A/N: Here's the next chapter. Another short one, I'm afraid. A breather before I'm off again. The first part is self-explanatory; the second is thenext bit from 'last night', as it were. I confess that this was uncomfortable to write. As a result, it may not read as smoothly as desired.
Chapter 12:
Present day
David pulled up to the emergency doors at UCLA medical center, effectively blocking the entrance. As he jumped out of the SUV, a woman in green surgical scrubs came running out of the hospital, one hand holding her stethoscope in place. "Sir! You can't park there! It's for ambulances only!"
David barely spared her a glance. Running around to the opposite side of the truck, he said, "Give me a hand here!" He opened Don's door and reached inside, the woman materializing beside him.
"What happened?" she asked calmly as she helped him ease Don out of the truck. "Who is he?" Don let out a tortured groan as David wrapped his arm around Don's midsection. She lifted Don's other arm and drew it across her shoulders, grasping the back of Don's belt.
"His name is Don Eppes," David replied as they made their way to the sliding emergency doors. "FBI. He got shot at this morning."
Calling for someone to bring a gurney, she asked, "And you're just bringing him in now?" She quickly looked him over. "Where's he hit?"
Together they manoeuvred Don onto the rolling cot brought out by another member of the center's staff. Semi-conscious, Don sucked in his breath sharply and curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around his abdomen. David removed Don's gun holster as he replied, "He wasn't, really." At the woman's sharp glance, he explained, "He was wearing a vest.It got hit twice. I don't know what's wrong with him." He stepped back as thestretcher began to move. Looking at the woman, he asked, "Are you a doctor?"
"ER resident," she answered shortly. Gesturing with a nod of her head at the receding gurney, she added, "I have to go now, but I'll let you know what I find out as soon as I can." She disappeared through the doorway. David had been keeping pace with her, but now slowed to a halt. As the doors slid shut, he unclipped his cell phone from his belt and flipped it open. He quickly dialled a number and waited for it to be picked up.
"Mr. Eppes? It's David Sinclair." He paused and then said, "Sir, is Charlie there with you?" He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't cause unnecessary alarm. "Don's been injured… I'm with him at UCLA. Could you come down here? Or would you rather I get someone to… All right. I'll be waiting." Snapping the phone shut, he let out a heavy sigh. Now he understood how difficult it was for Don to inform the families of other agents. Wouldn't have his job for all the oranges in California, he thought as he stepped through the doublewide doors.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Previous night
Don pulled up to the 'victim' house, noting the presence of FBI-issue vehicles, and the conspicuous absence of local law enforcement. He knew this time the case was a fake. What he didn't know was: why the deviation? Each time before, the cases were real. Travers and McKesson just took advantage of the opportunity presented to them to swipe valuable items from the victims' homes. He sat for a moment in his own vehicle, tempted to pull out his phone and call for real backup. Compressing his lips into a thin line, Don shrugged off his seatbelt and climbed out of the vehicle. Another thought made him pause: why would McKesson and Travers deliberately bring along agents not in on their plans?
There's going to be eight of us altogether, but the only ones in on what's really going down are you, me, and McKesson.
He stood beside his SUV lost in thought, one hand on the open door. Eight altogether. That means five innocents. Why?
A hand reached around from behind him and shoved the door shut. Don jumped, turning to find Travers sneering at him. "Eppes," he said.
"What the hell is going on here?" demanded Don.
"We already told you what's going down, Eppes." Travers started heading for the house. "You stupid or something?"
Don trotted up beside him and grabbed his sleeve. "I was told this would 'come in as a kidnapping'. Which means it isn't. And you said there'd be eight agents here." He stopped, his grip on Travers' arm making him halt as well. "What are the others doing at a fake investigation?"
The other agent jerked out of Don's grasp. "McKesson and me, we took quite a bit of heat from IAD," he began. At Don's nod, he crossed his arms and smirked. "Well, we wouldn't have – if it hadn't been for a few people sticking their noses into our business."
Don's head snapped back as though he'd been physically hit. The five agents were here for payback. He wished now that he'd told David where he was going to be.
Travers let his arms drop. "You coming or what?" he asked, turning back toward the house. Don hesitated. His mind raced for a way to get out of the whole deal. The knowing gleam in Travers' eyes put his feet in motion at last. I've got to go through with this, he thought. If for no other reason than to try to save their lives. He nodded and followed Travers up the walk.
-x-x-x-x-x-
From a hedge on the north side of the house David, Megan and Colby and several other FBI agents waited. Megan and Colby exchanged looks as Don came to a halt on the sidewalk, his arm on Travers' sleeve. They couldn't hear what was said between the two men, but it was obviously upsetting to Don. When Don and Travers resumed walking, David spoke. "Okay. Everyone into position." The other agents scurried away around the back of the house. To Megan and Colby, he said "We'll go in the front after everything's set." They nodded.
Don and Travers disappeared from sight. They could see the light from an open door on the lawn that grew more slender as the door was closed. When it was completely extinguished David said, "Let's move." Into his two-way radio he said, "Team one moving into position." Whatever the response had been must have been affirmative because he nodded. "Let's go."
The three of them half-crouched, half-ran to the front of the house, pausing only long enough to make sure no one was standing on the front porch of the Victorian-style home. It was set on a large piece of property, with the nearest neighbor over a thousand yards away. Colby and David took up positions on either side of the front door. Megan slid soundlessly toward a nearby window and peered in through a gap in the curtains.