condition was poor when they found him, he would rather that their father was not there to see it. "Dad, for once please do as I ask."

"No! I know you're trying to protect me, but I won't stay behind! This is not one of your FBI cases! This is my son, your brother. I brought my own car, and if you refuse to let me ride with you, I'll just follow you. Don't think I won't do it! That's my boy out there! I'm going, whether you like it or not!"

Don knew he would do it too, and nothing short of placing him under arrest would keep him from joining the search. He glanced at David, who lifted his eyebrows and shrugged, determined to stay out of the discussion. Finally, he relented. "All right. Let's go."

Don, David, and Alan took the elevator down to the lobby where David approached a man who was dressed in black slacks and a short sleeved blue shirt, and carried a sizeable kit with a medical emblem embossed on it. The two men shook hands, and David said, "Wade, this is Special Agent Don Eppes and his father Alan Eppes."

Wade extended his hand toward each in turn. "Pleased to meet you." He hefted the medkit. "You mentioned that the patient might have gone an extended time without water, so I brought along drinking water as well as other supplies that might be useful."

"Great," Don said. "Man, I really appreciate this. We've been worried about what condition he might be in when we find him. We know he had some water with him when he started out, but only one bottle, so it's a sure bet that he's run out by now. We also don't know if he's inj --" He broke off suddenly as his eyes drifted over the paramedic's shoulder to another man who was hanging back, waiting for a moment to speak. An expression of disbelief flashed across his weary face. "Larry?" he asked.

Now that he had been noticed, the CalSci professor approached him with an apologetic expression. "They wouldn't let me go up," he explained. "So, I decided to wait down here until you were ready to leave."

"I suppose you want to go with us," Don guessed.

"Well, yes. I figured the more eyes you have searching, the sooner we'll find him. Right?" When Don didn't answer, he glanced at Alan. "Right?" he asked again.

"Right," Alan agreed in a firm voice that everyone knew was for Don's benefit. "We appreciate your offer to help. Don't we, Don?" then shifted his gaze expectantly to his older son.

Don's eyes swept the lobby, searching for anyone else who might be of a mind to go with them, but he saw no more familiar faces. "All right, but I can only seat four people in my vehicle. I have a lot of FBI equipment in the back of the SUV, so we can't use the rear seat. Dad, why don't you and Larry ride together, and David, Wade, and I will go in my vehicle."

"Just don't get any ideas about trying to lose us on the road," Alan warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Don said as the group of men walked out the door and turned toward the parking lot. Then, with Don's SUV in the lead and Larry's car behind, the small entourage drove toward old highway 13.

xxxxxx

In spite of the uncomfortable conditions, Charlie must have managed to doze off at some point during the night, for he was startled awake by a peculiar sound that he could not immediately identify.

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to drive away the remnants of sleep, he lifted his head from where it had been resting against the wall behind him and cringed at the discomfort caused by the movement. He had known the previous day that he would be stiff and sore this morning, but he was unprepared for the pain that gripped the shoulder he had banged on the pavement during the accident. It had limbered up a bit yesterday as they had walked toward the Oasis, but now, after hours of inactivity, it had stiffened up painfully.

In addition to the accident related discomforts, his mouth was very dry, his neck was stiff, and a heavy weight was pressing down on his left thigh, making his leg numb. As he rubbed his hand on his shoulder, kneading the stiff muscles with his fingers, he looked down to find that Erica had curled up on the floor beside him and had fallen asleep with her head on his lap.

A smile crept to his lips as he observed the sleeping child. He had never been around children very much, and would have found the experience surprisingly pleasant had it not been for the circumstances that had thrown them together. Allowing the girl to sleep on, he yawned as he moved his fingers to his forehead and probed the area where he had been struck by the club. It was tender to the touch, but at least the headache had gone away.

Then he heard it again; a sound that chilled his blood and brought him fully awake as he realized what it was. It was the crunching of gravel on concrete beneath human shoes.

His head swiveled instantly toward the direction of the sound, trying to pinpoint its precise location. Turning to his right, toward the entryway on the west side of the building, he focused on the narrow gap between two strips of plywood and saw what appeared to be an eye pressed against it, peering into the restaurant.

His body gave an involuntary shudder in reaction to the startling presence of the other person, and the movement was enough to disturb Erica. Lifting her head from his lap, she sat up. "Wha--?"

"Sh!" Charlie commanded in an urgent whisper. "Someone's out there."

Her gasp of alarm was loud in the silence of the abandoned building, and she pressed her back against the wall, staring with wide eyes at the orb that was still peering between the two pieces of plywood. The eye shifted as the man who owned it pressed to one side and then the other, trying with apparently little success to see into the shadowy building.

Charlie was watching the man's behavior carefully, noticing how he continued to alter position. "Don't move," he whispered. "I don't think he can see us."

The sun was up. Slanted stripes of light penetrated the gaps between the plywood, but apparently the gap was too narrow for Jessup to adequately see through it. The eye disappeared, and Charlie listened as he moved around the corner to the front of the building. Occasionally, he stopped to test the viability of the plywood that was nailed over the windows and doors. Eventually, he would make his way around the east side to the service entrance, and he would surely notice the loose piece of plywood hanging there. He would know that they had taken refuge inside.

The gift shop was just around the corner through the entryway. Perhaps there was another exit there, a door through which they could escape and make their way into the hills where they could hide.

As he stood up, Charlie sucked his breath in sharply in response to the twinge that went through his sore hip. Like his shoulder, it had not troubled him too much the previous day, but now, after sitting still throughout the night, it had become stiff and sore. Grasping the edge of the counter to steady himself, he pressed his hand against the injury and waited for the discomfort to pass.

Erica stood up quickly and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Are you okay?" she whispered, her expression worried.

He nodded. "Just a catch in my hip, left over from the bicycle accident I had yesterday," he told her. "I'm afraid it stiffened up during the night. I'm going to see if there's another door on this side of the building."

He released his grip on the counter and with his hand still pressed against the bruise, he went through the lobby area, then around the corner toward the rear of the building. The restrooms were positioned there, as was the door of the room that had once been the gift shop. It was not a large room, but like the restaurant area, the windows had been boarded up with thin slivers of light penetrating the cracks. As his eyes quickly scanned the walls through the dusky interior, he quickly deduced that there was no outside door there for them to use. Disappointment expressed itself in a soft sigh as he turned back toward the restaurant area.

Erica was waiting for him in the doorway.

"There's no door. We can't get out this way," he told her.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, fearfully. "There's no way out except for that side door, and he's going to find it!"

Charlie's eyes fixed on the sliding wooden doors beneath the counter. Kneeling beside it, he carefully slid one of them open and looked inside, seeking anything that might be helpful. It clearly had been used as a storage area for extra goods, perhaps tobacco products or candy, but there was nothing inside except a dead beetle lying on its back, its tiny legs in the air.

He flipped the beetle aside, then beckoned Erica with two fingers. "I want you to hide in here," he whispered.

"What about you?" she whispered back as she moved toward him.

"I'm going to see if there is some way to secure that door," he told her.

"Do you think maybe it could be your brother?" she asked, hopefully.

"Don would have called my name if he was looking for me, but it could just be a passerby snooping around." His words of encouragement to the girl bore no truth to them. He knew without a doubt that the man was Jessup, and that he was still trying to find them to carry out his threats. He gestured toward the interior of the counter. "Inside."

Obediently, she crawled inside the storage space, and Charlie slid the door closed, concealing her inside.

In a crouched position to utilize the protection the counter gave him should Jessup find a place to look inside, he made his way along the side of the long structure until he reached the end of it. The front and side of the restaurant had been constructed of glass, offering splendid views of the desert to the customers. Now boarded up with plywood, Charlie could see the man's shadow through the gaps as he proceeded along the east side of the building. Momentarily, he would find the door.

With a slight limp in his gait, he stepped carefully to prevent his sneakers from crunching on the debris that littered the floor, and pushed on the swinging doors that separated the dining area from the kitchen. After moving through them, he allowed them to drift quietly back into place. He had not gotten a good look at the kitchen the night before because of the dark, but now, in daylight, the room was darkly shadowed but viewable. Hookups for the ovens and grills lined one wall, and across from it was the space where the sinks had once stood. A slightly discolored area on the linoleum indicated where the large freezer had once stood.

Outside, he heard Jessup grasp another board and tug on hit, but seemed satisfied that it was secure. Within moments, he would notice the service entrance. Slowly, Charlie crept toward the door, hoping to find some way to secure it before the convict reached it.

As he reached the entrance, his eyes fell immediately upon the round door knob, but it was too late to try to find anything to block the door. Jessup was there. He had already found the loose plywood, and Charlie could hear the sounds of it being ripped from the outer wall. Then, abruptly, the noises stopped.

Charlie backed up quickly, returning to the kitchen area, and moved behind the protection of the wall. Peering around the corner, he watched the door knob, waiting tensely for it to turn. He was uncertain what he would do to protect himself or the girl when the convict entered, but one thing that was in his advantage was the fact that his eyes were already adjusted to the dim light and Jessup's were not. Coming inside out of the bright sun, it would initially be difficult for him to see inside the dusky building. He looked around quickly again, seeking something useful, something he could use to knock out the criminal, and his eyes came to rest on the steel pipes that protruded from the wall. Perhaps he could pry one of them loose.

Quietly, he moved across the darkened kitchen to the hookups, and placed his hand on the first one. It was securely fastened in place with steel nuts, and he did not have the tools to remove them. He turned a helpless circle in the middle of the room, searching for something that he could use as a weapon, but found nothing.

It was then that he realized that there was still no sound coming from outside. Enough time had elapsed that Jessup should have been inside the building by then.

Creeping back to the door, he leaned against it, listening intently, but there was no indication that Jessup was there. Would he have given up? Charlie felt that was unlikely, given the ease with which he could have breached the loose door knob. Something else must have happened. Then another thought sprang into his mind. Perhaps Jessup had seen Don's FBI vehicle approaching along the highway, and had been scared away! That must be it! Don was here!

Excitement surged through him, and Charlie eagerly turned the knob and poked his head out the door. An instant later, a hand reached from behind the door and grabbed the front of his tee shirt, yanking him completely off his feet.

Charlie cried out in pain and surprise as his battered and bruised body sprawled onto the hard ground. He instantly flipped over, watching with horrified eyes as that gnarled club swung at his head once more with great force. This time, he rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet as the club slammed on the ground with a loud thud where he had been lying an instant before. Spinning away from the convict, he began to run, hoping to lead the convict away from the girl.

Jessup was startled by Charlie's agility, but recovered quickly. In a foot chase with the younger, more nimble man, he knew he was at a disadvantage. Hefting the club again, he flung it at the fleeing mathematician, a well-aimed toss that struck him behind the knees.

Charlie's knees buckled and he pitched forward on his face on the rocky ground. Before he could react, Jessup grasped both hands full of his tee shirt and roughly flung him over on to his back. Wide eyed with terror, Charlie could only watch helplessly as the criminal straddled him, effectively pinning him to the ground with his weight. A moment later, Jessup's huge, filthy hands were at his throat. Struggling to breathe, Charlie's hands gripped the man by the wrists, attempting to wrench them away from his throat, but he was no match for the convict's strength. Instead, Jessup bore down harder.

"Yer a smart little feller, ain'tcha?" Jessup taunted as he continued to bear down on Charlie's trachea. "Thought you could hide in there and I wouldn't know it. But I had a pretty good idea you was in there. See, I saw yer bike stashed down by the highway, so I knew you'd be comin' here to wait for help. And I knew you'd be able to see better in there than me, since I was comin' in outta the sun, so I figured if I waited long enough, you couldn't resist stickin' yer head outside to see if I was still around!"

Reaching toward that surly face, Charlie desperately attempted to press his thumbs in Jessup's eyes and at the same time he brought his knee up swiftly, slamming it into the man's back. Jessup grunted as the knee struck him in the middle of his back, and he jerked his head to the side to avoid the probing thumbs. Enraged that his victim was fighting back, he pressed down on the mathematician's throat with one hand and backhanded him across the face with the other.

Charlie had never been slapped by anyone before, and was surprised by the stinging pain that shot through his cheek, but he was unable to utter any kind of exclamation of surprise or discomfort, for there was no air coming in and no air going out. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

The bright sunlight seemed to be fading at an alarming rate. Darkness was drawing across his eyes like a deepening shadow, and he knew he was losing consciousness.

Charlie turned his head toward the road, hoping desperately to see his brother's black SUV pulling into the lot, but his eyes were met only with the rugged desert terrain; the shrubs, the rocks, and the hot asphalt of Satan's Ribbon. It was here in this desolate place that he was going to die, far from home and family. Soon, Don would arrive and find his lifeless body lying in the desert, murdered by a demented killer.

He felt his body growing weaker and weaker. His arms fell limply to the ground, and his right hand fell against something hard and gnarled. With a jolt of cognizance he realized that it was Jessup's club. It must have landed there when he had thrown it at him. His hand closed around it and, gathering all his remaining strength, Charlie swung at the back of Jessup's head as hard as he could. It was not a fatal blow; he hadn't sufficient strength left for that, but it was certainly enough to render him temporarily senseless. With a low groan, Jessup slumped over.

Charlie shoved the groaning, barely conscious man off him, scrambling out from under him at the same time. He managed to stagger to his feet, dropping the club at his feet, and with his hands at his throat, he coughed and gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air.

Holding his head in his hands, Jessup attempted to rise, but fell back and lay still.

The door was still hanging open, and the girl hesitantly emerged from it, alerted by the sounds of the struggle. "Charlie?" She saw instantly that his was visibly distressed, and hurried to his side. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I think so," he replied, his voice hoarse. He coughed again, his eyes focused intently on the man he had just struck, shocked by what he had just done, and yet feeling no remorse either. He had done what he had to do to save his own life. He was finding reserves of strength and determination that he had not even known he had.

Once he had managed to catch his breath again, he bent down to pick up the club again, making certain it remained out of Jessup's reach. After a grateful glance at it, considering it a form of poetic justice that he had defended himself with Jessup's own weapon, he tossed it aside. Kneeling down beside the convict, keeping a sharp eye out for signs that he was coming around, he slipped his hand into the man's front pocket and felt around until his fingers closed on the key ring, and he withdrew it from the pocket. He held them out to the girl.

"Erica, I need to you to do something. I want you to run back to the car as fast as you can and get the ropes out of the trunk. The ropes he tied you up with. They should still be there. Bring them to me."

She was standing immobile, staring at Jessup with wide, frightened eyes. "Is he dead?"

"Go!" Charlie said sharply, bringing her out of her trance.

She cast one final, fearful glance at the criminal, then spun around and ran toward the car, still parked behind the service station.

Rubbing his hand across his throat again, as if trying to rub away the feel of the man's fingers, Charlie approached the convict again. Reaching down, he grasped him by the ankles, determined that he would not lower himself to the level of the criminal by leaving him senseless under the blazing sun. He was severely weakened from hunger and thirst, but mostly from the ordeal of almost being choked to death, and Jessup was very heavy. Tugging and straining, he managed, little by little, to drag the limp form under the awning and into the shade. There, he allowed the man's legs to drop unceremoniously onto the concrete. Humane treatment was one thing, but there was no need to be excessively gentle. The jolt seemed to revive the criminal slightly. He moaned and turned his head slightly, but the eyes did not open.

A few minutes later, Erica returned carrying two strips of white nylon rope, which she handed to Charlie. He knelt beside the felon and pushed him over onto his stomach. Seizing him by the wrists, he pulled them together behind his back, where they were securely tied. Moving to his legs, he began tying his ankles together as well.

Just as he made the final tug on the rope, binding them securely, Doyle Jessup's body jerked fully awake, and he began to thrash, startled to find himself trussed up.

Charlie jumped backward, putting a safe distance between them as the convict rocked back and forth on his abdomen and pulled with his arms, attempting to free himself from the tethers. "You might want to avoid struggling," he advised. "If you keep pulling on them like that, it'll just make it worse."

Jessup bellowed with rage, forming no coherent words, just enraged roars. Ignoring Charlie's advice, he squirmed and struggled even harder, screaming louder as the ropes tightened around his wrists. Finally, realizing that his struggles were only causing more discomfort, he rolled onto his side and became still, except for the rapid in and out motion of his heavy breathing. His face was flaming red with rage. Focusing vicious eyes on the mathematician, he demanded, "Let me go."

"Sorry, but I can't do that," Charlie said, taking the car keys from Erica's hand.

"Untie me, boy!" Jessup shouted.

Ignoring him, Charlie turned to the girl. "Come on," he told her. "We're getting out of here."

Panic flickered in Jessup's eyes at the thought of being abandoned, and his raised his head off the concrete, grimacing at the pain it caused. "No! Wait! You're not going to leave me here like this!"

"Yeah, I am," Charlie replied as he turned back to face him. "However, unlike you, I'm not a killer, so I've pulled you into the shade so you won't blister or die of heat stroke or something like that. Even though you probably deserve it, it isn't my decision to make. You'll be all right until I can send someone back for you."

Jessup understood the consequences of being picked up by the authorities. He began pulling and tugging again, trying to free his wrists of the rope. When the effort failed, he raged, "You let me loose right now, boy! I aint goin' back to prison!"

"Yes, you are, but I'm afraid you're in even bigger trouble than before. That guard you beat up died."

"At least loosen these ropes," the convict pleaded. "They're biting into my wrists; they're cutting off my circulation."

Charlie shook his head, understanding that the criminal wanted to ropes loosened so that it would be easier for him to get out of them. "I'm sorry, but I warned you about thrashing around like that. You'll just have to tolerate it for a while."

"My head feels like its splittin' apart! You gotta help me!"

"Now you know how I felt yesterday," Charlie retorted without sympathy.

Taking Erica by the hand, they walked toward the car, which was still parked behind the service station. They could hear Jessup, escaped convict, convicted killer, begging him not to leave him behind.

tbc