Disclaimer: I don't own the characters you recognize; they belong to Cheryl Heuton and Nicolas Falacci.
Author's Note: I could not leave folks hanging with that downer of an ending. So you get a two show day! :)
Los Angeles FBI Field Office
1100 Hours PST
"Don, I think we got something!" David yelled from the conference room. Don came running from his cubicle and waited for David to pull up a photo on the board.
"Liz and Colby and I went back through Langager's files," David told him "Take a look at this." David pulled Langager's arrest record and put it up on the screen. "Take a look at the Dallas Metro officer who arrested Langager way back when for assault when he was eighteen."
"Chris Locke," Don noted the name under arresting officer. "Okay?" he prompted.
Liz handed him another file. "Now look at who testified at his trial as an expert character witness about the night he got arrested?"
Don's eyes flicked through the list of witnesses for the prosecution. "Same guy."
"And for the final nail," David said. "Don, look who visited Langager in prison a couple days before he broke out, and just so happens to be a new agent trainee down in San Diego?"
"Jesus," Don swore. "Chris Locke." He snapped his fingers. "Okay, get on the horn with the director down in San Diego, let him know what's going on, see if they can figure out why in the hell Locke's helping Langager." He ran a hand down his face, grateful that they finally had a solid lead. "Now if we could just find the guy."
"I might have something for you there," a quiet voice said. Don froze.
He looked up to see Charlie standing in the doorway.
Undisclosed Location
1145 Hours PST
Alan Eppes knew he shouldn't do it. His eye had finally quit throbbing, and his shirtsleeve had taken care of most of the bleeding from the cut above his eye from the FBI agent's ring. He could practically hear both of his boys begging him not to do something stupid.
But seeing as how I tell them both that daily and they never listen to me…
Langager and his buddy were out front. The FBI agent was a smoker, apparently. Alan couldn't hear much of their conversation over the rattling A/C unit in the room.
"And if I can't hear them, hopefully, they can't hear me," he said quietly. His cuffed hand had fallen asleep a while ago, the metal digging into his wrist. Alan shifted so he was facing the headboard, and rummaged in his pocket for the loose change he'd gotten the evening prior from the Chinese takeout place. His fingers closed around a quarter and he pulled out, going to work on the screws that affixed the lamp to the wood paneling in the wall. All it would take is a loosened screw or two, and the whole thing would pry away from the wall, and then a few more to get the lamp loose enough to slide the handcuff off.
The one trip to the bathroom he'd been granted had provided him with the knowledge that there was a grimy window with a busted latch. His ticket out. It would be an awkward climb, and Alan was almost positive he'd end up with something broken, bruised, sprained, or strained in the attempt.
But any of that was preferable to what Langager might try.
Los Angeles FBI Field Office
1150 Hours PST
"Charlie, what in the hell are you doing here?" Don hissed at his little brother. He caught the eye of his team in the reflection of the glass beside him, and turned to glare at them. "Who in the hell has been feeding Charlie information?"
Colby stood up. "Me," he replied.
Don took a step toward the former Army officer, looking like he was about to take a swing at him. "I thought I made it clear Charlie wasn't touching this case?" Don ground out.
Colby looked up at him, held his ground. "The only thing Charlie's seen are addresses, TODs, dates. That's it. No crime scene photos, no after action reports, no trial transcripts. Just the numbers."
Don was livid, and Colby knew it. But he pressed on. "We started trying to put together hot zones, but we couldn't figure out a pattern. Charlie knows the math better than we do. I sent Amita our progress and she gave the information to Charlie."
"I think I know where Langager has Dad!" Charlie blurted out, interrupting the two FBI agents before there was bloodshed. Before his brother could send him home again, Charlie had unfurled the map he had tucked under his arm and tacked it up over the map that Colby, Liz, and David had been working on earlier. "Using the known data- Langager's victims, hits from the tip line from people who thought they saw him- I was able to work out a rough geographic profile. Colby told me Dad was in a hotel-" and the and you didn't bother was blatantly evident in Charlie's tone, "-and so I factored in properties less likely to have security and credit card requirements." David caught Charlie's twitching fingers, and handed the mathematician a pen. Charlie drew a circle around one location on the map. "Here. It's gotta be here."
Don glared at his team. All of them stared defiantly back at him. He turned his gaze to his little brother. Charlie swallowed, but held his gaze. "He's there, Don," and here Charlie's voice cracked. "I-he's there. I know it."
The anger in Don's heart and in his head was slowly being replaced by something equally as strong. Hope. He took a breath, ignoring the tension in his shoulder. "Okay," he said quietly. I trust my team. I trust Charlie. "Okay. Let's get units rolling." He looked at Charlie. "We're not done, you and me."
Charlie nodded. "After we get Dad back."
"What if Langager calls while we're en route?" David asked his boss as they gathered up their things.
Don's voice was deadly. "Sirens on, and I'm putting the fear of God in him. He deserves to know how that feels for a change."
We're coming, Dad.
