A/N: All names are fictitious. (Actually, this entire story is fictitious.) …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Chapter 6

Colby looked at Megan. "It was the book?"

"Right. The digital scan popped up 'Tracy Adipose', and a run on her name showed she's the sister of Ben Adipose, a senior staffer in the Director's office at Homeland Security. She probably didn't even know what she was passing. She and Jillian Rampart, Senator Stans' nanny, crossed paths in the park once a week. Rampart gave a book to Adipose, who then passed it on to her brother. That's how the two communicated, and how Director Wilkins got the account numbers for the 9/11 reparations to Stans."

David shook his head. "Yeah, I see that. What I don't get is the code."

"We've got Amita to thank for that," said Don. "Well, and Charlie. It was his existing logorithm, developed for…" he checked his notes… "'Gematrical and Sequential Values As Applied to Hebrew, Greek and Arabic'…" he looked up. "Geez. Anyway, Amita was able to access and run that on the computer in his office, and detected the pattern."

"I'm still confused, here," Colby admitted. "How did she even know which program to run?"

Megan handed him a file. "There are copies in there of pages from the book. Certain page numbers were circled, and Amita ran what she called 'a few simple patterns' to determine that '7', for example, indicated the seventh letter of main text on that page. When she finally put them all together, she recognized Arabic in one of the patterns, so she started with that one. She ran those words through Charlie's computer."

"And that was it?"

"With a twist," answered Don. "We thought we were on the wrong track, because neither Gematrical or sequential values cross-referenced with the data we already had. Then Amita got an idea, and added both values together That was it. The 9/11 reparation account missing 1.2 billion. So far."

"So why aren't we in the box with Stans and Wilkins?" asked David.

Don grimaced. "Merrick is. There's another whole team for interrogation, all with security levels much higher than ours. Turns out we were just the gophers on this."

All four agents let that digest for a while.

"So I have two more questions," Colby finally said. The others looked at him expectantly. "First, looks like we're through with overtime. Anybody up for pizza and beer?"

"Way ahead of you, Granger." Don dropped a stack of files on his desk. "But pizza only, and it's coming here. We've got paperwork." He held up a hand when Colby started to protest. "You and Sinclair have it easy. Megan and I are the ones who lost the coin toss and got the 4-year-old, remember?"

David held out his hand. "We're a team. Everybody helps, everybody stays on this one. Especially if there's pizza coming."

Megan started to turn toward her desk. "Wait, Colby, you said you had two questions."

Colby was looking down at the file he still held, the one Megan had handed him earlier. "Yeah. Listen, guys," he looked up, from face to face. "Does anybody know what the hell 'Gematrical' means?"

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Charlie sat at the table under the window. His father was across the street in a restaurant, having dinner, but Charlie had begged off again. He promised to try and eat whatever his Dad brought back for him, but the thought of all that food together in one place, amalgamating smells…he thought it might make him vomit, and he'd done that three times today already. Only once that Alan had witnessed, as soon as he got out of bed this morning. Alan had gone downstairs to get the rented car the second time, about an hour later, and Charlie had fought all day to keep it from happening again. His father was worried enough as it was. As soon as Alan left for dinner, though, describing various meals as he went, trying to get Charlie to say what he preferred…well, the door closed behind Alan, and Charlie barely got to the bathroom.

He had a headache, too. He rubbed his eyes. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. He would dream of nights on the river. He would remember the touch of Jenna's hand as she turned his face last Spring, to get a look at his black eye. He saw Sam throwing wood on the fire, laughing at Charlie's yard sale tent.

He started. The phone was ringing. How long had the phone been ringing? Wearily, he pushed himself up and walked to the table between the beds. He lifted the receiver and sank down on one.

"Yes?"

"Charlie! Hey, it's me."

Charlie's voice sounded distracted. "Right. How are you, Don? Do you need something for the case?"

"No, no, Amita helped us today. She did a great job. That's why I'm calling, actually, all we have left on this one is the paperwork, and we're all staying late tonight to get the bulk of that out of the way."

"You're still at work?" Charlie looked at his watch. It was after 8 o'clock.

"Yeah, I'm just taking a break, walking around a little. I was thinking I should be able to pick you guys up at the airport tomorrow. You won't be in until afternoon, right? I think Dad said something about another layover in San Francisco."

"I…we'll…is tomorrow Friday?"

Don stopped walking. "Yeah, Charlie. Listen, I'll ask Dad about the airport, he probably has all the information. He made the reservations."

"Okay. He's not here right now. Went out to dinner."

Don looked up at the light fixtures. "I'll call his cell. Charlie? How ya doin'?"

The answer was too fast, too rote. "I'm all right."

Don was at a loss. "You're eating? Sleeping?"

He was relieved to hear a dry chuckle. "Not at the same time, no."

Don smiled into his cell phone. "Separately, then."

"Some," Charlie admitted. "Not much. Of either."

"Just hang in there, Buddy. You'll be home tomorrow night."

Charlie looked back to the table under the window, at the two small plastic boxes that lay there. "Right." He stood up. "Don, I'm tired. Thanks for calling." Without waiting for an answer, he hung up the phone, and walked back to the table. He reached out with one hand, lightly touched first one, then the other.

Is this all there was, then?

All the years, all the months, all the days, all the hours, all the numbers… is this what they were reduced to?

He never thought it would all come to this.

He never thought it would all come to this.

He never thought it would all come to this.

He wandered back to a bed, turning lights off on the way, huddled under the covers in a fetal position.

If he thought he was sleeping, his father wouldn't wake him up to make him eat.