Gil Grissom loved mysteries, the little intricate parts of a puzzle in logic that formed a cohesive answer. Riddles that concerned the welfare of two of his co-workers and friends became a damning contest of wills. His normal appetite for the game was replaced by a focus fueled by worry. He'd much rather have a paint-by-numbers obstacle to tackle then this mind-boggling set of inconsistent clues whose trails were overgrown by weeds, twists, and dead ends.

Catherine entered his office without knocking, her frazzled hair and meek expression just one of many in the bustling lab. She flipped though the contents of a folder not waiting for an invitation to speak.

"I've got a boatload of wacky financial problems with Warrick's current credit records," she blurted out.

Grissom let out a small breath and sat back in his chair as he waited for more jigsaw pieces that didn't seem to fit no matter how hard he tried to cram them together.

Catherine saw his posture and returned to her information. "In the last twenty-four hours Warrick's checking and savings accounts have been frozen for insufficient funds. Of course there are no records of withdrawals or transfers, and the bank manager has no explanation for the missing money. He can't unfreeze the account until an investigation can explain what happened."

Grissom raised and eyebrow and accepted the financial document handed to him. Catherine continued to shuffle papers in her hands. "His car and loan payments are behind and according to these statements are three months in the red. All his credit cards are maxed out, but the people I spoke to at Visa and MasterCard can't give me a listing of expenditures that could have caused him to go over his limit." She finished, holding her hands out in in irritation.

Grissom rolled back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest. He stared off into space gathering his thoughts, before turning his attention to his colleague. "We traced the plates to the wrecked Cherokee to an import-export company located in Vegas. There are plenty of written records. Tax statements, business license, and advertisements in the trades, but there is no actual physical address."

Catherine rested a hip along the edge of the supervisor's desk. "No warehouse or anything?"

Grissom's eyes twinkled. "No buildings to store inventory and no place for their list of employees to punch a time clock."

Catherine tapped her pristine nails. "It's a front. For whom?"

The supervisor tilted his head. "I've had Brass on it, and all we can come up with is a Mr. Deng Tuo Rong."

Catherine noticed the sarcastic tone. "You think the name is fake?"

Grissom narrowed his eyes. "Tou means to push or control and Rong means
glory or power. Deng is just a formal surname."

"You're an expert on Chinese root languages now?"

Grissom shrugged and gave a small smile. Then gave it up. "No, but Tom Wu
in our Asian gang division is. I ran the name by him when it came up. Whoever is after Warrick and Nick seems preoccupied with controlling symbols of power. Warrick's financial problems, the missing footage from the security cameras, the import company that's only real on paper. I don't think they would simply leave their identity on their phony business ledger."

"Well whoever it is, he's very good at being evasive."

Catherine and Grissom both looked expectantly at Archie's voice as it interrupted their discussion. The tech shuffled his feet for a moment before the supervisor ushered him in with the bending of his fingers to enter.

Archie brought in a box and placed the contents onto the desk. He pulled out a small stack of VHS and digital tapes. "I went back over the tapes from those security cameras and did an electronic scan of the signal. Someone with a very powerful computer hacked into the main database and erased the footage digitally. I also analyzed the timing of the traffic lights from the intersections from the eyewitness statements of that chase."

Grissom stood up to join Catherine. "I'm not in the mood for drama right now. What did you find out?"

Archie stared down, slightly intimidated, but stood up straighter at the attention of both superiors. "There was some sort of signal sent to alter the timing of the lights. Someone from a remote computer switched the lights to red."

"And who the Hell can do that? Can you trace it?" Catherine asked in rapid succession.

Archie felt slightly smaller and stepped back a little. "No, I can't. Not without monitoring the specific computer that is linked to the camera while the person logs in to change it."

Grissom stepped away from the desk and wandered over to the door and back towards his coworkers, the gears in his head turning. "Whoever is involved would need an extremely powerful network of computers."

Archie nodded. "Maybe a Cray computer system could do that. But they would require some sort of military clearance. I mean they were used by the government and sold privately. But trying to track down those types of records is impossible."

"Who has that kind of pull then?" Catherine asked, not really expecting an answer.

Archie stood there while the silence lingered in the room. Clearing his throat earned him two pairs of eyes seeking answers. "Well, I do know of someone. Um, I mean he's kind of an urban myth."

Catherine sighed. "We got nuthin' else. So spill it, please."

Archie looked back and forth between both criminalists. "I had a few cases over the past couple years that I've done research on for the gang unit. There's an Asian mob that's been involved in Vegas sports betting for the past five years, maybe longer."

"Okay, I've heard of Asian gangs, but any particular one? " Catherine cut in with impatience.

Grissom glared at her, but nodded for Archie to continue.

"There's this guy called The Voice." Archie crossed his arms in front of him. "He's been rumored to be this huge control freak. Sort of this 'knows all, sees all' type of guy. Researches anyone who seems a threat and then finds the weakness of any competitors and uses it against them. He's supposedly got all sorts of connections, hired techno-wizards to run all of his operations remotely. Real freaky paranoid type, but no one's ever really seen him."

Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We're after a phantom then."

"I have a buddy of mine who runs a website. I might 'unofficially' be able to get his real name by tracking down the bills of sales for one of these Cray computers. There are only about twenty total sold in the States, and, if we find his name, maybe we can track down an address."

"I thought you said finding that kind of information would be impossible?" Grissom asked.

Archie shrugged. "There are all kinds of information gatherers. I know a few friends who get kind of bored and find tracking that kind of information as a challenge."

Catherine didn't hide a smile. "Ya know, I think Nick and I worked a case where Warrick mentioned a guy named The Voice. He controlled all the runners in town for sports bookies."

Grissom began to pull out his cell phone while he spoke to the tech. "Go contact your friends. I'll have Brass connect with the gang unit. Maybe see if we can uncover the guy who owns that import operation. Maybe we'll get the same name."

The tech hurried out of the office in a whirlwind of excitement. Grissom was busy dialing his cell. Catherine could tell she had been silently dismissed as she recognized Grissom in one of his modes. She would do a little digging on her own and hoped that her boys were not in too much trouble.

Warrick huddled along the wall as he tried to gather his wits after such an emotional outburst. He would NOT make a choice.

How on God's green earth could he ever view the whole thing simply as black and white? It wasn't just 'some' decision. No, the problem had to have some other resolution. He would not allow Nick to just succumb to shock and his wife was not going to be murdered by a cowardly mob boss. Warrick was a scientist, he just needed to analyze the variables and find an answer.

Grim reality infused his beaten soul and Warrick mustered enough faith to get back on his feet. He pocketed the phone and tried to open the door quietly to the cabin and not disturb the scarce few minutes Nick had to rest.

Warrick crept cautiously towards the cot, checking for the steady rise and fall of Nick's chest. Once he was reassured that his buddy's breathing was somewhat under control for now, he walked the few steps towards the evil doctor's bag. He took out one of the epi-pens and silently placed it within Nick's reach next to his side and slid the other one into his own pocket for safe protection. He grabbed the black leather case and stalked into the
smaller room of the building. Upon entering the door it was crystal clear to the room's occupant that something bad was about to go down.

Kenny looked up from the other cot, instantly sitting up straighter. He quivered at the pissed off expression of his one time buddy. Warrick entered the room and closed the door almost all the way. Kenny swallowed a lump in his throat. Those fierce green eyes quickly diffused any kind of jab or insult.

Warrick's glare never let up. Kenny's squirms gave him only a fraction of satisfaction. He hefted the black bag onto the small cot and pulled out one of the long needles, twirling the slender instrument with a sneer of disgust. The tool's menace was even more horrifying in the nearly dark room. Kenny's back hit the wall with a small thud; a few whimpers escaped his throat as hands scrambled for an inhaler that was in the other room.

"Do you know what true terror is, Kenny?"

Kenny didn't answer. Warrick sat down heavily on the crude bed, never taking his eyes off his childhood chum. "Terror is when you're strapped to a chair unable to move while a vile woman slams needles into nerves to inflict pain. Terror is when you have to sit back and watch, helpless as one of your best friends is tortured," Warrick practically growled at the man.

Kenny could barely keep still, constantly fooling around with one of his braids. "I didn't do anything, Man. I'm... I'm sorry you guys were taken... I'm..."

"That's the problem, Kenny. It stopped being about you. It's all about the three of us. For once stop being so damn selfish and think about what's goin' on around you," Warrick seethed in a clipped whisper.

Kenny stopped fiddling and sucked in a breath; his eyes held the slightest defiance. "I'm not the one who dragged your cop friend with us, Man."

Warrick almost recoiled from the statement. He didn't know if Kenny meant it as a backhanded insult. "No, you didn't. I pulled him into this mess and now we're all going to find a way out of it."

"Dude should have minded his own business," he muttered.

Warrick glared at him.

Kenny began to gain more confidence by every second, scowling again. "I didn't have anyone else to turn to, Man. All those years ago we stuck together. Just us versus them. No one else would ever stand up to the kids at school, all those stupid teachers too blind to see what was goin' on. But we had each other. I pulled you out of enough jams. This is more than about payback, Bro. You're the only one I thought I could count on."

Warrick let out a deep sigh. "Friends stick together. I know all about ...that." Warrick licked his dried out lips. "Do you know what The Voice wanted from Nick? Did you ever ask yourself that?"

Kenny began to dig his fingers into the cot, his eyes bouncing all over the spartan room; he could not bear to look at Warrick directly. "No," he said in a soft voice.

Warrick pointed his finger at Kenny's chest. "He wanted to know where you were. How to find you. All I had to was drop a dime on you. All Nick had to do was just give them the low down, but he didn't!"

Warrick slapped the long needle into the other man's hand. "The Voice had some doctor ram needle after needle in, and Nick sat there and took it. Out of loyalty to me. To keep Tina safe and to keep your sorry ass safe as well. He didn't roll over in order to keep some selfish little weasel from getting killed. He didn't know you from Adam, Dawg! Yet he wasn't gonna be the reason for someone else's suffering."

Warrick grabbed Kenny by both shoulders and shook him a little to land his point home. "Ya got that, Man. Do you understand yet?"

Kenny seemed to crack from the pressure and wiggled away, bolting off the bed to began his characteristic pacing. "I don't wear a halo, Man. I'm sorry. I didn't know this was gonna happen, didn't know any of it was going to hit the fan like this." Kenny began to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, mumbling to himself.

Warrick let out an angry sigh of frustration. He shuffled over to his friend, placing an arm on his shoulder. "We're going to get out of this jam, Bro. We always have." Warrick looked into terrified eyes. "Okay?" he asked in a calmer voice.

Kenny choked back a sniffle and nodded. "What's the matter with him anyway?" he asked, pointing his finger towards the crack in the door.

Warrick shook his head. Kenny still regarded Nick as little more than an annoyance. "He's been poisoned. He's suffering from a severe allergic reaction and if he doesn't get help soon..." Warrick let his voice trail off.

Kenny eyes grew slightly bigger at the implications and folded his arms over his scrawny chest. "He can keep my inhaler," he said with a heavy, reluctant sigh.

The CSI almost laughed at the statement. In the pack rat's mind that must have been a really big deal.

Both men re-entered the other room and Warrick wandered over to Nick and gently shook him by the shoulder to wake him up. It took a few minutes while Nick acclimated himself; he tiredly slid his legs over to the side of the cot while he slowly sat up. He remained slouched over as if the effort of being upright was too much of a burden.

Nick kept his hands in his lap in a fruitless endeavor to keep the slight trembling to a minimum. His eyes remained closed as he fought to shake off the effects of the medication and the toxin in his veins.

Warrick squatted down and hid his deep worry. The clock was ticking and none of them were any closer to finding a solution out of the snare they were trapped in. Nick's movements were sluggish as he opened up bloodshot eyes and attempted to pass off a small smile for his usual game expression.

"Nice nap," he rasped.

Warrick patted his knee. "You can't lay around all day, buddy. We need to keep your adrenaline flowing...it's no good if you're too comfortable."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "Yeah this place is the Hilton compared to your last hideout. We're moving on up in the world," he quipped.

"You think you can get up and move around?" Warrick encouraged.

Nick's aches and pains were having a cumulative effect. His skin was a sickly looking white and he looked as if he might collapse at any given moment. With his balance slightly off, Nick wavered as he stood, his knees almost buckling under his weight. Warrick was instantly next to him as he stood on wobbly legs. "Hmmm, not sure about my usual workout routine," he joked.

Nick sucked in a sharp breath after a moment, his hand grabbing at his chest. Before Warrick could react, he held it out to signal him to hold off. Nick felt the tightness slowly diminish. It was difficult to adjust to his body's reactions to the toxin in his system. His airway was in a tug of war over how far it could stay open. Insect venom scrambled for control and battled the lingering effects of increased adrenaline and the receding amounts of antihistamine. Once the room stopped spinning slightly, Nick was able to focus on movement.

Warrick stood tensely by as his partner began pacing a circle in the confines of the small room. Warrick checked his watch as he estimated when the next time Nick would have to take the next dose of cold tablets. The dwindling amount of pills was another loud voice fighting for his attention. The dreaded conversation from earlier and the deadly choice he was being forced to make almost drowned out any other coherent thought.

Nick's uneven gait as he criss-crossed the room made Warrick's heart sink. His best friend was falling apart in front of him, and yet he just stood there like a dumb ass as he searched for some miracle answer. The silence of the room was only punctuated by the sounds of Nick's boots. His partner's pace stopped at he bent down to rub at his shins.

Warrick broke up the dread-filled mood. "You okay?"

Nick gave him a lopsided grin as if to say 'you kidding me?' Warrick suppressed an almost hysterical type snicker. Scrunching up his face, it gave him the opportunity to ask what had been in the back of his mind. "Your ankle still sore?'

He knew it was dumb question, but he didn't know why that little thing was still nagging at him.

"Nah. My feet are tingling; damn weird sensations running up my leg." Nick continued to massage the area to alleviate some of the discomfort as his friend pressed on with a senseless topic he just didn't want to deal with at the moment.

"You really fell off my porch? I don't remember."

Nick shook his head as he tried to dodge the question. This only caused Warrick to press the issue. It was at least a distraction to his current horrid dilemma. "Why so evasive?"

Warrick's question didn't mean to carry an accusatory tone...but it did anyway.

The words slipped out of his mouth long before his brain had a chance to process what he was saying. Nick shot him a dagger look. The Texan held his jaw tightly as his eyes darted around the room. He began stalking back and forth, his irritation clearly obvious by the way he continued to ignore the last question. Warrick felt the need to keep testing the limits; if he had thought about it, he would have realized the ulterior motive of trying to force a needless argument. His mind had ways of dealing with stress and creating conflict was one of them.

Warrick moved forward to cut off Nick's circuit in the room, effectively blocking his path. "Nick."

His partner looked at him incredulously, "Yes, I stumbled off your porch the other night. I twisted it then. No big deal, Man."

Warrick frowned, not only from Nick's more hostile tone, but also from not really recalling when that happened. "How in hell did you just... fall?"

Nick shook his head. "This is really stupid," he mumbled to himself.

Warrick heard him regardless. "Why are ya being so shady about it then?"

That must have triggered something. Nick stood up straighter; his brown eyes became darker as he stared at him. When he spoke his tone was low, "Shady? Shady is keeping your bud in the dark with secret phone calls and dodging simple questions. Shady is hiding out a childhood friend from mob kingpins who send out goon squads to your house."

Nick took a step forward with each sentence, his voice becoming scratchier, his face a stone mask of hurt and anger. "Shady is lying straight to your best friend's face and then acting like an ass about it when he just wants to try to understand what the Hell is goin' on," Nick said in a harsh whisper.

Warrick took a closer step, his face mere inches away from Nick. He looked down on him for a moment, using his height unconsciously as unfair advantage. "I tried to keep you away from all of this, Nick. I didn't want you involved. It was none of your concern."

Nick's throat was parched, but he kept his voice strong and steady. "None of my concern? Sometimes you have to confront people about things they don't want to accept in order to help them, Man."

Warrick gnawed on his lower lip. "Is that how you dealt with me when you came back to the Lab? Talk about not admitting to others that you still have problems to work out, Bro. You've buried shit so deep you're not even aware it's there."

Nick eyes grew darker if that was even possible, but didn't have a retort. The ferocity of his point had hit its mark, and Warrick knew he had stepped past the invisible line that Nick had built around him ever since his abduction. A protective barrier so secure that Nick did not know of its existence.

"You've avoided so many things about what you've been going through that I had to go do my own research about allergic reactions to insect bites you might encounter in the field. Lord knows you were never going to talk about it."

Nick swallowed; the veins in his throat protruded out. He licked his lips, still struggling with an answer. Instead of addressing a topic that had been labeled 'hands off' his next sentence took Warrick by surprise.

"You shoved me out of the way when you were trying to get rid of me when I wanted to clear the air. I twisted my ankle then."

Words escaped him as Warrick opened his mouth to respond; the word 'sorry' just didn't seem to cut it.

Nick backed down, his eyes downcast. "You didn't notice...its not like you did it on purpose," Nick added as an afterthought. "It wasn't a big deal."

Nick shuffled past his friend, placing his hand along the wall for support as he pushed his way towards the cot. Clearly winded from the exchange he ungracefully dropped onto it, cradling his hurt left hand along his belly, and flexing his right one over and over again.

Warrick looked to the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut. He never recalled pushing Nick out of the way; he had just wanted to deal with his own problems without any fuss. It would have been better to come clean then; he should have figured Nick would never leave it alone. He looked in the corner to see Kenny staring at him. The pack rat had miraculously kept his trap closed during the small conversation. He ducked his head down to avoid any further eye contact.

Warrick pulled out the blister pack of cold medicine and pushed out two more caplets. He handed them wordlessly to his friend. Nick accepted them in silence and swallowed them dry. The odd tremble to Nick's right arm was back, despite his efforts of clenching and unclenching his fist.

Warrick sat numbly on the ratty cot. Choice A sat in the corner staring at the floor, probably hoping it would swallow him up. Choice B tried to put on a brave front as Warrick picked fights with him to help squash the increasing cacophony of voices in his head. Kenny's, Tina's, and Nick's were mixed together inside the maelstrom of his heavy and conflicted conscience.

TBC…