Chapter 15:
Previous night"What's going on?" David whispered.
Try as she might, Megan couldn't see more than a small fraction of the room's interior. The gap in the curtains simply wasn't wide enough. "I can't… all I can see is Don, talking to someone. I can't tell who."
David paused, thinking hard. They could go in now, and possibly jeopardize Don's operation, or…
"We wait," he said finally, repeating the command into his radio. Megan turned toward him, more than a little agitated. "He could be in real danger," she hissed.
"I know, Megan, but…" David broke off as he heard Colby swearing in low tones. Looking up, they observed several cars pulling up, their headlights off. "Who the hell is that?" David asked. He crept soundlessly off of the porch, only to break into a run as soon as his shoes touched grass. He skidded to a halt just as the doors on the vehicles opened and several black-clad men climbed out. He identified himself to the first man he met, asking for the person in charge. The man cocked a thumb over his shoulder wordlessly. Puzzling at this rude behavior, David dodged around him. Another man grabbed him by the shoulder. "Who are you?" he asked.
David studied his face for a moment, trying to place his features and failing. "Special Agent David Sinclair, FBI," he replied. "And you are?"
"How many are with you, Agent Sinclair?"
David took a step back. "Answer my question first," he replied warily. The man glanced over David's shoulder and nodded. Suddenly David felt himself grabbed from behind. Strong arms wrapped around him and he was thrown to the ground, roughly searched and relieved of his weapon. His face burned in anger as his own handcuffs were used to secure his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth to yell, but someone gagged him with what felt like leather gloves. The man he'd been talking to crouched down next to his head.
"It wouldn't have been very intelligent of you to yell for your friends, Agent Sinclair. They would've gotten nervous, and then somebody could've been hurt." He gazed at David for another moment before standing and walking away. David heard him speaking in low tones to someone else, and he was abruptly picked up and dragged over to one of the cars, where he was propped against a fender unceremoniously and abandoned. He looked over at the house quickly. Colby and Megan were standing on the porch, looking curiously at the group approaching them. Get out, he thought desperately. Get away! As if they had heard him, the other two agents suddenly darted off of the porch in opposite directions around the house with several of the newcomers in hot pursuit. David cursed his own stupidity and drew his knees up to his chest, attempting to work the material out of his mouth using his knees and tongue. Finally free of the gag, he contorted and twisted until he was able to get his hands underneath him and draw his legs through. He grabbed his shoulder microphone and called, "This is Special Agent David Sinclair of the FBI calling central dispatch. Officers need assistance! Send all available units to my location…" He watched intently as a small war erupted near the northeast corner of the house. Rattling the address off to the dispatcher, he released the button and began patting down his pockets for a spare key to his handcuffs. The dispatcher acknowledged in a crackle of static just as he located it. He fumbled it out of his pocket and was soon free of his restraints. Jumping to his feet, David retrieved his gun from where it had been tossed and ran to join the fray.
-x-
Travers had roughly escorted Don out of the living room and down the hall toward the back of the house. Once in the kitchen, he shoved him into a chair – the only piece of furniture to be seen – while simultaneously relieving him of his gun and handcuffs. Travers pulled Don's hands behind him in preparation to cuffing them together when a loud commotion outside made him pause. "What the hell…?" he muttered. Leaning over Don's shoulder, he waved the newly acquired weapon in Don's face. "Stay put, Eppes, or I'll turn you into a human colander." He strode to the door and looked out the window.
The door exploded inward as someone from the outside kicked it in, catching Travers squarely in the chest and knocking him sideways. Don stood abruptly and put his hands up to show he was unarmed. As the agent coming through the door recognized him, Travers put Don's handgun to the side of the man's head and pulled the trigger.
"NO!" Don screamed, throwing himself on Travers and wresting the gun away. It was too late for the agent, but his fury was uncontrollable. Even though Travers was considerably larger than Don, he was no match for the strength that rode in the wake of Don's anger. He wrenched the pistol out of Travers' hand and brought it back across his temple with a satisfying crunch. As the other man crumpled to the ground, Don grabbed his handcuffs from where they had fallen on the floor and secured Travers' hands behind his back. He stood, panting, and looked at the FBI agent that had come through the door. There was no question the man was beyond help. Don gave in to a sudden impulse and kicked Travers in the gut.
Moving over to the dead agent, Don gingerly removed the Kevlar vest from his rapidly cooling body. Strapping it on, he chanced a glance out the back door. There was some kind of confrontation going on between FBI agents in riot gear and an unknown faction. They'll have to fend for themselves, Don thought briefly. Checking the ammunition in his pistol, he slammed the clip home and headed back to the living room.