Don heard David talking to him. He couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. The pain was nearly overwhelming.

He felt someone taking his hand. Liz's voice broke through the haze. "Don!"

"Liz,... go back. ... The Michelangelo..." Don gasped. "Everybody hold your positions."

Liz squeezed his hand. "Don, I'm sorry." She pushed herself to her feet and ran from the room.

David said, "What are you thinking, Don?"

"The distraction... this... this was the distraction."

"Oh, crap!" David said, "Okay, everyone to your positions and report. Is anything missing? Don, hang in there."

Don groaned. "I'm trying..."

The reports started to come in. Don tried to keep quiet, listening to the voices in his earpiece. Finally, the report he dreaded came through. Liz's voice came loud and clear, "The Michelangelo is gone. Are the doors secured?"

Don moaned. "Damn it. We blew it. I ... I blew it."

"Don," David said, "you didn't blow anything. We'll get 'em. Just rest. We've got things under control. Hey, Charlie and Ben had it right, didn't they?"

"Charlie? Oh, God, Charlie!" Don's eyes opened, and he reached for his earpiece. "Charlie? You there?"

"Just a minute," Tom Yang's voice came through the earpiece. "He's here. Professor! Your brother wants to talk to you."

Charlie's shaky voice came on the line. "Don?"

Don took a deep breath and grimaced. He squeezed David's hand and struggled to hold his voice steady. "Buddy? Listen... Don't... don't freak out, okay? I'm... I'm going to be fine."

"Don," Charlie said softly, "remember what I said in Bradford's office? I'm a lot stronger than people think. You just take care of yourself, Bro."

Don bit his lip and nodded. "Okay," he whispered.

"Charlie?" David said, "The paramedics are here. I'm going to take Don's earpiece and mike off now, okay?"

"Okay. Just give me a minute. Don?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, Buddy... See you later." Don closed his eyes.

David removed the microphone and earpiece. "Okay, Don. I'm going to get out of the way and let the paramedics do their job, okay?" He squeezed Don's shoulder and moved out of the way.

Don nodded. "Mmmkay." Someone was pulling at his clothes, moving him, and it hurt. Oh, God, it hurt. He tried to fight, to make them stop, but he had no energy left. Pain. Nothing but pain.

--

Charlie gazed numbly around the room. Where'd all the people come from? It seemed like every person needed to get to where he was sitting. He released the microphone button, stepped back away from the desk and leaned against Amita. She put her arm on his shoulder and held him close. "He'll be okay, Charlie. He'll be fine."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. "I hope you're right. I should have known. Heisenberg's uncertainty principle. They knew we were on to them, and they adapted. And I was too stupid to adapt to them."

"No, Charlie. There's no way you could have guessed what they were going to do."

"This is the second time that Don's been shot because I just didn't realize..."

"Professor," Tom said, "They're taking him to Huntington."

"Thanks," Charlie said, pulling his cell phone out. "I'm going to call Dad." He looked forlornly at Amita. "What am I going to tell him?"

"Just tell him Don's hurt and we're on the way to take him to see him."

Charlie nodded and dialed.

"Hello?" Alan's voice answered on the first ring.

"Dad. I .. uh..."

"Charlie? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Charlie took a deep breath and said, "Don's been shot. They're taking him to Huntington."

"Oh my God. What happened?"

"The thieves. They had guns this time. Listen, Amita and I are coming to pick you up." He waved to Tom and headed for the elevator.

"Where are you?" Alan asked.

"At the FBI. We're leaving now."

--

Charlie pulled in to the driveway, not really sure how he'd gotten there. Alan was pacing by the front door, waiting, white-faced. When the car stopped, Amita got out of the front passenger's seat and climbed into the back. Alan sat, closed the door and put his seatbelt on. "Okay," he said, "Go!"

They arrived at Huntington in record time. Charlie dropped Alan and Amita off at the emergency entrance and went in search of a parking spot. He rushed into the waiting room, looking frantically for his father and Amita. He saw them, sitting right in front of the double doors that led to the emergency department. "Is he here yet?" he asked as he crossed the waiting room.

"Shhh," Alan chided his son. "Yes, he's here. Someone will be out to talk to us after they've finished examining him."

Charlie dropped into the seat next to his father. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I could have prevented this..."

"The hell you could have," Alan said. "Listen, I know your math is good, but it can't perform miracles. And it can't predict the actions of sociopaths."

"But it should be able to..."

"Charlie, drop it and tell me what happened. Did they tell you how it happened?"

Charlie gnawed his lip and blinked back tears. "We heard it. We were listening to the agents' feed in the FBI office."

"You heard it?" Alan whispered. "My God, Charlie." He took Charlie's hand in both of his. "I am so sorry, Son."

Charlie took several deep breaths to collect himself. He knew his father was desperate to know what happened, but he couldn't bring himself to ask his son to relive the experience. He squeezed his father's hand and, staring in front of him, recounted the events step by step. When he finished, he lifted his eyes and met his father's gaze. "I should have tried to figure out what they were going to do. I should have known they would change their actions because they knew we were watching them."

"Charlie," Alan said softly, "don't beat yourself up. Like I said before, you're dealing with sociopaths. They're unpredictable, and even your math can't control everything."

A sad smile flickered across Charlie's lips. "Remember when Don was shot before? Trying to stop those bank robbers?" When Alan nodded, Charlie continued, "Well, Larry tried to straighten me out. He told me not to confuse the ability to predict with the ability to control."

Alan nodded. "I remember."

"I fell into that same trap this time. I was so sure..." The double doors opened, and all three of them stared at the man who came through the doors.

"Eppes?"

The three stood and all said, "Yes."

"I'm Dr. Torre. They're prepping Don for surgery, so I figured I'd take a minute to let you know what's going on." He pulled a chair over and sat in front of them. "First, let me say that Don is very lucky."

"Lucky?" Charlie snorted.

"Lucky," Dr. Torre said, gazing into Charlie's eyes. "The gun was a small caliber. No vital organs or blood vessels were damaged. He was wearing a vest, which stopped the second bullet with minimal damage to his ribs. He received treatment almost immediately. He's lucky."

"Okay," Charlie murmured. "I'm sorry."

Dr. Torre nodded. "The bullet penetrated just below his waist, slightly right of center. Because of that, the only organ involved was the small intestine. And God has given us an awful lot of spare small intestine. There's a great risk of infection whenever the intestine is damaged. But it's relatively easy to patch."

"So the prognosis is good?" Alan asked, hopefully.

"The prognosis is excellent, Mr. Eppes. He's not going to be chasing bad guys any time soon, but he's going to be good as new in a couple of months."

"And short term?" Charlie asked.

"Short term, I'd like to keep him pretty much knocked out for a couple of days. This kind of injury is very painful. We'll keep him loaded with antibiotics to eliminate any risk of infection. And that's pretty much it. I should get back. Any questions before I go?"

Charlie, Alan and Amita shook their heads. Charlie said, "Thank you, Doctor. I apologize for my attitude earlier."

"No need to apologize, Son. Don's in good hands right now. It'll be at least an hour before he's out of surgery. Why don't the three of you go have a cup of coffee, buy a paper? Try to relax?"

"Relax?" Alan said, smiling sadly. "Would you relax if it were your son?"

Dr. Torre stood. "No way. Just do the best you can."

--

David Sinclair stood, wiping Don's blood from his hands as he watched the paramedics wheel Don from the room. Everything in him wanted to follow the ambulance to the hospital. But with Don out of commission and Megan on some kind of top secret assignment, David was the senior agent. He took a deep breath and turned to look at the little girl who had just shot his boss. The girl had been handcuffed to her wheelchair. The woman who had tried to take the DaVinci stood beside her, hands cuffed behind her back.

Colby stood, guarding the two, looking like he'd rather be beating a confession out of them. David knew how he felt. He approached the girl and said, "What's your name?"

The girl, who appeared to be about thirteen, pursed her lips. "I want a lawyer."

David glanced at Colby, who said, "I read her her rights. She has refused to speak, except to say that the gun wasn't supposed to have bullets in it."

David turned his attention back to the girl. "Is that right? What was supposed to happen?"

The girl glanced at the woman. "She was supposed to take the drawing, and I was supposed to stun anyone who tried to stop her. Just like..."

"Shut up," the woman said. Turning to David, she said, "We are BOTH exercising our right to remain silent until we've talked to our lawyer. You can't ask her any more questions."

"All right," David said with a sigh. "Let's get them downtown." He noticed the spectators. "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to take statements from all of you. You might as well relax and have a look at the art work while you're here. Just don't touch anything." He stopped, and looked at Colby. "I have to admit I wasn't paying attention after Don got shot, but did you hear any alarms going off?"

Colby pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"Okay, that's one more thing to wonder about. I'm going to find someplace private where I can call the office and make arrangements. You need a hand in here?"

"It wouldn't hurt." Colby met David's gaze. "You okay?"

David nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Have them notify us when they hear anything about Don's condition, okay?"

David smiled. "I was planning on that. I'll send Johnson in to keep you company." The smile left his face as he glanced at the woman and girl. "You'd better hope he makes it," he said softly.

--

Liz and her partner, Lou Woese, had secured their room. Lou had remained after Liz had run to Don's side, but his back was turned when the drawing was stolen. Liz had apologized profusely to Lou, but knew she was in serious trouble for leaving her post. She watched as Don was wheeled through the room, biting her lip to keep from crying. Damn, she thought, I knew dating another agent was a big mistake. Now it just might cost me the career I've worked so hard to build.

When David came through a few minutes later, she said, "David. May I see you for a minute?"

He turned, struggling to control the array of emotions. "Not right now, Liz. I'll catch you on my way back."

She nodded. "Okay. Listen, I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry about what you can't change. We've all got to keep our focus on the case right now." His expression softened. "Don's gonna be okay."

--

Alan, Charlie and Amita had taken Dr. Torre's advice and gone for coffee. They had stopped in the gift shop on the way back to the waiting room. Now they sat, Charlie reading a Smithsonian Magazine, Amita reading Scientific American, and Alan staring at a sudoku book. Every few minutes, at least one of them would glance at the time, and sigh.

A little over an hour after Dr. Torre had left, he returned, smiling broadly. Alan started to stand, but Dr. Torre said, "Sit. He's fine." Dr. Torre pulled a chair over and sat. "The surgery was a complete success."

For the first time, Alan noticed the fatigue on the doctor's face. He reached out and grasped the doctor's hand. "Thank you. Dare I ask how you're doing?"

"I'm okay, thanks. I'm just finishing up a double shift today. But, I have a feeling you're more interested in your son's health than in mine – and rightfully so. When the intestine is damaged, waste material fills the abdomen. We were able to flush the area, but, as I said earlier, we'll be giving him hefty doses of antibiotics. We removed a few inches of damaged intestine..." He paused when Alan gasped. "Don't worry. That's normal. As I said, God has given us a lot of spare intestine. We patched a few nicks and tears, and I'm satisfied that we repaired all the damage."

"When can we see him?" Alan asked.

"He's in recovery now, but I'm hoping to move him into ICU in about an hour. You'll be able to see him, but, of course, he will be unconscious. By tonight we should have him in a regular room, and then you'll be able to stay with him as long as you want. Because he's in law enforcement, he won't have a roommate. But I recommend you don't overtax yourselves. We send patients home pretty quickly these days, and Don will need your help when he gets home."

"In what way?" Charlie asked.

"Well, he'll be sore. Really sore. He'll have trouble getting up and around, but it's important that he spends as much time sitting and walking as possible. His diet will be restricted at first. No spicy or greasy foods, of course."

Charlie grinned, "And no beer?"

Dr. Torre laughed. "Definitely no beer. The nursing staff will go over all the instructions with you before we kick him out of here." Dr. Torre stretched and stood. "Any other questions?"

Alan glanced at Charlie, who shook his head. "No, I think we're good. Should we wait here?"

"Definitely. I'll tell the nurse you'll be waiting to see Don. She'll come and get you when they transfer him."

Alan shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you so much, Dr. Torre. And get some sleep."

The doctor patted Alan's hand. "I'd suggest you do the same, but it would be a waste of breath. I'll see you tomorrow."

After the doctor left, Charlie touched Amita's cheek. "You don't have to hang around if you don't want to."

"Don't be silly," she reached up and pulled his hand to her lips and gave it a quick kiss. "I want to stay here."

"Thanks," he said, pulling our his cell phone. "I'd better call Millie and let her know what's going on."

"Don't forget to call Don's office. They're going to want to know the good news."

Charlie nodded as he waited for Millie to answer. "It's her voicemail," he whispered. "Millie, this is Charlie. Don was shot, and Amita and I are at the hospital with Dad. It looks like he'll be okay, but would you have someone post notices canceling our classes for the rest of the day. And tomorrow," he glanced at Amita, who nodded, "could you find someone to cover our classes tomorrow too? Thanks. I'll keep you posted."

After he hung up, he said, "Dad? Who should I call at Don's office? Megan's still on assignment."

Alan looked up from his puzzle. "Who's senior after Don and Megan?"

"I guess it would be David." He dialed the FBI office number. "Hello, this is Charles Eppes. Could you transfer me to David Sinclair's cell phone number? I have important information for him."

In a few minutes, David said, "Charlie? How's Don?"

Charlie smiled. "He's going to be fine, David. No major organs were damaged. There was some damage to his small intestine, but he's going to be fine."

He could hear David's smile in his voice, "That's great news, Charlie. I'll pass the word on to Colby and Liz and the rest of the team. Thanks."

"You're welcome. How's the investigation going?"

"It's early yet, and we've got a heck of a lot of witnesses to interview."

"Any sign of the Michelangelo?"

David sighed. "No. Somehow they got it out of here. Or concealed it somewhere in the building."

"You need any help?"

David laughed. "Always. But you need to stay with your dad. How's Alan holding up, anyway?"

"Good, now that we've heard the good news from the doctor. Listen, I'll have my cell phone with me. Call me if you come up with anything I can help you with. I'll pick up my laptop, and I can work from here."

"Charlie, you don't have to..."

"Yeah, I do. They shot my brother. I need to do this."