CHAPTER FOUR

Undisclosed Location
0000 Hours PST

Alan Eppes prayed Don was all right. He hadn't seen anything after Langager had forced him out of the dining room and out the front door, into a dark-colored sedan. A few moments later, his partner had come out, sat down beside him in the backseat, and Langager had pulled away, leaving the door to the Craftsman wide open and hanging on its hinges.

No shots…I'm hoping that's a good omen. Charlie should have been on his way home, assuming he didn't stay to work late on his cognitive emergence work. Charlie will find Don. I just don't know in what state...

He'd not been in this position before. His sons, sure, they'd seen more of this than he'd like. And so what would Don and Charlie do? Alan wondered. For starters, he paid close attention out the window to the city that he'd helped plan, paying attention to landmarks, to highway exits. Anything that would somehow give him an advantage. He knew this city.

When they pulled into their destination, his watch said midnight. The look of the building screamed decrepit roadside motel, but they'd pulled in around the back so he couldn't see any signage. The architecture screamed the 1960s, adobe walls and terracotta roof tiles like someone was trying to emulate the exterior of a Spanish mission but failed miserably with the added installation of Tuscany-style deck railings painted a strange salmon pink. "Nice place you got," Alan couldn't resist saying, as Langager's buddy, still in the ski mask, pulled him out of the car. Don wouldn't let them know he's scared.

Langager smirked. "I can see where Don gets it," he said. "You the reason he chews gum all the time, too? Every damn time he came for me, he was chewing gum." He pushed Alan ahead of him into a ground floor room.

"Well this job of his," Alan shrugged, trying to act like the stumble from the push wasn't completely undignified. He sat down gingerly on the second bed in the room, eyeing Langager. "You know, some of you guys leave a bad taste in the mouth." He watched as Langager's partner produced a pair of handcuffs, latching one around Alan's right wrist, the other into the light fixture near the bed. "Those my son's?" Alan questioned, feeling for information about Don's condition. All he'd seen was the hit with the butt of a gun; he had no idea what had happened after that.

The man shook his head, tugged off his ski mask. "Nah, I got my own," he said, sitting down next to Alan on the opposite side of the bed. He was a younger man, maybe a few years younger even than Colby Granger.

Alan Eppes was a man who paid attention to details. You had to, as a city planner. You had to pay attention to tensile strength, screw placements, load-bearing walls, earthquake codes. So Alan did that now with the man who had crossed his arms over his chest and fallen asleep almost instantly next to him.

Short hair, not as short as David kept his, but not as long as Don's. Alan's eyes drifted from his haircut down to the man's hands, folded over his arms. Class ring…Alan couldn't see the specifics, but it was big and gold. Black polo shirt, nothing very helpful there…Alan glanced at his waist, and froze.

It was just barely visible, sticking out of his right hip pocket. Black leather badge holder…with a gold shield.

Alan swallowed. FBI. Langager had a man on the inside of his eldest son's own organization. He looked up, realized Langager had been standing just outside the bathroom door, watching him with interest.

Langager gave him a grin, and nodded once. Then, he headed into the bathroom, leaving Alan alone to ponder the implications of what he'd just discovered.


Author's Note: Short one, but I wanted to check in with Alan :) Writing for Judd Hirsch is both terrifying and interesting.