Don rolled onto his back and slowly opened his eyes. There was nothing to see but pitch black. It wasn't even dark – it was the complete absence of light. He lifted his right hand and touched his face. He could feel it, but he couldn't see it. Belatedly, he realized that his hands weren't tied, and wondered at the significance.
He reached out around him. To his left, he felt bricks, as well as above his head. To his right – nothing but empty space. Putting his hands down by his sides, he identified what he was laying on as some sort of cot. He swung his legs over the edge and stood up – and promptly cracked his head on an extremely low ceiling. If he had stretched just a bit more when he was exploring, he would have found it.
He rolled off the cot and crouched on the floor, feeling around. The floor seemed to be made of brick as well, which was puzzling. Crouched on all fours, Don listened carefully, but the only thing he could hear was his own breathing. He slowly stood, taking care to put his hand on the ceiling first to gauge the distance. He discovered he could almost straighten his five-foot-ten frame in the cramped space. Placing one hand on the wall, he stretched both arms out in an attempt to reach the opposite wall. When he didn't, Don took small, shuffling steps away from the wall he knew about, until his left hand encountered the one he didn't. Roughly eight feet wide, maybe a bit more, he thought to himself. He performed the same experiment starting at the wall behind the cot, and discovered that the area was pretty much square. Returning to the cot, he sat and tried to figure out his next move.
He was a little fuzzy on the details. All he could remember was coming out of the house, madder than hell about Charlie's refusal to help. Well, he didn't really refuse, he admonished. He just said it would have to wait until after supper. Don wondered if Charlie would have found anything the FBI hadn't anyway. On the one hand, he regretted being so rash. Loss of control was something that irritated him, and he probably wouldn't be in this mess right now if he had gone for dinner.
On the other hand, they had nothing to go on. He didn't remember how he'd been abducted, but he hoped the person who did it had been sloppy in some respect. Any clues his team could pick up at Charlie's house would be a vast improvement.
Don lay back on the cot and stared at… nothing. He wondered how long it would be before someone came.
-x-x-x-x-x-
"I've run the tape through a digitizer, and then through a number of different computer programs," Charlie began. "None of those programs were able to extrapolate any additional information." He sighed and sat down next to David. "There is nothing there, just as we figured."
They were in a conference room at the FBI office. Gathered around the table were David and Charlie, Megan, Assistant Director Merrick, and a newly released Colby Granger. Although rest had been recommended, upon hearing of Don's plight, Colby had insisted on helping in the investigation. No one had the heart to refuse.
Larry had been standing by one of the white boards while Charlie spoke. After the younger Eppes took his seat, he stepped forward.
"I realize this is probably an exercise in redundancy," he ventured, tapping one forefinger against his lower lip. "But you really have examined all avenues for potential leads on this case?"
David said, "Yeah, Larry. Unless you can come up with something we haven't."
"Oh, I don't believe so," the physicist replied. "The FBI is renowned for their thorough investigative techniques. I was just thinking – or attempting to think – 'outside the box', as Charles would say."
Megan spoke up. "I think whoever this guy is, he's extremely clever and meticulous." She looked around at everyone. "We aren't going to find anything he doesn't want us to."
Merrick spoke for the first time. "We checked Eppes' cell phone GPS, right? And the lab didn't get anything new from the remains of his vehicle?"
Colby answered, "We're monitoring Don's phone, but it's not on right now. We're on standby for that – as soon as it's powered up, we'll know about it."
"Bomb squad says the same explosive used on Colby's car was used on Don's in the same quantities," David added. "The lab reports nothing unusual on the vehicle."
"Damn it!" Megan cried, slamming her hand on the tabletop. "Isn't there anything we can do?" She looked around the table for a response. Finding none, she turned to Larry. "Professor Fleinhardt? Do you have any ideas?"
Larry shook his head. "I'm afraid all we can do is wait for the next move."
"Yeah," Charlie said, his voice just above a murmur. "But will the next move get Don killed?"
-x-x-x-x-x-
"Agent Eppes!"
The voice was everywhere. And very, very loud.
Don lifted his head slightly and looked. The darkness hadn't abated. He put his head back down and waited.
"How are you feeling? Feel free to respond, Agent Eppes. I can hear you, and I can see you."
"Why am I here?" Don asked quietly. He wanted to gauge his captor's microphone sensitivity. That, and he was hoping if he was quiet, maybe whoever this was would turn down the volume a bit.
"You are here, Agent Eppes, because I brought you here." There was a short bark of mirthless laughter. "I would have thought even an FBI agent could have figured that out." The volume hadn't lowered at all. "But to answer the question you intended to ask: 'Why did you bring me here?' – the solution to that is rather simple."
"Really," Don said angrily. "Fill me in, because I'm dying to know!"
Laughter once again filled the chamber. "Why, Agent Eppes! How appropriate of you to say that!" A heavy silence descended.
Don waited, anxiety mounting, but there was nothing further. He ground his teeth in frustration, but was careful not to make any exaggerated movements – such as striking out at the wall – in case he was being watched.
He imagined several hours had passed since he awoke. Initially, he thought he could use the light on his watch to help him see, but that had been taken along with his cell phone. A quick check told him he still had his wallet, but the penlight he carried in his pocket was also gone. Whoever this guy was, he didn't want Don to be able to see anything. Don had spent a considerable amount of time after this realization trying to determine the guy's motives. Whereas it had helped to occupy his mind, he was still no closer to a viable solution.
The reason is simple, he said. Don replayed the conversation in his head. I'm dying to know – how appropriate. What the hell? The reason is simple. Finally the frustration won.
"Hey you!"
"Yes?" the voice drawled.
"Are you going to just sit there? Or are you going to get this over with?" Don hoped the guy would give him some kind of verbal clue.
"Patience is a virtue, Agent Eppes," the man replied. "Aren't FBI agents virtuous?"
"My name is Don," he growled. "Don Eppes."
"I'm aware of that. I read your identification." A pause, then, "Special Agent Donald Eppes, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles. Are you important to them, do you think?"
"If you're asking…" Don began, but the voice cut him off. "I mean precisely what I say, Agent Eppes. Are you important to them?"
Don thought a moment before replying. "No more or less than any other agent."
"Very good answer, Agent Eppes." Don wondered at the man's repetition of his title. "Do you think you are important to your family?"
Recalling his argument with his father and brother, Don answered, "I hope so."
"That wasn't very nice of you," he said. "Throwing that dish. And then you left it for someone else to clean up – how inconsiderate."
"How do you…?" Don began. "You were watching me?"
"Yes."
"Why?" Don asked.
"I make it a point to study my subjects thoroughly," the voice answered.
Don thought about this for several minutes. Suddenly he asked, "Were you studying Agent Granger, too?"
"No. Agent Granger was a means to an end."
A means to an end? Don thought. Then…
"You wanted to get me?" Silence greeted his query. "You wanted me, or just whoever showed up?" Still no response. "No, if that was the case, then you would have grabbed Megan or David."
"You're getting warmer…" the voice sing-songed.
"You wanted…" Don thought hard. "You were looking for the person who showed up that was apparently in charge."
"Very good, Agent Eppes! A gold star!"
"What, you think this is kindergarten or something?" Don asked angrily.
"Absolutely not," he answered. "This, Agent Eppes, is scientific research."
Don sat up on the cot. "I'm a damn guinea pig?"
"I wouldn't put it so crudely as that." The voice had taken on a prim tone. "I would prefer the term 'test subject'."
Oh my God, thought Don. I'm in the custody of some sick and twisted psychopath who wants to use me as a laboratory experiment!