A/N: I shall endeavor to continue, although I received ABSOLUTELY NO reviews of Ch. 6, and it is difficult to write, my heart being broken and all…
ALSO: All names are fictional. This is fiction. This is made-up stuff. Please don't hurt me.
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Chapter 7
Don reached for the file Colby was handing to him. "I don't see any connection," the other agent said tiredly. "Maybe if you looked…"
"We're all tired, Colby. We've been here since 7 yesterday morning — going on 30 hours. My eyes are no better than yours, but I'll try. If this is the guy Melvin ID'd, then he should cross-reference with an ongoing…or at least recent…investigation."
"So you saw Charlie this morning? Maybe another eyewitness account will help. He is more observant that the average animal."
Don crossed his arms, the file trapped next to his side. "I don't think we'll get much from Charlie."
Megan paused at her desk and looked over at them. "Why not?"
"He still hasn't regained consciousness. He should have awakened during the night, I thought when I went to see him…" Don looked at his watch. "…almost four hours ago, I could write the time off as a victim interview. He wasn't out of it yet, and neither my Dad or the hospital have called, so I guess he's still not."
Megan and David both stood and joined Don at Colby's desk.
"You don't need to worry about 'writing off' the time you spend with Charlie," assured David. "Everybody here understands. I'm surprised you can function here at all, especially if a problem has developed with Charlie." He snorted mildly. "Although I probably shouldn't be. Don Eppes is the only man I know who can successfully be two places at one time."
"Do they know why he's taking so long to come out of it?"
"No, Megan. They were doing a CT scan when I got there, and it was okay. I guess they're probably doing an MRI now, but…we can create humans outside the body, we can interchange our parts with each other, why can't we just wake up one math professor?"
Don was interrupted when the telephone on his desk rang. He quickly crossed the distance. "Eppes. Absolutely. I'll be right there." He replaced he receiver and looked at his team. "Merrick wants to see me."
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Alan wearily let himself in the kitchen door.
Charlie was never home at 1 in the afternoon — why did it feel so much emptier, today?
He tossed his keys on the counter and headed for the stairs. A shower, a short nap. He had told Larry he would be back by 5.
He paused when he saw movement on the table, and leaned over to take a closer look.
Don's birthday cake, the one that had seemed so important 24 hours ago…there was a steady stream of ants from the door, over the tile, up the table, into the cake.
Part of him knew that he wasn't crying over a cake that resembled a lopsided baseball mitt.
Part of him knew, as he savagely stamped at the trail on the floor, and opened the kitchen door again so that he could throw the cake away, part of him knew he probably shouldn't be swearing.
He tried to control his breathing, as he sprayed a bleach solution on the trail, and watched ants die in their disgusting little tracks.
He wasn't sure anymore if he was sobbing or hiccupping, as he used an entire roll of paper towels, on the table, and the floor.
He wasn't sure anymore of anything.
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When Don reached the Director's office, he was granted immediate admittance, and surprised to see several other senior agents there already. He took a seat, and they all waited in silence, until one more showed up. The Director stood.
"Homeland Security and the NSA will be taking over the investigation of yesterday's shooting," he began, raising his hands at the murmurs. "We received this half an hour ago." He flipped on a projector, and they all looked at the screen set up against one wall.
"American infidels must learn that there is no haven for them. The corruptness of those intended to protect them leads to their own destruction. This exercise has been a demonstration. We used restraint in our efforts, as we easily could have duplicated or exceeded the events of your previous punishments. Americans do not deserve our mercy."
The agents turned shocked eyes toward the Director.
"This communication was received when Mazar-e Sharif Herat stepped onto the tarmac at LAX, from one of the hangars, removed a small caliber handgun from his coat pocket and shot himself in the head. Until this letter was found affixed to the front of his mechanic's jumpsuit, he had no known terrorist cell connections. He was, in fact, an employee of several years."
"How did he get a gun into the hangar?"
"Maybe the letter is a fake."
Merrick again held up his hand to stop the agents' speculation. "The gun is homemade, apparently brought into the hangar in pieces over the last several days, and assembled by Herat this morning. At the precise moment that he killed himself, intel in Washington received the following:" Merrick forwarded the projector to a new slide.
"Mazar-e Sharif Herat, a martyr among infidels. Long live the martyr."
Everyone recognized the source, and there were several minutes of silence in the room.
"We were actually hit by terrorists," someone whispered. "This wasn't related to a case at all."
The Director sat heavily in his chair. "Agents from Homeland and the NSA will be here within the hour. Have your people turn over everything they have. Each team leader will debrief with one of their agents." He looked at his watch. "Then, send everybody home for the remainder of the day. I regret that I cannot offer any time beyond that. We're short several agents, as you know, and cases are already starting to backlog. Everybody's back tomorrow morning." He looked into the face of each agent in the room. "There will be mandatory meetings with our medical personnel, for everyone still alive in this building — myself included — conducted over the next several weeks. Dismissed."
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Amita enterted Charlie's hospital room quietly, stepped up behind Larry and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Oh!" his book slid to the floor. "Amita! I seem to have become somewhat distracted. Is it 4 already?"
She smiled. "Just about." Her eyes wandered to Charlie. "He's so still. I've never seen him so still."
Larry frowned, standing. "Quite. I must confess, I feel rather foolish talking to him, but Alan requested that we do."
"I'm…I'm not sure what to say."
"In what regard?"
Amita glanced back at Larry. "Last time we really spoke, a few days ago, I told him that I had met someone at that physics conference I attended last month. We've been e-mailing, and speaking on the telephone…cyber dating. I thought it was only fair to tell Charlie."
Larry pressed his fingers to his lips. "Did this conversation end badly?"
"Well…well no, not really. I mean, we only had one date, Charlie and I, he said he understood…"
"Then I wouldn't dwell on it, dear. You and Charles have been good friends for years. I'm sure one date won't change that."
She smiled. "You're right, of course." She looked back at Charlie, and her smile faded.
"I still don't know what to say."
