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Chapter 10
Friday, July 1
3:25 P.M.
Long Beach City College

Charlie bounded up the last two steps and around the corner into the wide hallway. The walk to the college had been as short as he had expected, and he was even a few minutes early for his meeting. The college had instituted a summer camp of sorts for promising high school math students, and he had met with Professor Sam Carlton once before to share his own expertise from running a similar program at CalSci. The camp was about halfway over, and he had promised to check in, see how things were going, and offer some suggestions for the remaining weeks.

He heard voices coming from Carlton's office, so he sat down on the bench in the hallway to wait. He opened his backpack to take out the number theory text he had been perusing in anticipation of his fall classes. It wasn't his best subject, but he had found that he learned a lot when he taught classes outside his area of expertise. He'd found over the years that it really was true that you didn't learn something until you had to teach it to someone else. So he was giving number theory a shot. The book had also given him a few ideas for the City College summer program, and he was looking forward to showing them to Sam.

Except the book wasn't there. He stopped rifling through his bag, leaned his head back against the wall, and tried to reconstruct the last few minutes. He had been reading the book in the car, they had gotten off the freeway and seen the chemical company, he had put the book down on the floor for a moment, and…he didn't remember picking it back up. He'd simply grabbed his bag and taken off. Well, it was fortunate that he could remember most of the ideas he'd had, and Sam probably had a copy of the same book that he could borrow.

Then he had another thought, and he groaned. Now he remembered using the notes for today's meeting, including the evaluations and lessons learned from the CalSci program, as a bookmark in the number theory textbook. Which meant he wasn't going to be of much use. He sighed. At least he knew that Don was just down the street, even though he would probably have to hurry to get there before his brother took off. Hopefully he could get there and back while Sam wrapped up the discussion he was currently engaged in. He knocked on the open door, gave a quick explanation to Sam, and took off.

As he exited the main college building and looked down PCH, he didn't see the black Suburban. But then, he thought he remembered the sound of the vehicle turning behind him onto a side street. He dug his cell phone out of his pack and speed-dialed Don's number. When there was no answer, he shrugged and tucked the phone in his front jeans pocket. Don had probably turned it off so he wouldn't be disturbed talking to the Customs agents.

As he came up to the side street before the block where the chemical supply company was, he looked to the side and saw Don's SUV parked beyond the alley. He was sure he wouldn't be so lucky as to find the vehicle unlocked, and it was going to be a little embarrassing to interrupt Don and explain his situation. Being driven around town by your big brother when you were nearly thirty years old had its awkward moments, for both parties.

He strode down the side street and turned into the alley. If Don had parked here, he was probably out back somewhere. He could see a couple of white vans with the Customs logo on them, and as he came closer, he saw two men busy loading a tank of gas into one. Behind them was a guy with a gun, and as the loading dock came into view, he saw –

Charlie's heart skipped a beat, and he ducked backwards, unknowingly imitating Don's earlier position against the brick wall. He stared ahead for a minute, his mind trying to process the image he had seen. Was that really his brother being held at gunpoint? His heart started racing, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It must be someone else who looked like Don, he told himself, one of the workers at the store or one of the smugglers.

He ever-so-cautiously peered around the corner again, looking at each of the three men near the vans to make sure their attention was focused elsewhere. Only then did he inch forward and look at the three men up on the loading dock. One, a short Hispanic man in a Customs uniform, was saying something about a phone call and a consultant. Facing him was another Customs officer, his gun in the back of a man who was wearing a white shirt like Don had been.

And then his brother's voice rang out, loud and clear. "Go to hell."

Charlie's fist clenched as the man struck Don in the head with his gun. He swallowed as he saw a thin trickle of red working its way down the back of Don's white shirt. And he watched as Don was shoved inside the building, the threats from the Hispanic man ringing in his ears.

Then he started backing up, very slowly and carefully so that he wouldn't make a sound. He moved a little more quickly the farther away he got, and once he had reached the side street, he took off at a dead run, not stopping until he had gone a full two blocks. Panting, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and hurriedly dialed Terry's office number, praying she'd be in.

"Agent Lake."

Thank God. The traffic noise made her voice faint, and he pressed the button to increase the volume. "Terry, it's Charlie. I'm in Long Beach with Don, and he's been captured."

Her voice was sharp. "Charlie? What do you mean, he's been captured?"

He dropped down onto a bus stop bench and tried to catch his breath. "He let me off at City College, but I left something in the car, and when I went back to get it I saw him being held at gunpoint by the Customs people. I guess they were in on it all along." He paused, thinking of the many ways the investigation could have been hindered if one of the major investigators was one of the smugglers.

"Just a minute." He heard her voice shift away from the phone, barking commands at David and whoever else was in the vicinity. Then she was back. "Charlie, where exactly is Don? Where are you?"

"He's at the Long Beach site on the map I made." Then he remembered no one else had seen the map except Don. Ramos's words suddenly rang in his head. He was the consultant they were looking for.

He swallowed and spoke more rapidly. "It's Long Beach Chemical Supply, on the Pacific Coast Highway just off the 710. I'm about two blocks away by City College. I don't think anyone saw me."

"Good." Her voice was businesslike. "Stay where you are. Better yet, go into the college and stay in a public place. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Okay." He looked back down the street, as if he could see anything from where he sat.

"Charlie, I mean it. Don't go anywhere near where they've got Don. If they get you, too, that only makes things harder. We'll be there as soon as we can." Then she hung up.

He closed the phone. Across the street, he could see the window of Sam Carlton's office. He shuddered to think that if the textbook had been in his backpack like it was supposed to, he'd be happily chatting away up there, unaware that just a short distance away, his brother was –

He shook his head to cut off that train of thought. Terry and the rest of the team were on their way, and Don would be fine. The vision of his brother being struck in the head flashed across his sight, and he closed his eyes as if that would make it go away.

His mind was churning through a series of difficult arguments. Terry had said to stay inside, to stay away. But that was Don being hurt. On the other hand, if he had heard the Customs agent right, the man wanted to know where Charlie was. Which meant he should keep himself safe and wait for the cavalry.

He tried for a minute to think like an FBI agent. What would Don do? He would wait for backup and not put himself in danger needlessly. Or would he? Wouldn't he say, no, that's my brother, and he needs my help?

Charlie stood up abruptly and dropped the phone in his backpack before slinging the bag over his shoulders. As far as Don knew, he was alone in there. He had to do what he could to help him, even if it was only to scout out the location for the FBI team that was on its way. If all he did was stand by and waited, it would kill him.

He ignored the voice in his head that said that going back might kill him, too.

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Five minutes later, his heart pounding and his hands shaking, Charlie was wishing he had listened to Terry. He crept up to the front door of the chemical supply company, figuring that the back entrance was pretty much out. The store had a "Closed" sign on the door, but when he tried the knob he found it unlocked. He opened it as quietly as he could and slipped inside, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

The lights were off, but he could see a long counter in front of him, with tall silver tanks clustered against one wall, and a doorway behind the counter leading to the rest of the building. He made his way around the counter, pausing when he heard voices from the back rooms. A door slammed shut, and he moved forward again, cautiously peering into the hallway.

He saw a doorway at the end leading out to the loading dock. On either side of the hallway were two doors. The far one on the left was closed, and he could hear voices coming from behind that door. Don must be in there.

Charlie took a deep breath. He should turn around right now and get out of there. But then he thought he should check out the other rooms to make sure they were empty. More information for Terry's team when they got there, he told himself. So he crept forward down the hallway, looking inside each of the open doors and finding empty offices.

Then a door slammed behind him, and he whirled around, heart in his throat. The front door banged again, and he realized he hadn't shut it completely. A gust of wind must have caught it, and now the blinds were fluttering with a metallic tinkling sound.

"What was that?" he heard clearly through the closed door.

Shit. He dashed into the empty office to his right, easing the door shut and leaning against it. Now his heart was pounding, and he clutched the strap of his backpack to try and stop his hands from shaking.

He heard the door in the adjoining room open, and footsteps strode past his door. The front door slammed, and he heard the lock turn. "The guy working the front didn't shut the door all the way when he closed up," a voice called out.

Someone spoke right outside the door, and Charlie jumped. "He must have been hoping to slip out later. Find him out back and get him to set the alarm. No one's getting out that way." It was the same voice he had heard from the loading dock, and given the man's appearance, he assumed it was Jason Ramos, the man Don had been going to meet.

Charlie closed his eyes. He really should have listened to Terry. Now he was stuck in here until the cavalry showed up. If anyone found him in here, he was toast. He quietly turned the lock, giving himself at least that small amount of protection. Then he started looking around the room for a place to hide.

The office was small: one desk, piled high with papers; two metal folding chairs in front of the desk and a plush office chair behind it; two short filing cabinets against the wall; and a surprising amount of light despite the fact that the switch by the door was off. Then he realized that the top foot of the wall was actually glass, not wallboard. If he stood on top of the filing cabinet, he could see into the adjacent office. He quietly stepped onto a chair, then onto the two-drawer cabinet, and carefully peered into the room next door.

It looked like a conference room of sorts, with a formica table that had several bankers' boxes of files sitting on top of it. A number of cheap office chairs were scattered around the table. Don was seated in one of them, his hands restrained behind the back of the chair. The flash of metal that Charlie saw told him it was probably with his own handcuffs. A bruise was forming on his right cheekbone, the only side that Charlie could see. A tall man was looming beside him, holding a gun down at his side.

"Now, where were we, Agent Eppes?" Ramos's voice came from the doorway, and Charlie instinctively ducked down. They probably wouldn't think to look up, but he still didn't want to give himself away.

Don didn't say anything, and Charlie heard the Customs agent respond, "Oh, that's right. You were telling me about this consultant who led you here."

"Actually, I wasn't." Charlie waited a beat, and sure enough, there was the sound of a fist striking flesh. The sound was muffled by the glass, but it was still enough to make him wince in sympathy.

Don, don't be a smart-ass, he silently pled with his brother. Just hang in there. He looked down at his watch. Only eight more minutes, if Terry's estimate was accurate.

"You're making things difficult." Ramos paused. "Tom?"

Charlie held his breath, but didn't hear anything. He slowly looked back over the wall, and he froze. The man next to Don had put the gun against his left temple. Don briefly closed his eyes, and Charlie saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. Then he opened his eyes and stared back at his interrogator, not saying a word.

Ramos pounded a fist on the table. "Who is this consultant? Where can I find him?"

Don's voice was level. "I don't know."

Ramos gestured angrily, and Tom drove a fist into Don's stomach. As he bent over, the man yanked his head back up by the hair, pressing the gun into his temple again. "I'm growing tired of this, Agent Eppes. Why are you going to so much trouble to protect someone who's not even a colleague?"

Don's grimace of pain was unmistakable, and he kept trying to draw a deep breath and failing. But he kept his defiant gaze locked on the Hispanic man as he wheezed, "None of your business."

Ramos considered him for a moment. Charlie's fists clenched tighter until his knuckles started to hurt, as if by inflicting pain on himself, he could somehow make up for what Don was enduring for his sake. He berated himself again for allowing his escape route to be cut off. If they found him here, everything Don was going through was for nothing.

Ramos was speaking again, and his voice had taken a tone of false forgetfulness. "Actually, it just occurred to me. I don't even need your help." He took a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number, keeping his gaze locked on Don's as he did so. "Hello, FBI Field Office?"

Charlie saw Don's eyes narrow, and he swallowed. Had the Customs agent been toying with his brother this entire time? What was he doing?

"Yes, this is Jason Ramos with U.S. Customs. I need to get in touch with one of your consultants who's been working with Special Agent Don Eppes on the freon smuggling case." Don opened his mouth, and the man standing beside him released the safety on the gun he was holding against his head. Don stayed silent, his furious gaze focused on Ramos.

"Charles Eppes, you say?" Ramos was giving Don a cold smile. Then he wrote something down on a piece of paper. "Thank you very much. You've been most helpful." He ended the call and regarded his captive with a satisfied air. "Well, that explains a lot, Agent Eppes. A family member?"

"My brother," Don reluctantly growled. The man beside him lowered his gun, and Charlie let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He checked his watch. Six more minutes.

"That answers one question," Ramos said. "The next question is, where is he?"

Don remained grimly silent, and Charlie tensed. Here we go again, he thought. But no. Ramos was looking down at the piece of paper on the desk as he started to enter digits on his phone.

Charlie's brow furrowed, and then he caught his breath as the realization hit him. He frantically jumped off the filing cabinet, landing as softly as he could on the tile floor. Then he dove for his backpack, zipping open the front compartment. His phone was about to ring. If that happened while he was in this room, he was dead, and so was Don.

He cursed himself for not turning off the phone after talking to Terry, or at least turning the volume back down. Some FBI agent he would make! All of the times he had sternly reminded his students about turning off their cell phones in class, and here he was with "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" about to come blaring out and betray him to a bunch of armed men. He would have laughed if he hadn't been scared to death. And why wasn't the phone in the place where he normally put it?

He zipped open the second pocket. "Thank God," he muttered as the glint of silver caught his eye. He grabbed the phone, flipped it open, then realized if he turned it off, the shut-down music would sound just as loudly as the ringtone. So he frantically paged through the menus until he had turned the sound from "ring" to "vibrate."

As his finger left the key, the phone started quietly buzzing in his hand.

Charlie sank to the floor, clutching the phone to his chest, feeling his heart thumping through his t-shirt as the phone vibrated against his chest with Ramos's call. After the buzzing stopped, he still sat there, willing himself to calm down.

Next time, he was staying put when the FBI told him to stay.