It was hot, Charlie decided. The desert sun had beaten the sand into submission, and now the sequestered heat was beginning to rise again from the silt to bake him and the others from both above and below. A lone saguaro cactus stood off in the distance like a sentinel, not even a single roadrunner to keep it company. Everything sensible had taken refuge underground in the dirt or inside with air-conditioning.

'Tis a far, far better thing that I do. Who wrote that? Charlie wondered. Dickens? Chaucer? As good as he was in math, Charlie had struggled with English, and had rejoiced when he discovered spell check. No matter; it fits. For there was no sign of Don, no white knight on a steed coming to his rescue, no cavalry coming over the sand dunes. There was only Scarface and his two buddies, escorting the reluctant Dr. Eppes to the location that he'd identified. What happened to terrorist number four? Charlie couldn't remember seeing him, wondered if the man had been sent to decide on an appropriate spot to set up a nuclear explosion. L.A. really didn't have much that would affect the rest of the country. Even a good deal of the locals, stoned on pot, would just watch and say, "whoa, duuude." Others would exclaim, "Dios mio". And those of the tree-hugging persuasion would start plans for a protest over the quantity of additional smog that had just been generated and added to the semi-breathable air. Didn't anybody care about radioactivity? Larry would. Would have, Charlie corrected himself. Gotta use the correct tense, make Larry proud of me when I next see him in the afterlife. It will be soon, my friend.

Charlie wouldn't be around to hear those environmental protests. With luck, the end would be quick. He hadn't a clue how big the booby trap would be, but he was going to do his best to make certain that all three of the terrorists were caught in the blast. And if that meant that the world would have to be satisfied with the Eppes Convergence as the major overt example of Charlie's work, then so be it. There would be a few heads somewhere who knew that another contribution was the removal of a nuclear threat. That would have to do, given the circumstances. I hope they let Dad know that. It would be nice.

Scarface dragged him out of the car, hands tied behind him, keeping a warning hand on his arm so that Charlie couldn't run away. Scarface looked around. "Over beyond that sand dune," he decided. "We're looking for a cave that the uranium is in. Something with a gate or a door. Abdu, go ahead of us."

It wasn't far off of the road. Scarface tugged at Charlie, seeming to delight in tripping him so that Charlie ended up on the desert floor with a mouthful of sand. Keep it up, scum. We'll see who has the last laugh.

"Over here," Abdu called.

The entrance was an old mine shaft. There had been a little bit of silver mined around here, Charlie remembered, but more likely it was boron. He couldn't remember why people mined boron, only that it had been done and somehow benefited those doing both the mining and the end usage. This, he supposed, was one of those old mines.

The door to the mine had been opened fairly recently. There were bright silver marks on the lock where someone had scraped at it, and the sage brush that had been artistically piled against the opening to make it look old was swept away with a kick. There were some footprints too, almost hidden with sand poured over it by the desert winds. It was a place that the ordinary person wouldn't look at twice should they happen upon it, but no one would 'happen' upon it. It was a good mile from the road. A military jet soared overhead, on its way, no doubt, to one of the air bases located outside of L.A. If he'd been able to flash a mirror, Charlie thought, the jet would have missed it. Stuff like that only happens in fiction.

It was going to be very irritating to die right now, Charlie decided. There were still things that he had left to do in life. The Cognitive Emergence theory, for one. And, despite what people thought, Charlie was certain that he could make a little more headway on PnP if only he could get past the obsessive-compulsive part. And third, but not least, was the rest of the code that the terrorists wanted. There was another section that Charlie hadn't gotten to, something dealing with the retrieval of the enriched uranium. It had been left undone in favor of creating the message to Don—wonder if he'll get it in time? I hope so. I have to believe that he will, for the sake of people's lives—but leaving a problem unsolved was, for Charlie, annoying in the extreme.

End of the road. Charlie stumbled inside the mine entrance, helped by a push from Scarface, banging his broken rib painfully against the side wall before crashing to the mine floor. Scarface kicked him and hauled him back to his feet. "I do not need you any longer, professor. Do not tempt me to kill you here and now."

That's a threat? Sounds like a better option than the one I have planned for you.

"There!" Colby was the first to catch sight of the car.

Don swung his binoculars around, zeroing in on the vehicle. It looked abandoned, but Don knew better. It wasn't abandoned, merely left there to wait. There wasn't anyone around. "Down!" he yelled at the pilot over the sound of the chopper blades above, pumping his hand toward the ground.

The chopper was loud, but it couldn't be helped. According to Charlie's instructions, the mine entrance was a good mile from the road, slogging over desert sand. Don shoved the shades more firmly on his nose, wishing that there had been time to grab some sunscreen. They'd bake out here in no time flat.

Of course, a nuclear explosion would do a great deal more damage than a sunburn. Don had taken a call from Area Director D'Angelo en route, and the priorities had been very clear.

"I realize he's your brother, Eppes." It was tough to hear over the chopper noise, but that statement came through loud and clear. "I've got a platoon of agents on the way out there right now but they won't arrive at your location for another hour. Can you keep it together? I can temporarily assign Sinclair to call the shots. First priority: the enriched uranium. Washington is panicking."

"I can keep it together, sir." I hope. I keep remembering all the trouble I got into for pounding that bully when I was ten. The bully deserved it, and these terrorists deserve whatever I can give to them. Charlie didn't deserve the black eye that he got back then.

"All right." Don could hear the doubt in D'Angelo's tones. "Let me talk to Sinclair."

Don handed the headset to David.

"Uh-huh. Yes, sir. I will, sir. No, it won't be a problem for him, sir. I have every confidence—thank you, sir." David handed the headset back to Don to hang up.

Don arched his eyebrows.

David grimaced. "I'm legally required to shoot you in the back if it will save the country," he told Don. "Don't make me do it."

"Rather not."

It was all the conversation they had time for. The chopper swung low, let them jump the last five feet instead of landing, taking off for a high altitude survey.

"Chopper One," the pilot called through the radio. "Your bogies are at north by north east, estimate just over a mile. I see one person only; repeat: one person with what looks like an M-16."

"Roger that." Don didn't believe that there was only one person there. Charlie's location had included a mine, and there was a very good chance that the rest of the terrorists were inside with Charlie with a bomb set to go boom. That in itself was a good reason to hurry. "Let's boogie, people. They're already inside, and we've got a party to crash."

Scarface kept dragging Charlie along, deeper and deeper into the cave, until the air actually began to cool. It was little enough, but Charlie was grateful. The flashlight that Scarface and the other man carried put erratic shadows onto the rough-hewn walls, little crystalline twinkles glittering here and there.

Not too much further, Charlie estimated. There wouldn't be much warning, if Ned's message was to be believed. There was a trigger point low to the ground, a spot where it would be difficult to see unless one was looking for it. The detonator would be triggered, it would delay for a couple of minutes to be sure that the unwitting victims would be further and deeper into the mine and then: boom.

Certainly his captors weren't looking for booby traps. The flashlights were shining a good deal higher, illuminating the ceiling so that the pair didn't crack their skulls against low hanging rocks. Charlie they didn't care about, and the mathematician was already crouched over, trying to splint his rib. Keeping his feet was a priority for him, but if it helped him watch for the ground level trigger…

"Keep up," Scarface snarled, back-handing Charlie ferociously. The mathematician crumbled against the wall, cracking his head and his rib cage all at once. Agony flared through him; he never knew he was falling or even that he'd hit the ground until the rocks strewn on the floor dug into his back. A kick followed, driving his breath from him.

"Get up," Scarface yelled. He drew back his leg to kick again.

Abdu stopped him. "Leave him. He's not going anywhere, certainly not with Rashid outside. He's holding us back. Leave him. We can move faster."

Yeah. Leave me. I won't mind. Won't feel slighted in the least. Charlie kept his eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness until the fading noise of footsteps convinced him that they were far enough away not to come back after him. Then he started painfully crawling toward the exit. Don't expect to get out of here, not with good ol' Rashid standing guard. Don't expect to go anywhere once the cave goes boom. But I would like to avoid getting kicked any more.

He opened his eyes once he bumped up against something hard and painful. A small wired box was what stopped him.

Charlie had admittedly not seen many bombs in his day, but this looked remarkably like something that had been carefully set into this spot not too long ago. Say, a week or so, just when Ned's acquaintance would have been smuggling the uranium into this country. It also looked as though a trip wire had been broken through.

Charlie was not one given to cursing. It seemed a totally inadequate method for dealing with life's little disappointments, and never seemed to solve anything. But, under the circumstances with only another minute or two left in his life, Charlie decided to give it yet another try.

"Shit."

There was a guard outside the mine entrance. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was the location of the enriched uranium. It was distant and alone, and the perfect spot for someone to hide the radioactive material. No one would come here unless they had a definite purpose in mind.

But first they had to get past the guard.

"They got here first," Colby whispered, keeping his voice down so that the guard couldn't hear. "They must be inside."

"Which means we don't have much time," Don whispered back. "They could set off the booby trap at any moment. How do we get to them?"

"Talk to the man outside," Megan suggested. "We've got him out-numbered even before our reinforcements get here. They have the enriched uranium, but it's not a bomb. Not yet. It won't do them any good in this state. We've got them cornered with no way out."

"And they've got Charlie as a hostage," Don reminded her.

"Which means that we're no worse off than we were before," David said. "Remember what D'Angelo said, Don: the uranium is our first priority." He took a deep breath. "Even over Charlie." He set his jaw. "I don't like it any better than you do, Don, but we can't let them get away with the uranium. We have to pen them in; we can keep them there as long as necessary, even if they threaten Charlie's life. Either you talk that guard down, or I will."

Don stared at David, dislike plain on his face. It see-sawed either way for several long minutes. David was almost ready to take over when—

"All right." Don unlimbered the rifle he'd brought along. "Spread out. Surround the mine entrance. Colby, you're the sniper. Pick your spot."

"There." Colby pointed to a place among the rocks. Good cover, good height; Don approved. Colby would be able to nail anyone fleeing the site and had the marksmanship to do it.

"Right. Megan, take the north end. David, the south. I want to try to talk these guys out," he said, challenging David to disagree with the decision. "They don't know that they're sitting on top of a bomb. We can still get Charlie out."

"Go for it." David declined to argue. "Get him out, Don. I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"You! You there!" Don called out to the man beside the mine entrance.

The reaction was expected: a quick twist to point the M-16 at where Don's voice came from.

But Don was ready for him. Still protected by the rocks, he called out again. "FBI. You're surrounded. Lay down your weapon and surrender peacefully."

Well, he could always hope. Just like he'd always hoped that one day, some day, to do better than Charlie on a math exam.

Same results: the terrorist sent off a quick volley to show that he meant business and ducked into the cover of the mine entrance. Don almost envied the terrorist; at least the man was out of the sun. Unlike Don and his team.

"There's no way out," Don called down. "You're surrounded. We can wait you out. But listen, there's something that you need to know: there's a bomb inside—"

Had this been another scenario, Don would have gotten on the public radio to hear just how high the earthquake rated on the Richter scale and where the epicenter was in relationship to L.A. But this was no earthquake. And the epicenter was a few hundred yards away, down a mine shaft.

"Charlie!" The intended shout emerged as a horrified gasp. Clouds of dust billowed out of the mine entrance. The terrorist was knocked to his feet, losing his gun in the process.

Don's team was on it. The terrorist reached for the weapon; Colby put a shot between the gunman and his gun. The man drew back. Megan darted in, handgun raised, and kicked the M-16 away.

"Don't make me shoot you," she warned.

He almost tried it. It was, after all, only a weak woman. But…he looked at the determined light in Megan's eyes and backed down. Paradise and the hareem of women in the afterlife could wait a little while longer for him to join them. He surrendered.

Don and the others closed in. "How many inside?" Don demanded.

"Enough," the man sneered. He laughed as Megan fastened the handcuffs on him, but the sound was hollow. He was finished.

"I'm going in." Don pulled out his pencil flash.

"Don—"

"I said, I'm going in." He stared David Sinclair in the face. "Don't try to stop me, David."

One corner of David's mouth curved upward. "Stop you? Hell, I'm following you. Area Director D'Angelo told me I could shoot you in the back if I had to. Can't do that if you're out of my line of sight now, can I?"

Colby too shrugged. "I'm the closest thing you guys got to a bomb expert. I have to go in with you."

"Colby, the bomb is already gone. It exploded."

"Really? I thought that was an earthquake. I'd better go ahead and make sure."

Don nodded. He had one hell of a good team. "Megan, you stay here. I need someone to keep an eye on this bozo, and I need heavier muscle inside. You okay with that?"

"Bring him out, Don," Megan told him. "I'll wait for the reinforcements."