Warrick didn't have time to ponder what was said to Kenny. Those appalling words he'd been so scared to utter had caused his chum to look back and forth between the two of them in abject fear. Kenny began pacing again, staring at the man on the cot as if he was some dangerous animal ready to take a bite out of him. Warrick didn't care. He was too focused on Nick who was wheezing heavily, his right hand settled on his chest. The raspy intakes of breath sounded painful, but were a stark difference from minutes earlier when his friend was unable to get a real lungful of oxygen past his constricted airway.
Nick lay exhausted, his eyes squeezed shut, face fading to a sunburned flush instead of a scary shade of beet red. He sounded like someone still caught up in the throes of a severe asthma attack, but still...this was progress. Warrick only prayed that it would continue to ease as the epinephrine coursed through his friend's veins. The relief would be short-lived and the most recent cold tablets had lasted an even shorter time than before, giving Nick only a little over an hour of reprieve. Warrick studied the remaining meds and pushed a single one out, waiting for Nick to recover enough to swallow it.
Nick lay sprawled out on the dingy cot. His limbs were too heavy to lift and his chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it. Every intake of air was a struggle. It felt like he had taken a jab to the throat and then a tennis ball had been shoved down it. As the tightness decreased his heart felt like it was pounding against his sternum; the discomfort was tolerable, but the palpitations were more than a bit disconcerting.
Warrick gently shook Nick's shoulder as dazed brown eyes had a hard time focusing on him. Warrick hated rhetorical questions, but asked anyway. "You feelin' better?" He couldn't hide how his voice choked on the last syllable.
Nick opened his mouth to answer him, but closed it immediately as another wave of nausea began to rear its ugly head. Warrick noticed how his friend's pallor took on the all too familiar green shade and shot a look over at Kenny.
"Hey, open that door outside, will ya?"
Instead of complaining Kenny did as he was told as Warwick grabbed Nick by both shoulders. "Come on, buddy. Let me help you up."
Nick didn't protest as he was pulled into a sitting position and allowed Warrick to guide him to his feet. Nick fumbled with his weak right arm and draped it around his partner's shoulder as he leaned heavily on him. Warrick practically dragged him towards the outside.
The fresh air was almost a shock, causing sharp little pinpricks to assail his overly taxed lungs. The change to being upright only increased his stomach's need for rebellion and he quickly sank to his knees, expelling only bile, since there was nothing left in his belly from before. Nick puked his guts out, sucking in terrible rasps of air in between. Warrick cringed at the violent reaction to the epi-shot, but prayed the sickness would pass soon. Nick needed to get more cold medication in his system and keep it down.
Nick was shaking rather violently and Warrick helped him back up as he was maneuvered towards the cot. Kenny darted outside for no apparent reason, but Warrick didn't pay him much attention as he got Nick settled back down. This last breathing attack had wiped his partner out and the knot that had been twisting his guts almost made him ill with sympathy pains. Warrick checked Nick's pulse again and grit his teeth at the beating beneath his fingertips. Two successive doses of epinephrine were rocketing his pulse and undoubtedly his blood pressure near dangerous levels. But this form of treatment could not be helped. Warrick also knew that the minutes were slipping away and pulled out the cold tablet from his pocket at the same time Kenny came bounding back in.
Warwick eyed him suspiciously but the pack rat carried a chipped coffee mug filled with water. Kenny glared at the green eyes, becoming huffy at the accusation he saw there. "Found a pump outside. Thought the dude could use something cold to drink."
Warrick let his jaw drop at this slight sign of decency, while his scientific mind wondered how sanitary it could be. Nick didn't need to catch some waterborne disease or lead poisoning on top of everything.
"I-I saw that earlier," a paper-thin voice whispered.
Warrick turned to Nick who remained laying on his back, one eye cracked open. "I---I think -it's safe," he panted out, before coughing.
Warrick took the offered water as Nick struggled to sit up. Warrick tried to hold the mug but Nick brushed his hands away accepting the drink with two unsteady hands. "Not an invalid," he whispered under his breath.
Warrick snorted and handed him the pill, which Nick took, drinking the rest of the water in several large gulps.
Kenny took a seat with his usually unhappy disposition and kept an eye out the window. Warrick sat quietly as Nick took his fill and handed the cup over before he dropped it, back to his partner, an inch still left in the bottom. Warrick shook his head. "I'm not drinking that, Grizzly Adams. Hope you're an expert on conditions of water pumps."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Seen enough in the field and back home," he replied.
Warrick released a large breath, some of his panic diminishing for now. "Jesus, Nick. Let me know when you feel it coming on again." Warrick wiped at his face, then frowned when Nick didn't look up at him. "Nick?"
His partner kept his head bowed. "Just dizzy," he responded.
There were a few minutes of tense silence, each man lost in his own world. Warrick thought about the cell phone, knowing that there wasn't going to be much more time. One call would end it all, one way or another. It was like being split in two. The little device felt like a dead weight in his pocket, the number pad the portal to the end of this standoff. Warrick's thoughts became darker as he searched the room once more, hoping that an answer would miraculously appear like some secret treasure. His eyes drifted towards the knapsack on the floor and Warrick's brain went into overdrive with ideas.
He got up to move over to it when he felt a hand on his arm. Warrick looked over to see Nick steady himself, taking a few deep breaths that sounded much clearer than just a while ago. "You got a plan laid out yet?"
Warrick's worry and bewilderment were hard to conceal. Nick's shoulders stiffened as he sat straighter. "I'm doing better. We need to move if we're gonna get Tina."
Nick's voice was less shaky, an obvious effort on his part. Warrick didn't look at him with pity; his friend deserved better than that. "Nick..."
His partner's lips formed a thin line as he shook his head. "You need back up... You-"
"You need to lay back down and stop wasting your breath," Warrick cut him off.
Warrick saw anger, not directed towards him, but pure rage and frustration at a body that was slowly failing. Nick attempted to stand but wavered. Warrick easily pushed him back down onto the cot. His heart broke at how weak his best friend had become. Nick kicked at the floor with his boot, his face scrunched up in emotion.
"No," he rasped. Nick wiped at his face in agitation and stopped briefly enough to gaze at his trembling right hand in resentment. His brown eyes narrowed and he looked over at Warrick in desperation. "I'm not gonna just lay here, Man." Nick shook his head. "I'm not gonna let this beat me."
Warrick felt like a wild animal that had been backed into a corner. He was tired of these games, of trying to buck it up and conceal his true emotions. He was boiling over like a volcano- hate, anger, and fear all tearing him to pieces on the inside. The cruelty of the decisions before him was so damn insufferable. He wanted to tear his gaze away from his partner, away from the obvious pain and bodily deterioration. But he wouldn't. No matter what, he would look Nick in the eye.
"It's a bit of a hike back over there, Bro. I just... I mean…" Warrick bit his lip, his eyes feeling moist. He didn't want Nick to feel like a burden, but there was no way he was in any shape to help get Tina back, let alone walk for any length of time before collapsing.
Nick hid his twitchy right hand in his lap. He stared at the floor, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm gonna die, Rick." Nick looked up at him, his face pale, "Don't let me do it layin' down."
Warrick gripped Nick by both shoulders. "You're not gonna die! Not today, not tomorrow. You didn't survive that box to quit on me now," Warrick said fiercely
Nick didn't respond. He searched his partner's eyes, relaying to him his absolute need to be... Focused. Mobile. Effective. Useful.
Warrick was barely able to control his own shakes but he remained firm...strong. He squeezed Nick's bicep. "Have it your way, Bro. Lay down for just a little bit, reserve your strength. I'll talk to Kenny on how to work his gizmos and then we'll raid the house. Okay?"
Nick nodded, relieved. Warrick pushed him down to the cot then helped bring his legs up to rest. "No more jawin' at me, now. Catch another power nap, and then we'll head down in the next thirty minutes. Got it?" he asked, with a short pat to Nick's shoulder
Nick's eyes were already closed. "Yeah, sounds good."
Warrick stood up to discuss his plans with Kenny when he felt a hand grab his. "Thanks, Rick. Didn't... Don't plan on dyin' in a Longhorns shirt."
Warrick's lips curved into a slight smile. "No problem, Bro." He wandered over to Kenny who looked at him expectantly. Warrick nodded his head towards the next room, and both men headed inside as he latched the door.
As soon as the creaky hinges signaled privacy, Warrick advanced on his childhood friend, his intent quite clear. "I want you to show me how to use your bag of tricks to get inside the Voice's house. I also want to know what's on that disc."
The authoritative no-nonsense demand was enough for Kenny to begin blurting out details on how to use his homemade gadgets for avoiding alarms and crippling some of the security measures in place. "No way you gonna be able to get past all those goons, dude. I mean...I know you want your wife back and all…but... it'd be suicide," Kenny yammered on.
Warrick's face was a stone chiseled in concentration. "And the files," he pressed.
Kenny looked like he was going to argue again, but Warrick's death ray stare silenced any protests.
Warrick studied the file encrypted CD. "The truth. What could I use this for? What's the advantage?" Warrick glared at the smaller man.
Kenny licked his lips as if debating the most important decision in his life; little did he know it would be just that. He huffed and mumbled, but finally looked at his friend. "It could be used against the dude's competitors. Take down their sites as well, or hold them hostage. Make him tons of cash."
Warrick gripped the disc tighter. "Does he need you to use it?"
Kenny almost growled in response. "To access it, yeah. It's password protected, and the guy's got techs. I even heard he's got one of them Cray supercomputers." Kenny' eyes lit up for a moment, "But even with his fancy machine it would take him well over a month just to decipher my thirteen digit code to open it."
Warrick tapped the disc to his chin. "As much of an asshole and maniacal as this guy is-he's still all gung ho about honor," Warrick spoke out loud.
He turned to Kenny. "I could offer this and maybe myself as insurance. Get him to let Tina go, and call for some help for Nick," Warrick mused, his voice almost hopeful.
Kenny didn't try to hide his objections to the idea. "No way, Man. He'd kill you and Tina and then come back and take care of the rest of us."
Warrick shook his head, bobbing the CD in his hand. "I think this information is more valuable in the long run. This guy can't just be pissed at you for trying to jump the totem pole of some hierarchal standard. You ruffled his feathers, embarrassed him. But… if I show him something he can gain value from, then I think deep inside, he'd have no choice but to deal."
Kenny wasn't paying attention to his friend as the realization that he was going to be abandoned again and left to fend for himself dawned on him. "Nah, Man. He'll kill ya," he blabbered on.
Warrick was at his wit's end as he grabbed the front of the little man's shirt, almost pulling him up to his tiptoes. "It's the only chance we got. I'm gonna get my wife back and Nick... he's gonna get help. No way am I going to watch him suffer anymore."
Kenny scrabbled at the fingers curled around a clump of fabric. "A'ight, damn!"
Warrick immediately regretted this most recent burst of anger and released the shirt, his hand left hanging empty in the air as Kenny took several steps backward, smoothing the fabric on his chest. Warrick shook his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Bro. I'm just…"
Just what? Scared stiff for his wife, for his friends…for himself? He had no more desire to offer himself up to The Voice than he did to volunteer to clean the shark tank at Mandalay Bay. Hell, the latter would probably be safer.
"Kenny," he started again, more softly, conscious that he needed Kenny's full attention and his help once more. "C'mere."
Kenny eyed him suspiciously but took a few steps forward, careful to remain out of arms reach.
Warrick collapsed onto the cot and put his head in his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Kenny. But I gotta talk to ya." He looked back up into Kenny's eyes. "Please." And he waved a hand at the floor in front of him.
Kenny looked at him askance for a moment, then acceded to the CSI's request and came closer to fold himself cross-legged on the floor.
Warrick leaned over to bring his face closer. "I'm going." He held a hand up as Kenny's mouth opened to renew his protests. "It's settled. But I need you to keep an eye on Nick while I'm gone. Now look. You saw how he got when he couldn't breathe, yeah?"
Kenny gave a short nod, his brow wrinkling at the memory.
"Okay. If you see him look like he's having trouble, and he can't answer you when you talk to him, he needs to use the last shot. If he can't do it you'll hafta do it for him. Snap it outa the plastic case, put your thumb on the trigger on top, and bang it against his thigh, on the outside."
He saw Kenny's face screw up in distaste. "Listen, Kenny. This is important. Whatever you do, don't do it anywhere but in his thigh. Anything higher than the waist and you could send him into immediate cardiac arrest. You get me?" he asked more sternly.
"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Not above the waist. But you'll probably be back before he needs another one, right?" he asked, hope shining in his brown eyes.
"I don't think so, Kenny," he said slowly. "I think you and Nick will be on your own from here on out. If things work out, you'll have help here soon enough." He left unspoken what would happen if things didn't work out.
"Look, there's a stream running behind the cabin. It runs down here past the house. I'm gonna follow it back up. I should still have a couple hours of daylight left." He paused and looked into the scared eyes of his childhood friend. So many years had passed yet the bond was still there. The two of them had weathered the gales and squalls of teenagehood together, each man emerging stronger in his own way.
"You did good, Kenny. Coming in to save us like that, armed with a freakin' toy pistol. You got huevos on you, Bro. And I won't ever forget it. You saved me and you saved Nick. And you're gonna have saved Tina, too," he said as he straightened to leave, Kenny following suit.
He stuck out a hand and Kenny gave him a smile and knocked his knuckles against the closed fist. Warrick brought him in for a one-armed hug, much like the one Kenny had tried to give him back when this whole tragedy began. He squeezed the younger man, then released and gave a hope-filled smile to his childhood friend.
Kenny nodded. "Take care, Ricky. I'll keep an eye on your boy," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You go get Tina back, ya hear?"
"That's the plan, Bro. That's the plan."
Kenny hesitated a moment, then cocked his head to the side as he began chewing on his bottom lip once more. "As far as that goes, Ricky, I may have a Plan B for you."
Grissom looked expectantly at the AV Tech, hands crossed on the book on the desk in front of him. Archie's pronouncement that he knew the identity of the man they knew only as The Voice beat the hell outa all his research, but was the first good news he'd heard since learning of the situation his two CSIs had gotten themselves into.
Archie smiled, enjoying knowing something the entomologist didn't for just an extra second or two. "Okay. So you know how I told you the word was this guy had a Cray Supercomputer? Well, the government maintains the usage of all the Crays in existence. The vast majority of them were owned and used by the government, specifically the military and Intelligence. When they sell them, they have to degauss them with these giant electromagnets in order to wipe the hard drives so…" He noted his boss's eyebrow lift in impatience. "Okay, so I have this uh, friend, who … you don't really want to hear this do you?" he asked uncomfortably.
"Thomas Gray said, 'Ignorance is bliss.' Normally, that goes against everything I believe in, but for this I think I'll have to agree with him. Your friend's activities are appreciated, regardless of their legality. Go on."
"Well, he got the names of private parties who have obtained ownership of Crays. Only one in Nevada, and it belongs to one Charles Lee. I checked him out through Interpol. Sounds like our guy. Born in Singapore in the forties, right after the war. He owns a couple of casinos in Macao, another one in Monte Carlo. Interpol had him under suspicion for a variety of crimes. Money laundering, selling opium. He even owns a few brothels in Bangkok. Bodies have turned up in every city he's resided or done business in that they've tried to put his name to. I already ran the name through Lexis. Unfortunately, Lee is like the Chinese version of Smith. There are almost a hundred property records for Charles Lees in Vegas and the surrounding area."
Grissom closed his eyes at the hydra before him. Each head he cut off sprung two more.
"With what we have here, and what you know, is it possible to winnow our search parameters down a bit?" he asked the tech.
"Oh, yeah. I mean, if this guy is as deep into feng shui as we've heard he is, it should be pretty easy to figure out the most likely candidates."
"Good. Grab Catherine and we'll pull the records you have and plot them on the map. Let's see if we can't prove Francis Bacon right."
An hour or so later they had a map of Las Vegas projected up on the main view screen in the AV Lab. Red circles marked the presence of a piece of property owned by a Charles Lee. Almost a hundred of them, most of them lumped in the Chinatown section of Vegas on Spring Mountain Road.
Archie manned the keyboard, nimble fingers dancing over the keys. The first thing he did was clear the Chinatown listings. They had agreed there was little chance a man of such power would reside in an area of shopping centers and strip clubs.
The red circles now scattered over all of Nevada, solitary marks in Humboldt, Mineral, and Eureka Counties, two listings in Nye County, and about a dozen remained in Clark County.
With the press of a few more keys the map had an overlay of the state's topological features.
Archie sat back and cracked his knuckles. "Okay," he began slowly, "we look for a few different things. The key things we look for in the proper geomantic setting for a feng shui practitioner are mountains or hills, bodies of water, and roads. Certain things we want, certain things we don't. It's favorable to be alongside a body of water, a river, a stream, even a reservoir. Great power can be gained from the building being placed in the protection of a mountain, or a hill. And if there is a road leading to it, it should be winding and not lead directly to the establishment. If I plug those factors in…" he said, his fingers once more tapping at the keyboard. "There. We have a much smaller pool to work with."
Now on the screen some of the red dots had been changed to yellow. Only ten or so.
Grissom raised his eyebrow, pleased by the reduction in their options, yet still daunted by the amount and more importantly the distance between those remaining.
"Archie, we know he has access to vast amounts of information. He apparently can control lights and cameras, maintains a global network of businesses. What would someone need, energy and physical connection-wise to be that omniscient?"
"Well," the tech answered, drawing out his response as he leaned back and mulled it over. "He'd need a pretty significant amount of electricity to power the Cray alone. Yeah… that'd work," he said as he bent back over the keyboard to bring up the Nevada Sierra Pacific website. "They have a database the LVPD can research. Vice uses it to sniff out drug dealers- growing pot uses a lot of juice," he commented as he flipped through the various screens. He quickly entered in the parameters of his search and waited for the program to run. "Ookay… here we go. Wow. Whatever this guy here is doing, he's using enough power to run the space program. Holy shit, Grissom. The location is one of our matches."
He returned back to the topological map and fingers blurred once more over the keys as he summoned up a closer image of their result. It showed to be about fifty miles west of Vegas, nestled in the Spring Mountains.
Grissom mentally paged through the atlas in his head. "That's near Lost Cabin, right? Next to Lovell Canyon. They had a horrible series of wildfires there back in 2002, if I remember correctly. They think a lightning strike caused it. The pinion pines went up like matchsticks. But that whole area was lost to the fire," he said, his enthusiasm quickly deflating.
Catherine quickly chimed in. "Yeah, but the fires stopped at the canyon. The East side I think. And this location looks like the other side of the canyon. And look," she said, raising a French-manicured nail to the screen. "Your body of water … a good-sized stream shows running along this whole section."
She turned back towards Gil with an eager yet worried look on her face. "So what's the plan? We can't exactly drive into the mountains, waving our guns and demanding our guys from some poor Charles Lee running his own greenhouse or whatever. We are in no way gonna get any kind of a warrant on this stuff. Not saying it wasn't great work, because it was, but, Gil? What do we do next?"
"There is a famous English chef, Isabella Beeton, who wrote a cookbook with what were supposed to be very simple recipes for ladies of means to try. Her recipe for Welsh Rarebit starts, 'First you catch a hare.' In cooking, as in life, the first step is always the most difficult. Looks like we try to catch our hare."
tbc...