Don rode Sarge much too fast for the trail, but the big gelding was up to the challenge. Branches whipped by, slashing at his face; Don didn't care. All that mattered was getting to his team. The sniper was gone, fled in a gasoline-powered dust cloud.

Someone had gone down. How the hell could this happen? Why was Bostwick out here? Why had Nogales let him? The questions came fast and furious; a reaction, Don knew, to his anger. To his fear.

Guns snapped up and aimed at his arrival, and Don hastily pulled his horse up. "What happened?"

"Don!" David wasn't ready to re-holster his gun. "The sniper—"

"Gone." Don kept it short. "Who?"

Bostwick climbed to his feet. "He's still out there! He's trying to kill me! You have to find him!" The researcher looked around frantically. "It's not safe out here! We have to get back!"

"Don?" It was Colby. "Over here, Don."

Not Bostwick. Not Rufus. Don was convinced that his heart took time out for a moment of silence, terrified at what he would see. Later, he would never remember actually crossing the distance to where Colby was covering his brother.

"Charlie?" There was blood. There was a lot of blood. And there was his brother, on the ground, with his eyes closed.

Colby understood. "Not as bad as it looks, Don. It went through his arm, entrance and exit wounds. But he hit his head on the way down."

And head wounds bled like rivers. And sometimes into the skull, where they did lots of damage. Damage that a genius mind like Charlie's shouldn't suffer. Wonderful. Not only have you allowed your brother to get hurt, you've taken a certified genius from the world. Way to go, Eppes. He took Charlie's hand, unable to resist checking for a pulse. There it was, weak but steady. "Charlie?"

"Don?"

Yes! "You're gonna be okay, Charlie. Just lie still. Don't move."

"Don?" His brother blinked, blinked again, wasn't understanding what was going on. He struggled to sit up.

"Lie still," Don urged. "Charlie, you've been hurt. Lie still." He pulled off his jacket, pillowing it under Charlie's head, appalled when his fingers came away with blood. He steeled himself, pulling the emergency medical techniques out from dusty brain cells and checking for that telltale sinking feeling of shattered skull bone. There was none; not that his brother couldn't have a skull fracture, but at least it wasn't obvious. "We'll get you out of here."

"Don…" Charlie was losing the battle to stay awake.

Nogales rode up, reined in her horse, the leads from the other two horses in her hand. "I've called in for a helicopter to fly him to the trauma center, ETA in five. We'll have to get him down to the field. There's no place for the chopper to land here. Can you get him up onto a horse? He doesn't look like he can walk very far."

Don looked around; Sarge was the biggest horse, the best able to bear the weight of two men. "Help me get Charlie up onto Sarge. I'll take him." Control; have to stay in control. I'm still the senior agent here. "Colby, you and Rufus check out the sniper's nest. David, you're with me. I have a partial on the sniper's plates; that's yours as soon as you get back to a computer. Nogales, get Bostwick back to the facility. Make it fast. I don't know where the sniper went to." Think you can keep him safe? he wanted to snarl. Your man shouldn't have been out here in the first place. The sniper wouldn't have shot and missed—again!

He mounted Sarge, keeping the big gelding still with the mere pressure of his knees, reaching down to help haul his brother up onto the saddle. Rufus was the biggest help, his height useful in arranging Charlie onto the saddle in front of Don where Don could keep holding onto his brother. Charlie tried, but was worse than useless; arms and legs refused to obey. He gave up with a groan, falling limply against the older man, and Don tightened his grip. Blood leaking onto my shirt…

Don nodded to Nogales. She had Bostwick back in the saddle, the bodyguard mounted on the other side of the researcher. "Move out," Don commanded, wanting to ask, why haven't you left yet? Trying to give the sniper another crack at him? "David, stick close. Colby, be careful. The sniper might circle back for another crack at Bostwick." Hint, hint.

"Let's go!" the scientist said, alarmed at the thought. "Rosa, we should head back right now!"

"Head down to that field, Eppes," Nogales directed, pointing. "That's where I told the chopper to land. It's flat enough, and large enough, and far enough away from the cattle not to spook them. You," she said, pointing to David, "bring the horses back."

"Right." David wasn't pleased; he wasn't all that experienced with horses. But Colby chimed in, "we'll meet you down where the chopper lands, David. Rufus and I will head back with you as soon as we check out the sniper's nest."

"Got it." That was better.

Charlie sagged against Don's chest, wavering in and out of consciousness, the warmth reassuring to Don that his brother was still alive. Don adjusted his hold, clutching him just that much closer, needing the tactile comfort.

"Don?"

"I've got you, buddy."

"Queing theory," Charlie murmured.

"What's that, buddy?"

"Doesn't fit. Yield's all wrong."

"I'm listening, Charlie." I'm not understanding, but I'm listening. "Tell me about the cue balls. Stay awake and talk to me, buddy." What has pool got to do with this mess, besides us being behind the eight ball on this one?

"Not cue balls. Queing." Charlie fell silent, his head heavy on Don's shoulder.

"Wake up, Charlie. You had a head injury. Stay awake, buddy."

"Mm."

"Wake up, Charlie. Tell me about the cues."

As promised, the chopper was landing as the horses approached the field. David helped wrestle Charlie down from Don's arms and onto the waiting stretcher. A white-shirted paramedic took one look and gave a thumbs' up let's move sign to the pilot. Moments later Don was in the chopper, watching his brother breathe and praying that he would continue to do so. The ground fell away. David and the horses looked awfully tiny.

"Tell me about the cue balls, Charlie."

No response. Not even a correction. Don bit his lip.


Colby was the first to find the casing. It was just one; the sniper had fired a single shot. "Looks the same." He bagged it, using a spare plastic sealable from his pocket. Never know when an extra would come in handy. "I'll have it shipped to L.A. for comparison, but I'm betting that this is the same custom job we found before." He glanced over at Rufus. The younger agent had been very quiet during the trek up to the sniper's nest. "You did good, Rufus. Bostwick is alive."

"Yeah." Could have been me, getting shot. I was part of that group. I was next to Bostwick, too, on the other side. And, "you think he's going to be okay? Dr. Eppes? Charlie, I mean?"

"I hope so." Colby looked out over the slopes. The trees looked inviting once again, now that the terror was gone. "He didn't look too bad." Of course, I'm comparing it to Afghanistan, where men died with their body parts blown to oblivion. Yeah, Charlie didn't look too bad compared to that. He commanded his hands to stop shaking. Hope to hell I don't get nightmares tonight. Those were supposed to have been left behind with my career in the military. "There isn't anything more here. Let's check out where he parked his vehicle."

"Did you see him?"

"Charlie? Yeah, I saw him. I pulled him behind a rock so he wouldn't get shot again." It came out harsher than Colby intended.

Rufus flushed, but continued gamely. "No, I'm talking about Dr. Bostwick."

Colby perked up his ears. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Rufus cast around, looking for the way to say it. "I mean, I don't think he was scared."

"Rufus, the guy was screeching like it was him that got shot."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Rufus's voice trailed off. "It was like he was nervous, but not scared. Not scared of being shot. I know that doesn't make sense, but I don't know how to better explain it." He tried again. "The shot was fired. The security guy and me, we grabbed Bostwick and hit the dirt. David was off his horse in an instant. The only reason you and Chief Nogales weren't is that you two were chasing down Charlie and the horses. The rest of us took cover as fast as we could. But Bostwick wasn't. He was prepared to just keep sitting there. He didn't think he was in any danger."

Colby began to see what Rufus was talking about. "Geniuses don't always think the way normal people do. You've watched Charlie. You can't tell me that he's normal."

"Yeah, but Bostwick was screeching about it."

"Like it was an act."

"Yeah." Rufus gave a weak smile. "You think I'm crazy? I'm seeing things?"

"Nope," Colby decided. "I'm thinking that we need to talk to Don."


"They're keeping him overnight for observation." Don cut off the inevitable questions. "Concussion, a couple of broken ribs, and the bullet went straight through without nicking any bones or major nerves. He'll be sore for a while, but okay. I'll head back tonight to stay with him." You don't know how good it feels to be able to say that.

David nodded in relief, and moved in with his assignment. "I ran down the partial license plate and cross-matched it with SUV's in this region of the state; it's registered with a rental agency in the area, and currently rented to a Joseph Smith."

"Why do I think that's not his real name?" Don grunted. "APB?"

"Better than that. I notified the local force, and they swept the parking lots of all three motels in the area. They located it, and are ready to move in on your order." His smile was grim. "They're looking forward to some action a little more exciting than writing tickets for teens." He cocked his head. "Want to try to make points with Nogales? Invite her to participate?"

Don thought for a moment, thought about how she went after the horses and not Charlie when his brother went down. Thought about how she allowed Bostwick to go out in the open where a sniper could get to him. Thought about how the sniper missed, and took out Don's brother, instead.

His answer was short. "No."


The motel was one level, a string of boxes with beds for people passing through. Looking at the one star place, Don felt a stirring of gratitude that Caldwell had put its own set of apartments at the facility at the FBI's disposal. At least the apartment was clean, if not luxurious.

The SUV that Don had seen sat in front of room 133, the curtains in the window drawn. He had the cars move in one by one, quietly, as if more patrons were pulling up rather than the police forces gathering. He wore a bullet proof vest. The locals' vests were dusty but still serviceable. Don hoped they wouldn't be needed, and knew not to count on it. This man had already murdered once, and attempted a second time. He may have missed his target, but didn't negate the fact that he'd done damage. Some of that damage was lying in a hospital bed right now. The sniper had very little to lose.

Don nodded to David and Colby, stationed to either side of the motel room door. Though the locals were present, Don had taken one look and refused to turn over command. Grumbling, Police Chief Mullen caved in, instructing his people to position themselves in the background, guns ready. Granted, some of those guns were more suited to skeet shooting than crowd control, but Don suspected that at least a couple of the local cops could do considerably better than the broad side of a barn. With one last scan to make certain that everyone was where Don wanted them, David reached out and rapped on the door, careful to keep himself clear of any potential shots. "Open up! FBI!"

A scrambling behind the door, but no shots.

"FBI! Open up!"

Colby slammed the ram into the door lock, shattering it and flinging the door back. Men poured past him into the room, yelling and brandishing guns. The man inside never had a chance.

Don followed them in, immediately spotting the outlines of a heavy case between the double bed and the inevitable table and chair by the curtained window. Eyeing the suspect, he flipped open the case. Inside was a high powered sniper's rifle, scope carefully nestled in its own little compartment. A carton of customized bullets sat next to it.

The sniper threat was ended.

He looked the sniper up and down. "Bring him in," he ordered. Don looked again. One corner of his mouth quirked upward. This was, after all, a motel room. "You can let him put on some pants."


Don sat across the table from the sniper, now identified as Brad Borowski out of Chicago, also wanted in connection for a series of killings in that area. He leaned back; this was one suspect who wasn't going anywhere fast. When California was finished with him, Illinois would be asking for its share.

"Your gun has been positively identified as the one used to murder Dr. Alyse Halligan, and attempted murder on Dr. Charles Eppes." It felt funny saying that, but Don wasn't laughing. His brother was currently sleeping off a concussion in a hospital bed with a hole in his arm put there by the man sitting across the table from him. "I'd start thinking of what I could offer for a deal, if I were you."

"I want my lawyer."

"You already called him, after you picked him out of a phone book. You know how fast he'll get here. But it won't do any good. You're going down, and you know it. The only question is, how far and how long? I'm willing to bet that you didn't select those two people at random to shoot at. Does the name William Bostwick mean anything to you? Barry Stewart, perhaps? Rosa Nogales?" Don leaned forward. "Whatever you're getting paid for this, it won't mean much after fifty years in San Quentin. Cooperation will go a long way toward my putting in a good word for you with the D.A. I want the guy who hired you."

Borowski looked away. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"Your choice." Dead end, for now. A little time to think could change the sniper's mind. Don was willing to wait. He had other leads to follow up now. "Take him back to holding," he instructed the local cop whose jail they'd taken over for the moment. The cop beamed; Don was willing to bet that this was the first murderer the local cop had ever seen. This local bunch was going to make the most out of it, try to prove that they were real lawmen.

He followed up with his team outside of holding.

"Not going to get anywhere with that guy," was David's opinion. "Not fast, anyway."

"I think you're right," Don admitted. "So what have we got?"

"We've got a murderer," Colby said, "who's off the streets. The slopes. Whatever."

"Yeah, but who was pulling his strings? Whoever it was will be getting desperate. Bostwick is still alive. Anybody think it might be Stewart? He's hurting for money. We need leads, people."

"Don, you need to listen to Rufus," Colby suggested.

"Rufus?" Don turned obediently to the younger man.

The younger man flushed. "I'm not sure."

"Not asking for a signed statement, Rufus. What have you got?"

Another flush. "Like I was telling Colby earlier, Dr. Bostwick is hitting a funny note for me. I mean, on the mountain today he was more nervous than scared. And he was nervous before the sniper hit, if you know what I mean."

"Before? When, before?"

"Like right before. He and Charlie were talking about the fields and the cattle."

"I saw them. Charlie was pointing at something."

"He was pointing at the cattle," Rufus said. "He was talking about how the cattle were bunching up."

"Herd instinct," Colby nodded. "Cattle do that. Horses, too."

"But not like that." Don knew that for a fact, had wondered about it as he'd seen it. Albuquerque was modern, but there were plenty of cattle ranches outside on the range. He thought for several long moments. "Rufus, what's cue ball theory?"

"Huh?"

"Cue ball? Cue something? Charlie was trying to tell me something about cues."

"Queing theory?"

"That's it. What is it?"

Rufus lifted his hands in bewilderment. "It has to do with the way people line up. Supermarkets do it with cashiers. You can predict which lines will be heaviest at toll booths; people tend to head left, by the way. Stick to the right, and statistics say you'll get through the toll booth faster." He paused. "Am I sounding like Charlie yet?"

"Pretty close," Don assured him. "How does that match up with yield?"

Rufus frowned. "It doesn't."

"It has to. Charlie was talking about them both, in one breath, before he passed out in the chopper. When he woke up in the hospital, he said it again. And then passed out again."

Rufus was unhappy. "I'm sorry, Don. I don't know what to tell you. They don't have any intrinsic connection. Not unless you want to talk about how many cars you can shove through a toll booth per hour." He tried to think. "Maybe Charlie was talking about how much beef a single cow would yield? But how would queing theory get in there?"

"Maybe he was getting confused," David suggested. "You said he has a concussion."

"Must have been it," Don agreed. It didn't feel right. Charlie had been very insistent through the oxygen mask. Don was willing to admit that nine times out of ten he was clueless as to what Charlie was trying to tell him, but that didn't mean that Charlie didn't know. Or that he wasn't right.

"Wait a minute."

"Rufus?"

"Charlie found some numbers in Dr. Halligan's computer." Rufus got up.

"Rufus?" For Don, that wasn't an explanation.

"I'll be back," Rufus assured Don and the others. "Let me look at those numbers, see how far Charlie got with them." Rufus grinned, his teeth lighting up the room. "I may not be half the mathematician that your brother is, but I can sure try to follow his lead."