Chapter 10

Alan hovered over Larry, who sat at the kitchen table in the safe house and poked occasionally at a computer. He knew how to type, but Larry had reached the point of frustration that called for one hand in his hair, so he was limited to one hand on the keyboard.

Alan pointed at the screen. "What is that?"

Larry followed Alan's finger. "I don't know. Just more extraneous information. I don't understand what sense Charles could have possibly made out of this…data."

Alan straightened. "This is just the stuff they gave him two days ago, right? Didn't Colby say he had more from the computer at the latest crime scene?"

Larry sighed. "Yes. I've loaded that information, and glanced at it, but nothing strikes me as odd. Besides, Charles called Don because he already had something. He was able to find something in this information, somehow."

Alan crossed his arms. "I don't understand. You've helped Charlie out on a lot of cases. Why can't you see it?"

Larry spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness. "Alan, I'm a physicist, not a computer programmer. I can hold my own with Charles in discussions of math, I can talk circles around him in matters of the cosmos…" He suddenly slammed shut the laptop and held his head in both hands, elbows on the table. "I simply don't have the knowledge, the aptitude that he does. I don't process information in the same way — few people do. He probably designed an algorithim to disseminate this information, and that algorithim is on his missing computer."

Alan tried not to speak again until he had his temper under control. He knew that he was being unreasonable. He knew Larry was doing the best he could. But Larry was their best shot at discovering whatever Charlie had discovered, which might lead them to whoever that information threatened. He bit his lip, then opened his mouth to apologize when he was distracted by the chirp of his cell phone, lying on the table next to the computer.

At the first ring, he almost panicked. It must be the hospital. Something had gone wrong with Don. He knew he should have made them let him stay.

The phone rang again, and this time he thought it could be Megan, or one of the guys, calling to tell him they had located Charlie's body. That thought both sickened him and brought him to his senses, because he knew they would never do that do him — tell him over the phone. They had come to the house when Don…

Before the third ring was over he snatched the cell phone from the table and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Aaaaaa, Adddd."

"Oh my God." Alan sat down heavily in a chair at the table and Larry raised his head to look up at him, startled chewing his fingernails. "Donnie? Bachor, is that you?"

"Okay…"

Alan bent his head and placed one hand on his forehead while he clutched the phone so hard he was afraid it might break. "Son. Son. God in Heaven. I'm so happy to hear your voice…I wish I could be with you…"

Alan heard a yawn. "Okay," Don said again. It was obvious Donnie wasn't without medication — but he was awake! He was talking!

"I'll be there as soon as…as soon as I can, Bachor. I love you. Charlie and I both want to be there…"

"Okay?" This time, it sounded like a question, and when Alan didn't answer right away, Don tried to string more syllables together. "You okay?"

Alan lifted his head again and looked into Larry's eyes and he felt tears welling up in his own. "Yes, of course, Don…I'm fine. I'll be there soon, all right?"

"Tell Charl…Charl…tell Chuck."

"What, son?"

"Careful. Sharks in water."

Oh, Donnie, thought Alan, if you only knew… Aloud, he tried to speak soothingly. "I will, son."

"Think I'll sleep now."

"That's good, Don. You should do that."

"'Nite, Daddy."

That did Alan in, and a sob burst out of him before he could stop it, but he managed to move the phone and hoped that Don didn't understand what it was. Then he replaced the phone and spoke to his firstborn one more time. "Good-night, Donnie. Daddy loves you."

He almost disconnected, but heard Cecile's voice, then. "Alan?"

He smiled into the phone. "Cecile. He's awake! How is he?"

"Pretty doped up on morphine at the moment, and it'll be that way for a few days. He probably hasn't felt his other injuries much, but this is the third time he's come around while we're adjusting his traction. This was the first time I could get him coherent enough to talk to you."

"Thank you, so much. Thank you for helping him call me, and thank you for staying with him. It means so much to me — you'll never know. Never."

"I'm glad I can help, Alan." Cecile spoke softly at first, then laughed. "I should go. Don has been obsessed with sharks all day, and they seem to be back."

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Megan and David were seated at a table in a conference room, poring over the files again, when Colby burst in and dropped a dozen more file folders on the table. They looked up at him.

Colby stood with his hands on his hips. "I tracked down the brand the perp is branding all his vics with. It was registered in a branding iron database."

Megan looked momentarily confused. "A what?"

"A registry database for branding irons," repeated Colby. "You can register your brand, so your daughter's picture of a house doesn't end up on someone else's cow. I remembered my uncle registering his brand when he bought a farm in Idaho, so I've been searching databases."

David grinned. "So what does it mean?"

Colby sighed. "Nothing."

In an uncharacteristic show of temper, Megan threw the file she was looking at on the table and rose in one motion, then turned on Colby. "Do you think this is funny? Our team leader is blown off a roof, our consultant is missing and you think this is funny?"

Colby backed away a little as her voice rose and lifted his hands in mock surrender. "No, no, Megan…I mean 'nothing'. The word listed in the registry is actually 'niainas'. It's from an extinct Baltic language, and its translation is literally 'nothing'."

Megan perched on the edge of the table and stared at Colby. "It can't mean 'nothing'. The brand is the only link we've been able to connect to each victim." She turned to David, distraught. "It can't mean 'nothing'!"

David stood and began to pace the small room, trying to channel Don. Finally he turned and looked at his partners. "I think we have to break it all down," he said. "Since the second victim turned up with this brand, we've looked at these cases as a unit. Maybe there is no unit. Maybe the brand is some sort of elaborate joke, just to mislead us…a smokescreen."

Comprehension dawned on Megan's face. "The cases aren't related at all!", she said excitedly, turning back to the table and scrambling through the files. "The first vic was the real target."

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After Alan finished talking with Cecile, he laid the phone back on the table and smiled at Larry.

"You spoke with Don." Larry stated the obvious.

Alan nodded happily, then frowned. "Larry, I want to apologize for my behavior. I know you're doing the best you can."

"Tsk, Alan, nonsense," insisted Larry. "I'm sure I would be nowhere near as calm as you are, in your shoes. Both your sons in danger…" His voice trailed off, and a look passed Alan's face. Larry placed a hand near his mouth. "What?"

Alan almost leapt from the chair. "That's it! Larry, you're a genius!"

"I appreciate the sentiment, Alan, but I don't understand…" Larry shut up when Alan reached over his shoulder and opened the laptop again.

"We're trying to wear our own shoes to walk where Charlie walked."

"Excuse me?"

Alan waved at the screen impatiently. "Start over. From the beginning. We're thinking the way WE think; not the way Charlie thinks. What's the first thing he would do?"

Larry smiled, suddenly started using both hands on the keyboard. "Take it all apart," he answered. "Categorize it. Organize it. And then try to fit it all back together."

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Max could hear the unhappiness and anger in his boss's voice even over the phone, but he persisted in giving him the bad news anyway. "Nicky's having too good a time at this, and if we don't stop him, he's gonna kill the guy. He's already so far gone I'm not sure he could do the work even if he wanted to."

"We'll have to find another way to persuade him, then." The Boss was practically growling.

"What about his family? We could grab one of them…"

He was interrupted. "That won't work. Everybody is in protective custody and under guard."

"Surely a man in your position can get around that."

"You're starting to sound as stupid as Nicky — did he take that sledge hammer to your head while he was at it? Of course I could, but the risks outnumber the possible benefits…" The tone of The Boss's voice changed. "Wait."

Max was hesitant. "Yeah?"

"I know a way. I should have thought of this earlier. Let me contact some people in Boston."

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A/N: Bachor is a Jewish term of endearment for the firstborn son.