Disclaimer: "Bones" is the property of Fox Broadcasting, Kathy Reichs, and Hart Hanson. The following story was written for pleasure only and not for personal profit in any way.

Chapter 5

"Dr. Brennan," he said, the annoyance and attempt at self-control evident in his voice. "As I have already told you, there is no more information I can share with you at this time. If you will go back to your lab, we will contact you-"

"That is not good enough," she interrupted, her voice rising to match her frustration. "Director Cullen, he is my partner, you can't just shut me out."

Sam Cullen, Deputy Director of the FBI, sat across his desk from a very stubborn, very angry, anthropologist. One he had come to respect through Booth and her involvement in a case involving his own daughter. Booth was not exaggerating when he told Cullen about her stubbornness, nor about her skill, but she was not FBI and he didn't want her involved. If Booth wanted to take responsibility for her, taking her into the field, that was fine. Even he had to admit they made a great team, but she was just too close to this one. Emotional women never help in a hostage situation.

"Great, now I have a 'Squint' telling me what I can and can't do," he said, his temper rising.

"I was there!" she said with a steel edge in her voice. "I was abducted by these men and held captive for over four hours. I have provided you with approximate age, race, and physical descriptions, complete with sketches of their faces. I gave you the make and model of their car. As well as everything they talked about while I was with them." She stopped and took a breath. "My team has identified particulates from the room they held me in that tie them to a location for their boat. Sir, I am willing to find him on my own, but I think we would be better off working together," she finished, with a hard look in her eyes.

At her last statement he had leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. He was thinking it through again; she could be helpful. The FBI did have their own forensic team; but, though he would never admit it, the lab at the Jeffersonian was better. She seemed pretty determined and he had no doubt she would try to find Booth on her own. Better to have her where someone could keep an eye on her, he decided, rather than having her get herself killed.

"Fine." He let out a frustrated sigh and leaning towards her slightly, added, "but let me make it clear, I am in charge here. You will take orders from me and do NOTHING without clearing it with me first. Do you understand that Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, surprised by the fact that she won. Maybe Booth's ability to get what he wanted out of people was rubbing off on her.

"This morning we received this," Cullen said, reaching in his desk and pulling out a padded manila envelope with FBI written across the front of it. He tossed it on the desk in front of her. "It was delivered by a vagrant. He said someone paid him twenty dollars to come drop it off."

Slipping a latex glove on her right hand, she picked up the envelope and opened it. Gently, she pulled out a flip-style black leather case smeared with blood. Opening it, she saw the badge and ID card for Special Agent Seeley Booth.

"I can save you the trouble," he said, guessing her thoughts. "Our lab has identified it as Booth's blood. It came with a note demanding an exchange, Booth for one Nathaniel Creavor."

He reached for a file sitting to his right on the desk and casually flipped through it as he continued. "Creavor was picked up two weeks ago in a major drug bust in Atlantic City. He is believed to be McGregor's right hand man."

He pulled a picture of the man out and slid it toward Dr. Brennan. She picked it up, studying the face.

"Even if that's true, McGregor's actions seem a little extreme. Creavor is obviously very important to him. Generally, a drug dealer's henchmen are expendable, but he is going to a lot of trouble to get Creavor back."

"This man," said Brennan, looking at the photo, "look at the jaw line, and the cheek bones." She picked up the sketch of McGregor she had brought. "See the how the lower jaw bone is really defined here?" There is a chance that they are related. I doubt that they share both parents, but perhaps grandparents," she said, tracing the picture with her finger.

"You can tell that from looking at the picture and a sketch?" the director asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Not just the sketch, I spent 4 hours with this man," she said, slightly annoyed, "The underlying architecture is similar; it doesn't guarantee that they are related, but there is a statistical probability that they share a relative no more than one generation back," she said, handing the picture of Creavor back to him.

"Well, we have people looking into Creavor's history. The note said they would contact us again with a date, time, and location for the exchange." Cullen flipped the file shut and tossed it back to the side of his desk.

"He is a smart man, McGregor. He is playing with us, dragging it out, trying to make us dance to his tune. He enjoys feeling like he is the one in control. As his group is suspect in the Jensen case you were working with Booth, I am sure you have seen his file. He is a nasty bit of work but we have never been able to tie him to the murders directly. At least not yet," he said, looking at her with a meaningful smile.

"Now," he said, leaning slightly towards her and resting his folded hands on the table in front of him, "you tell me what you have, where would you guess Booth is being held?"

Dr. Brennan looked at the man across the desk. Why do FBI agents have such a hard time with the concept of facts? she wondered to herself.

"Director Cullen, first of all, I do not guess. I work with facts. In the evidence that we recovered from the room where I was held, we found no traces of sodium chloride, which suggests that they have not been near saltwater. What we did find indicates that McGregor and or Harold have recently been to Lake Erie, most likely the southern end. They stated that they were heading back to a boat. Logical reasoning suggests that they headed back to Lake Erie. I cannot say whether Booth is there or not, all I have are the facts we found."

--

Booth sat in a small cabin near the back of the boat, tied to a chair. He had a bloody swollen lip and a black eye as well as bruise on his left cheek. His body ached from repeated beatings and he was fairly sure he had some cracked ribs at the very least. Taking even a normal breath was like someone was stabbing him in the side with a knife. He sat still, staring forward, refusing to make eye contact or acknowledge the man speaking. Before him stood McGregor, looking very smug.

"And so here we sit, Agent Booth. I trust you are enjoying your stay with us," the businessman said, in a mocking voice. "Don't worry, I am sure your buddies will make the exchange tomorrow and you will be free of our care."

"You think you are pretty smart, McGregor," said Booth, breaking his stony silence, "you think you have it all figured out, think you are in control. For all your cunning plans, you know pretty little about how things work."

"Why, Agent Booth, you're not worried are you?" asked McGregor, with a malicious smile on his face. "Surely you believe they will make the exchange, or you would not have put yourself in this situation." The man laughed, shaking his head. "Your Agent buddies are currently wasting time and man power searching the coastline and bay areas for this boat." He tilted his head to one side, a grin spreading across his face. "That's a lot of shoreline to cover. They have just over twenty-four hours to make these futile attempts. Tomorrow we will contact them again and give them just two and a half hours to be at the rendezvous point, which is two hours from DC. Then we will make the exchange, or your tragic demise will be on their heads."

"Overconfidence, McGregor, is the downfall of every idiot criminal," Booth stated, still refusing to make eye contact. "You are going down; when this is all over with, you'll be finished."

"You are hardly in a position to make threats, seeing as you are currently tied to a chair," McGregor said, leaning down so he was eye to eye with the Agent.

"Cocky overconfidence," Booth repeated slowly. "You are going down," he said with a superior smile on his face.

In a reflexive movement, McGregor balled his fist and punched his hostage across the face. He was not accustomed to being mocked and he found he had low tolerance when antagonized. He winced, shaking his hand slightly.

"You made me lose my temper, Agent Booth, not something easily done. I assure you, you won't do it again," he said, straightening himself and rubbing his hand.

Despite the fact that his lip was bleeding freely again, Booth looked up at McGregor and gave him a smug smile.

McGregor shoved past the restrained man, bumping his shoulder roughly as he passed. As he stalked from the cabin, he gave a small nod to the only other occupant in the room, who returned it with a malicious grin.

Booth winced at the pain in his ribs as McGregor passed him. He knew he was about to pay for angering the drug lord, but people like McGregor weren't accustomed to being defied. He wasn't going to just play along and be a pawn in McGregor's game.

To Be Continued...