Disclaimer and beta thanks in Part 1.

Sorry for making you wait a few extra days. Hope this chapter makes up for it...

oooooooooooooo

Chapter 12
Saturday, November 26, 2005
10:15 P.M.
Eppes house

Fifteen minutes later, Don was getting desperate. Their captors were closely following them up and down the stairs as they each carried one box at a time from the attic to the gray SUV that sat in the driveway behind Don's Suburban. He'd figured out what his father was up to, saying there were more files than there really were, and he appreciated the extra time it gave them. But so far, he hadn't been able to take advantage of it.

He slid the box he was carrying into the back of the vehicle, and slowly stood up. Andina was standing a few feet away, as he had been the entire time. Just out of reach. "Come on," the man said, gesturing with his gun. "Move it."

He gave the other man a glare and started towards the house again, listening intently to the footsteps behind him. They were just far enough away that he couldn't make a move on him, but not so far that he could dodge him at some crucial spot like the front doorway. Andina had his gun, and although he didn't know exactly where it was, he figured the other man had tucked it into his waistband after taking it out of Don's hand. He pursed his lips as he thought. It wasn't likely that he'd be able to get behind the man to grab it, but maybe there was something else he could do.

As they entered the house for the third time, he felt Andina grab his arm and pull him off to the side. Alan was coming down the stairs with another box in his hand, Mott right behind him. Their captors obviously didn't want the two of them getting too close to each other. They didn't have much to worry about; he wasn't likely to try anything when they were both being watched so closely.

He caught Alan's eye as he took the last few steps. His mouth was set in a grim line, and he looked older than he had just a few minutes ago. Don wanted to give him some kind of reassurance, but he wasn't sure he had any to give. He settled for a querying look meant to ask if he was okay. Alan gave a small nod in response, his eyes flickering to the man behind Don as he did so.

"Come on, move it." Mott gave Alan a slight shove, and if he hadn't already left the bottom step, his stumble forward might have sent him tumbling downwards.

"Hey, watch it," Don snapped, glaring at the taller man looming over his father from the last stair.

Mott said nothing, but gave him a knowing look. 'You and I both know,' the look said, 'that neither you nor your father are going to walk out of here when you're done. So it doesn't matter how I treat him.' Aloud he said, "Only five more boxes, Eppes."

Don grimaced. 'Great,' he thought, 'remind the goon behind me that I'm running out of opportunities and that I'm more likely to try something. Thank you so much.'

Alan moved past, followed closely by Mott, who shut the front door behind them. Don had been half-hoping one of the neighbors would have their curiosity aroused by all the activity so late at night, but half-hoping that no one else would get dragged into this. It was bad enough that his father was there. He set his jaw as he realized that Alan would have been in this situation no matter what. If Don hadn't come over to return those boxes, the two sleeper terrorists would have quickly found that Alan didn't have any of the information they were after. He didn't want to think about what would have happened next. Especially considering that it might still happen.

He was prodded up the stairs again, his mind racing. If he could accurately gauge how far behind him Andina was, one well-placed kick would have the gun out of his hands and him falling back down the steps. One not-so-well-placed kick, and he'd probably get a bullet somewhere he didn't want it. He suddenly realized how used to wearing his vest he was. Rarely was he in a potentially violent situation that wasn't carefully planned ahead of time, or at least offered enough advance warning that he could suit up. Maybe he'd gotten too used to the security of that vest. It had saved his life a number of times, and he certainly wouldn't refrain from using one, given the opportunity. It just made for one more thing to remember in his current situation: he wasn't as invincible as he would like to think.

Up in the attic, Andina stood well back as Don picked up another box. He'd entertained the hope that the other man would stay on the stairwell, so that he could make a sudden lunge with the box as a shield. No such luck. Surely the other man realized, too, that his options were running out, and that he knew what was likely to happen after they finished loading the materials in the SUV outside.

Suddenly a thought struck him. "What are you going to do with these?" he asked, hefting the box in his grip. He'd carried two of them at a time up the stairs earlier this evening, but damned if he was going to do this any faster than he had to. "You don't have the program that was used to analyze them, and you sure aren't getting it from the FBI."

"We have our ways," the other man said, forcing him towards the stairway. "You don't think we're the only ones, do you?"

He'd been afraid of that. Their investigation hadn't turned up anyone else connected to these two, but they had figured that a cell of only two, even with reinforcements from abroad, was unlikely. "Here in L.A., yes."

"California's a big state," the other man replied.

Don grimaced. They'd been afraid of that. The odds of there being more than one sleeper cell within L.A. hadn't been that high, according to Charlie, but it was highly more likely that they would have accomplices somewhere to the north or south. "Lots of environmental groups out there, huh? How many of them are going to come off as eco-terrorists?"

"Not your concern," Andina replied as they descended the stairway again.

This time, it was Alan and Mott who waited well back in the dining room as Don and his captor went by. Alan's face was even more grim now; he knew as well as Don did that they were running out of time. And with the files being loaded into the vehicle outside, it wasn't just the two of them who were running out of options, it was all of the people who were being put at risk by these two men getting a hold of those files.

Fifteen minutes ago, after being outflanked in his own house, he had tried to tell his father not to give in. He knew why these men wanted the information they did, and he was prepared to sacrifice his own life to make sure that didn't happen. It was a decision he had only been faced with a few times in his career, most recently when confronting a saboteur in a railyard in Ontario with a bomb strapped to his chest. His training had taken over then, and it had taken over in the house, too. His one life wasn't worth that of the many he was trying to save, and he wished he had been able to tell Alan that.

He refused to answer the question that instantly sprang to mind: if it was his father standing there with a gun to his head, would he be prepared to sacrifice him for the greater good?

They went back outside, the chirping of crickets the only sound in the still night. It was a rare cloudy night, and combined with the low-wattage streetlights Alan had gotten the city to put in a few years ago to cut down on light emissions, it was actually quite dark outside. He hoped Charlie would stay at his office, or wherever the hell he was, for a while longer. He certainly didn't need his little brother walking in on what was going on here. It was going to be tricky enough to get himself and Alan out of this intact.

Don could hear a car approaching on the cross street a few houses down. It rolled to a stop at the corner, then began to turn towards them. He automatically dropped his gaze to the ground, a practiced habit that helped him keep his night vision intact in preparation for the headlights that would soon be sweeping across his field of vision. Sure enough, in a few seconds, he caught the flash of light out of the corner of his eye.

He heard "What the—" come from behind him. Instantly, he realized that Andina hadn't anticipated the headlights swinging this way, hadn't looked away from the bright beams, and hadn't realized that he had just handed Don the best opportunity he was going to have.

Without hesitating, he whirled to his left, away from the bright beams that were distracting his captor. In the same motion, he brought the box that he'd been carrying sharply up in front of him, using it first as a shield in case Andina fired and then as a battering ram, slamming it into the other man's gun hand and sending the weapon flying out across the lawn.

Andina let out a startled cry, but recovered quickly, bringing up his left fist in a blow that caught Don, his arms still full with the box of files, directly under the jaw. He staggered backwards, the added weight of the files nearly dumping him on his rear. Catching his balance, he hurled the box at Andina and was gratified to see it strike him in the chest, forcing him to take a step back as papers burst forth and fluttered over the lawn like white birds.

Pressing his advantage, Don leaned forward into a combination of a right hook and left cross, calling on all the frustration and anger pent up inside of him. Andina dropped to the ground like a sack of flour. He bent over and grabbed the man's shirt front, lifting his head off the grass and cocking a fist. But Andina's head lolled backwards, his eyes closed.

Don let out a short, relieved breath as he rolled the man onto his stomach and found his own gun tucked into his waistband. He snatched it back, then reached behind him for the handcuffs that were still fastened to his belt. Dragging Andina a few steps towards the driveway, he closed one cuff over the man's wrist and the other over the handle of his SUV. Then he checked the clip on his weapon and moved quietly towards the house, hoping that the two men still inside were unaware of what had just happened.

As he eased up the stairs and through the front door, he realized with a sinking heart that he wasn't going to be so lucky.

The door hadn't closed behind them, and even from within the dining room, the scattered papers on the lawn would be a clear giveaway that something had happened. Standing in the middle of the foyer, silhouetted against the light from the dining room behind him, stood his father, a stack of loose file folders in his hands. Right behind him was Ryan Mott. All that Don could see of the shorter gunman was his right arm, bent at the elbow from where he was pressing his gun in to Alan's side, and his head just behind his father's. The rest of him was completely shielded.

"Agent Eppes," the man said grimly as Don took a step into the house. "We heard the commotion. I take it Zeke wasn't able to keep you under control."

"It's over, Mott," Don said, rising from his crouch to stand in the classic two-armed stance, weapon steadily held out in front of him. "The police are on their way. And there's no way I'm going to let you walk out of here with those files."

"Oh, you'll let me go by," the man growled, "or I'll pull this trigger. You know that I will."

He knew all too well that that was a strong possibility. But keeping his voice steady, he repeated, "I will not let you walk out of here." His gaze flickered to his father's for just a second, and he got the slightest of nods. He thought he saw understanding and even a little bit of approval in his expression, and realized that his father had in fact been stalling for time with the extra boxes, trusting that he would be able to come to the rescue.

Although right now, he was wondering if that trust had been misplaced.

The gun moved to Alan's temple, and Don's jaw tightened. "Last chance, Eppes. Let me go, or you're out a family member."

By moving his arm up, Mott had exposed more of his side. Don kept his aim steady on the man's head, but he started calculating just how much he would have to move that aim downwards in order to disable the man with a shot to his side. If he moved quickly enough, and was able to signal to Alan what he was doing, he should be able to take the suspect down without harming his hostage.

Try as he might, though, he couldn't think of his father as just another hostage.

Then there was a loud click as the gunman released the safety on his pistol, and Don forgot to breathe. He didn't need his brother there to tell him that their odds of success had just gone way down. He started wondering how, if he laid down his gun, he would have any hope of getting it back. Or, if he pulled the trigger now, would that be enough to set off the other man's gun?

Then he heard his father take a deep breath, and he shifted his gaze to his. Alan was looking at him intently, and when he saw he had his attention, he said in a quiet, firm voice, "You do what you have to." Don appreciated the vote of confidence, but it wasn't really giving him any ideas about what to do next.

Then his heart leapt into his throat as he suddenly realized that he wasn't the one his father was expecting to take action. The brief closing of Alan's eyes, coupled with an indrawn breath, were the only warnings he had.

Then Alan slumped in his captor's grip, as if he had suddenly gone unconscious. His weight was too much for Mott to handle, and he staggered backward slightly, his gun moving away from Alan's direction. As Alan collapsed into a heap in front of him, he left the gunman completely exposed, apparently just as he had intended.

But Don didn't have time to admire his father's tactics. Mott was looking up at him, both men realizing how drastically the situation had just changed. With his father out of the line of fire, Don's confidence was restored. "Drop your weapon," he commanded. "It's over."

Somehow, he knew the other man would not obey, and he steeled himself to shoot his shoulder or arm as a deterrent. But Mott moved faster than he would have expected, raising his arm to take aim at Don with a snarl on his face. Taken off guard, Don wasn't able to duck out of the way before pulling his trigger in self-defense.

Two gunshots echoed through the house.

They were instantly followed by two cries of pain, then Alan's voice from the floor shouting, "No, Don!"

Then there was the slow double thud of two bodies hitting the ground.

Then there was silence.