Still don't own them, still wish I did, still grateful for ritt's help.

oooooooooooo

Chapter 7
June 5, 2006
4:33 P.M.
Desert Studies Center, Zzyzx, CA

"I remember traffic jams, motor boys and girls with tans, nearly was and almost rans, I remember this…"

Charlie laid his head back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, listening to R.E.M. piping through his earbuds. He had about another half an hour of calm before the team would be meeting up to eat a quick dinner. Then they'd head back out to the test site for one last trial run with the mock-up of the rover before giving the go-ahead to JPL to send the instructions up to Spirit. Yesterday evening, he and Larry had convinced the group of the feasibility of Spirit digging herself out, and after overnight communications with the rover, a likely rock candidate had been discovered. This morning, they had practiced the maneuver they were going to ask the rover to carry out on Mars, and it had worked just fine. Now, Zorbin wanted them to give it one more shot, the dress rehearsal before opening night on the Red Planet.

Conveniently, they'd been out at the site when the FBI team had blazed through early that morning with a captive Dominic Koristet in tow. He'd heard all about it from Wilson, the center's manager, when they returned for lunch. The only message he had passed on from Don was that he would talk to Charlie later. He swallowed nervously just thinking about it.

He suddenly wondered if their rental car was still sitting out there, stuck in a sandbank. Triple A probably didn't cover anything so far off a major highway, he thought glumly, hoping that the insurance Larry had on his own vehicle would cover the costs that were likely to accrue from rescuing the rental.

"Hey Larry," he called, pulling the white cords leading to his ears, cutting off the last chorus.

"Mmm?" The physicist was seated cross-legged on his bed, absorbed in a book.

"Do you think the FBI will need to see the car as evidence?"

Larry looked up and blinked. "The car?"

"The car Dominic stole. The car you rented. They must need it as evidence, right?"

His head tilted to the side, Larry replied, "I'm sure they would, if it were a crime they were trying to prosecute. However, I'm not sure of the protocol involved when the alleged perpetrator can't be brought to trial."

Charlie sighed returned his gaze to the ceiling. "I was hoping they'd have to be the ones to figure out how to get it back to L.A."

Larry chuckled. "Surely the same principle that worked for our little Martian colleague will work for an automobile." He reached down and knocked on the wooden frame of the bed. "That is, the principle that worked on the model and has yet to be tested on the real thing."

Charlie felt the corners of his mouth turning up. "Superstitious, are we?"

The physicist spread his hands wide, moving one back quickly to catch the pages of the book as they threatened to close together over where he'd been reading. "The gods are capricious, Charles. A little ritual action never hurt anyone."

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," he called, looking at his watch. It was a little earlier than Harold had said he would be by, but maybe they were in a hurry to run the final tests.

But instead of Harold Zorbin, it was Wilson Terrell who entered the room. Behind him in the hallway were two men in suits, standing tall and silent. "Charlie, Larry," Wilson began. "Do you have a minute?"

Charlie swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up abruptly, his stomach sinking. "Is something wrong?" he asked, his mind suddenly filled with thoughts of his brother. In his nightmares, Megan or David or Colby were the ones to come by if something had happened to Don, but the two men in the hallway were clearly federal agents of one stripe or another.

"Nothing's wrong, we'd just like to ask you a few questions." The taller, sandy-haired man spoke in a deep baritone. "With regards to the investigation of Dominic Koristet."

"You gentlemen are with the FBI?" Larry asked, rising to his feet.

"Homeland Security." The first man removed a badge from his coat pocket and held it up, followed by the shorter, dark-haired man. "We understand Koristet was in possession of your vehicle?"

Charlie looked at Larry, who shrugged. Don hadn't said anything about Homeland Security being involved with this case, but then Don hadn't said much of anything to him since finding out they had ever-so-briefly harbored a fugitive. "That's right, but it was our understanding that the FBI was handling the case."

The shorter man spoke up. "There are a few developments that have caught our attention. The FBI hasn't mentioned our interest in this case?"

"No, not at all," Larry answered while shaking his head.

The two men exchanged a glance, the blond raising an eyebrow. Then he said, "My name is Drew Novak, and this is Michael Valenta. We've seen the report on the incident out on the highway, and the carjacking that occurred here, but there are a few details that we need to clarify, if you can spare the time."

Charlie looked at Larry, who gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Sure, we can do that," he answered, wondering exactly what was in that report they were talking about and how he could describe what had happened without getting the two of them in further trouble.

Wilson excused himself to go back to the main office, and Novak and Valenta entered the room to perch on the wooden chairs next to the desks. Novak had a shock of blond hair that kept falling over his forehead, and he pushed it aside as he said, "Can you tell us what Koristet was carrying when you first saw him?"

"Nothing but the clothes he was wearing," Charlie replied. "Well, that and the gun, but we didn't know about that until later."

"What kind of gun?" Valenta asked. He was regarding them more intently than Novak, and Charlie figured he was supposed to be Bad Cop.

Charlie shook his head slightly and lifted his hands, palms up. "A black one." When the DHS agents exchanged exasperated looks, he went on, "Look, it's not like I know a lot about guns. All I know is that my brother carries a .22, and it wasn't one of those."

"Your brother?" Michael Valenta asked sharply. "He's in law enforcement?"

"Yeah," Charlie answered slowly, lowering his hands to rest on his thighs and looking more closely at the two agents. Their surname was unusual enough that it was bound to register with anyone who had encountered both him and Don within a relatively short time period. "He's the FBI agent in charge of this case. You mean you haven't spoken to him?"

The two men exchanged glances, holding a silent conversation, and Novak spoke first. "We've…had a little difficulty getting a hold of the agent in charge. We didn't realize you were related to him."

"Pure coincidence, as it happens," Larry interjected, rubbing his chin. "May I inquire as to the nature of your interest in this investigation?"

"I'm afraid that's classified," Novak replied smoothly. "I'm sure you understand the importance of keeping matters of national security as confidential as possible."

"We both have fairly high clearance from the consulting work we've done over the years," Charlie retorted. "You might be surprised at how confidential we can be."

"That's good, because we're trusting you not to share this conversation with anyone," Valenta said as he bent forward, leaning his forearms on the tops of his thighs. "Including your brother."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "He's the agent in charge. Of course we'd be sharing this conversation with him if he asked about it."

Novak took a deep breath. "Mr. Eppes—"

"That's Dr. Eppes, actually," Charlie shot back.

The corner of Drew's mouth quirked up. "Dr. Eppes. Trust us, we will do all of the necessary coordination with our fellow agencies. However, this is a highly sensitive investigation, and the fewer people who know the details, the better. With that in mind, can you tell us anything more about what Koristet was carrying with him?"

"I already told you, he wasn't carrying anything," Charlie replied.

"Except the gun that you didn't notice," Valenta retorted. "Was there anything else that he might have been initially carrying that you didn't see until later?"

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

Novak turned to look at Larry. "Dr. Fleinhardt, did you see anything that your colleague might have missed?"

Larry's gaze was focused on the other agent, but he looked over at the sound of his name. "I'm afraid I can offer you no additional information, gentlemen."

"I see." Novak leaned back against the beat-up desk and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "How long was Koristet in here by himself?"

His arms still folded, Charlie looked over at Larry. "What would you say, about four hours in the morning?"

Larry looked up at the ceiling, ticking something off on his fingers. "More like five, I would say."

"And you're confident he was here that entire time?" Novak asked.

"Where else would he go?" Charlie asked, exasperated. These questions weren't getting at anything he hadn't already told Don, and if these two hadn't bothered to contact the head investigator on the case, he wasn't going to waste his time repeating information. "He didn't have keys to any of the vehicles outside, he didn't want anyone to know he was here, and there's nowhere to go on foot besides the freeway. Besides, he was afraid of anyone seeing him."

"Who was he afraid of?" Valenta asked, his dark eyes intent on Charlie.

Charlie shrugged one shoulder. "He never said. Presumably you or the FBI, if he was running from the law."

Valenta gave a thoughtful nod. "But he was here long enough to hide something in this room, or elsewhere in the compound?"

"To hide what?" Larry asked, his brow furrowed.

The look the two agents gave him made it clear they weren't going to answer, and Larry held up his hands in acknowledgment. "All right, but look around you. This is a small room, with spartan furnishings, and neither of us has noticed anything out of the ordinary since young Dominic was here. If he was carrying some contraband, he took it with him when he left."

"So you wouldn't mind if we took a quick look to verify that?"

"Actually, yes, we would." Charlie rose to his feet, pointedly looking at his watch. "We're due at dinner, and we have a very important scientific test to run later this evening. If you gentlemen were to come back with a search warrant, we'd be glad to let you take a look, but until then, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave."

"Charles—" Larry began, but he stopped when Drew Novak abruptly stood up, his six-foot frame filling the space in front of the doorway. "In matters of homeland security, Dr. Eppes, a search warrant is not required if there is an immediate threat to this nation," he said in a low tone.

Charlie stood as tall as he could, keeping his voice firm as he replied, "You've given us no indication that this nation's security is at risk from a simple carjacker. I've read the Patriot Act in its entirety, and I know what rights I still have left. So this interview is over."

Novak's pale blue eyes turned hard as he stared at Charlie. "You may well regret you said that, Dr. Eppes."

He shrugged his shoulders, but didn't move, feeling the weight of the stares of the three other men in the room as he glared back at the DHS agent. Finally, Novak took a step back and relaxed his stance. Only then did Charlie's gaze flicker down to Valenta, and he was astonished to see his right hand resting on his hip, as if he had been about to draw a weapon. The sudden flash of fear he felt must have been visible, for Valenta raised his eyebrows a fraction as if to say, "See?" before he rose to his feet as well. "We'll be in touch," was all he said as he reached for the doorknob. Novak said nothing at all as the two of them swept out of the room.

For the second time in as many days, Charlie found himself dropping down onto the bed with legs that wouldn't quite bear his weight any longer. "Was that all right, Larry?" he asked quietly, raising his head to look at his friend.

Larry was standing there with his hand on top of his head, as if he were trying to prevent his cranium from flying away. "Charles, I have no qualms about the intentions behind your words, although I'm not sure that vexing two agents from the Department of Homeland Security is necessarily a wise career move on top of your current difficulties with your brother."

He waved his hand in the air. "I'm not worried about that," he said, the unspoken "Don will take care of me" lingering in the air, as he hoped that he was right. "It's just…I don't know, something about them didn't feel right. It really bugged me."

"Well, perhaps you've become too accustomed to dealing with federal agents who know you personally and show you a certain amount of deference."

He looked up, startled. "Deference? Do you really think so?"

Larry gave a faint scowl. "I don't mean they think more highly of you than they ought, I mean there's a more equivocal power relation than was just expressed in this room. The FBI gives you information, you give them an analysis. These men were simply taking information, not giving any in return, and a few ruffled feathers are to be expected after such an encounter."

He pursed his lips. "So I should have let them search the room."

"No, now you're putting words in my mouth. I think your actions were entirely appropriate, and I would have done the same had you not spoken first."

"Huh." He thought about it for a moment. "Okay, then, shall we go to dinner?"

Larry extended an arm. "After you, Dr. Eppes."

He quirked up the corner of his mouth as he led the way out of the room. Once they were both in the hallway, he was careful to lock the door behind him and give it a good tug to make sure it was securely shut.

After dinner, before they drove out to the site for the dress rehearsal with the Spirit mock-up, he made a quick excuse and went back to the room just to check the door was locked. And as they went through the test of the rover, giving the commands to the little machine to pick up a rock, slide it as close to its treads as possible, and inch its way forward out of its sand trap, he kept having to divert his mind from thoughts of the door. It was like going on vacation and not remembering if you had unplugged the iron or not, except he could very clearly picture in his mind turning the knob and feeling the door stay firmly in place. Finally, exasperatedly, he told himself to quit worrying and concentrate on what he was doing after one too many comments from Harold Zorbin about his wool-gathering when he was supposed to be working.

The rover prototype worked its way out of its rock-and-a-soft-place conundrum as neatly as could be, and they all heaved a sigh of relief. Tonight, they'd send the final set of commands to JPL, where the scientists in charge of the Mars rover missions would then upload the instructions to Spirit, thirty-five million miles away across the vastness of space. By tomorrow afternoon, they'd know if they were successful, or if the rover was still immobile on the cold, barren surface of Mars. He crossed his fingers as they climbed back in the Jeep for the nighttime trek back to the Desert Studies Center. If this worked, he thought with no small amusement, they'd actually have Dominic Koristet to thank for inspiring the idea that led to the successful solution.

He shared that thought with Larry after they had climbed out of the Jeep and said goodnight to the rest of the team. The physicist gave a small chuckle. "Like a butterfly flapping its wings, indeed. To think of an accused kidnapper being responsible for the insight that enables the further exploration of Mars…the universe is mysterious, my friend."

Charlie opened the door to the dormitory and started inside, Larry close behind. When he approached the door to their room, he stopped in his tracks. "Speaking of mysterious," he said in an undertone, pointing.

The door was ajar. The door that he had double-checked mentally and physically was standing slightly open, the dark room behind sending a silent message that his double-checking had either all been in his head, or was all for naught.

His finger still extended towards the door, he said in a low undertone, "I know that was shut. I know that was locked." He started forward, only to have Larry grab his arm and hiss, "Charles!" He paused with his hand six inches from the door, about to push it open, when he froze at Larry's word. What was he thinking? If the DHS agents had come back with a warrant, he stood a good chance of surprising two armed men at close quarters, which, having observed his brother's quick reflexes on more than one occasion, was a very bad idea.

So he came around to the side of the door closest to the hinges, and slowly, carefully, pushed it open, holding his breath as he did so. Larry peered over his shoulder as the light from the hallway gradually illuminated the room.

It was a disaster zone. He let out his breath sharply as the sight became apparent, and then he took a step forward and snapped on the light. The room was empty of people, but their belongings were strewn about the furniture and onto the floor, with one mattress upended and another slumped half off its frame onto the floor. The desk and dresser drawers were all pulled out, the curtains were askew, and the chairs were lying on the floor, half-covered with clothing and papers.

He exchanged a shocked look with Larry, whose palms were covering his cheeks as his mouth formed a perfect "O." The physicist shook his head back and forth. "This is not acceptable, Charlie. This is not acceptable at all."

Charlie grimly turned on his heel and marched away, towards the main office and the telephone. He was going to get some answers, from DHS or from Don or from whoever else could tell him who those men were and why they had committed breaking-and-entering and carried out an illegal search of their room. Something was going on here, something more than an attempted kidnapping and carjacking, and now he was determined to find out what it was.