Megan met him at the front doors. Don asked, "What's going on?"
"It's Granger… he's been hurt," she answered. Don realized she was shaking, although her voice was steady.
"How?"
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Megan said, "We were walking to our cars. Colby was almost at his. I think he hit the button on his remote to disarm the alarm…" she trailed off, shaking her head.
Don grabbed her by the shoulders. "What happened, Megan?"
"It blew up," she replied faintly. "His car just… blew up."
"Is he alright?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"
Megan shook her head. "My car was in the other direction. I was further away." She took a deep breath. "I don't know how bad he is. David's working the scene."
Don nodded. "Okay," he said, moving toward the admitting desk. "Let's see what we can find out." He pulled his wallet out and flashed his ID at the nurse on duty. "Special Agent Don Eppes, FBI," he identified himself. "I'd like to know the status of one of my agents who just came in."
"Name?"
"Special Agent Colby Granger." He waited with growing impatience as she consulted a computer screen.
"Agent Granger has been taken up to OR," she replied before looking up. "If you want to wait over there," she indicated a small area with plastic chairs, "I can have the ER resident come speak to you when she's free."
"Fine, thank you," Don said woodenly. Wrapping his arm around Megan's still shaking shoulders, he guided her to the waiting area and made her sit. "I'll get you something hot to drink," he said, slipping off his jacket. He wrapped it around her and then headed for the coffee machine. Returning with two paper cups, he handed one to Megan, who accepted it gratefully. Sitting down, he took a moment to study her. "How are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm okay… a bit shaken up, naturally." Megan sipped her drink. "Mmm… hot chocolate." She adjusted the jacket around her shoulders and tucked her feet up on the chair. "Not the most comfortable seat I've ever had," she observed.
Don smiled slightly and sipped his own drink. It wasn't bad for vending-machine coffee.
It was almost half an hour before a woman in green surgical scrubs came over and introduced herself as the ER resident.
"How's Colby?" Megan asked immediately. Don glanced at her before identifying himself.
"Don Eppes, and this is Megan Reeves. We're with the FBI. Colby Granger is one of our agents."
The resident nodded. "Agent Granger suffered minor injuries due to the explosion," she began. "Our main concern was his eyes."
"His eyes?" Megan got up from her chair. "What's wrong with them?"
The doctor addressed her directly. "He received trauma to his eyes when his car blew up, resulting in detached retinas." Turning to Don, she added, "While it isn't life threatening, he could lose his vision if not corrected immediately. That's the reason for the emergency surgery."
"When can we see him?" Don asked.
Looking at her watch, the resident answered, "Not tonight, I'm afraid. Surgery usually takes at least a couple of hours, and he'll be out after that. Better to come back in the morning."
Nodding, Don said, "If he does come around before that, could you make sure someone tells him we were here?"
"Of course."
Don watched her walk away, then turned to Megan. "Come on," he said. "I'll drive you home."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'm going to go back to the office and see what David's got," he answered. "I want to know how someone managed to plant an explosive device on a vehicle in an FBI parkade."
-x-x-x-x-x-
"Charlie," Alan called. "Larry's here."
"Send him in, please, Dad." Charlie's hand never stopped moving across the board. "I'm a little busy to come out there."
Alan shook his head. He had hoped the arrival of Charlie's friend and fellow faculty member might draw his son away from his work for a few minutes, at least. He mentally berated himself for his foolish notion. Stepping to one side to let Professor Fleinhardt go by, he said, "See if you can get him to stop for a while. He hasn't eaten since last night." The diminutive physicist nodded.
Larry made his way to his colleague's side. Gazing complacently at the equations and formulas that seemed to cover every visible surface, he asked, "So how's the cognitive mapping going?"
Charlie barely looked up. "I'm right in the middle of a complex series of mathematical expressions that may prove at least part of my theory." He paused to scratch one chalk dust covered arm before resuming his calculations. "What can I do for you, Larry?"
Ambling over to one of the boards near the sofa, Larry folded his arms and tapped one forefinger on his chin. "Well," he began, reading the formulas, "I originally came by to ask if you were helping Amita with her paper on Bose-Einstein codensates, but somehow I think I've already found my answer."
Charlie sighed. "Larry," he let his hand drop and stood. "I have neither the time nor the inclination to help Amita – or anyone else, for that matter – on a physics paper." He leaned down to make another notation. "I'm really busy, Larry."
Larry scratched his head thoughtfully. "I think the question I should be asking is 'why do you feel the need to starve yourself?'"
Pausing, Charlie looked at his friend. "What?"
"Well," Larry stepped to one side and examined another board. "Your father tells me you're not eating and you're extremely preoccupied with your work." He turned to face Charlie. "The ultimate result will be starvation, I'm afraid."
Charlie snorted and shook his head. Moving to another board, he resumed writing. "I'm not hungry, and neither one of those things is why you're really here."
Larry regarded the young genius in silence. He knew all too well what was bothering Charlie besides the solution to his theory. Trying to get him to talk about it was proving to be difficult. "I believe my ulterior motive in coming here is rather transparent, so… in the interests of economy, I will come to the point." He put his hands behind his back. "Why are you avoiding Amita?" he asked.
Charlie let his arm drop to his side. Without turning, he replied, "I'm not… I just don't want to talk to her right now."
"For a brilliant mathematician, you have to admit that wasn't a terribly intelligent response." Larry picked up the chalkboard eraser. Examining it minutely, he continued, "I believe 'not wanting to speak to her' is the same as 'avoiding her'."
Charlie looked at Larry over his shoulder. "Not now, Larry."
Larry put both hands up in a gesture of submission. "All right, all right," he said. "I just hate to see an extraordinary relationship between two exceptional people – such as yourselves – simply discarded over something as trivial as… well, whatever you're mad about."
Charlie finally turned. "First of all, Larry," he said in a dangerous tone. "I am not 'discarding' my relationship with Amita. Secondly," he took a step toward a nearby table and tossed the chalk down. "It was nowhere near being 'extraordinary'. And finally," he added, heading for the door. "It's really none of your business!"
"Where are you going?" Larry asked. Charlie paused with one hand on the doorknob.
"To get something to eat," he replied. "I'm hungry." He went out the door.
Larry addressed the eraser. "At least part of the plan worked."