Chapter 7

Frank clenched and unclench his fist in the pocket of his jacket. He and Oswald had finished eating their sandwiches, and Oswald had managed during that time to convince Frank it was a good idea to spill everything to Don and Charlie. The closer they had gotten to the office, though, the more Frank waffled on that decision. By the time the two were taking the elevator to the bullpen, Frank was afraid he might throw up.

Oswald, trying to stand far enough away to be out of the line of fire should that happen; yet close enough that Frank felt his support – couldn't really blame the kid. The things he had been through were horrible enough, but it was obvious what really terrified him was the idea of the same things happening to his brother. Oswald clung to the belief that Don would understand that fear, and help the guy out. Fenton Hardy may be the most evil man alive, from what Oswald had heard, and the sooner he was locked up, the better!

"I can't do this," Frank said suddenly, as the elevator lurched to a stop.

"Yes, you can," Oswald encouraged, dragging on the sleeve of Frank's jacket to take him into the bullpen. "Just tell them what you told me. It'll be easier, the second time."

Frank didn't answer but shook his head miserably. Oswald ended up having to drag him all the way to Don's desk, worried all the way that Frank would hurl on his neck at any second. Oswald was unaccountably relieved to see Charlie standing with Don over the desk – until he saw the warning looks on everybody else's faces, and heard the continuing argument proceeding, full speed ahead.

"Shut-up and listen to the numbers, will you?", Charlie cried in exasperation. "I'm telling you, your in-house experts aren't coming up with the same thing because they're not including all the necessary variables! You've got..."

Don had taken a step closer to Charlie and turned an odd shade of violet at the initial "Shut-up". No-one told him to shut-up, especially not his annoying little brother, in front of all his agents. He poked an index finger into Charlie's chest.

"Say that to me again, and it will be a cold day in hell before you consult with this agency again! What you're suggesting is simply not possible. Even a genius can be wrong sometimes, Charlie!"

Oswald glanced at Colby, who shook his head slightly to warn him off. Then he looked back at Frank, who had pulled out of his grip and was backing toward the elevator, face pale. He swallowed and pulled himself up tall and straight, towering over both Don and Charlie. "HEY!", he yelled, and both men looked at him as if one of the koi in Charlie's pond had spoken. "Frank has something you need to hear. Conference room. Now."

Charlie's eyes widened and Don's narrowed. Oswald, now fearing both Frank's vomit and Don's fist, took off toward the nearest conference room. He had latched onto Frank's jacket again, and literally dragged him along behind. When they reached the room and turned to face the door, Oswald was somewhat surprised to see that the brothers Eppes had followed them. Damn. He should try this assertive stuff more often.

Don's glare made him reassess that thought. "Well?", the senior agent demanded gruffly.

Frank waited until Charlie had slipped far enough inside to close the door behind them. Then, he started off slowly, dividing his attention between the carpet and Oswald.

He repeated the story he had told his friend, adding a few new details that he thought might help convince Don that Fenton was the kingpin of the organization.

Don was listening to him intently. He wasn't sure what to think. For one thing, the boy had been silent for weeks. The very fact that he had suddenly found his voice lent his story credibility. On the other hand, this story was nothing short of insane – maybe he had picked it up in a fan fiction forum somewhere or something.

While he was still deciding what to say, Charlie pounced on the story excitedly. "Don, Don, this makes perfect sense! The variables in my expressions differ from your in-house people because they are all trying to make Jackson and Johnson fit in, somehow! Hardy controls them, politically; he's been using them as a smokescreen! Don, the numbers…"

Don closed his eyes. He really, really needed at least an entire bottle of aspirin. "Shut-up, Charlie," he said, paying his brother back. He stared hard at Frank, who had ended his story with a plea for Joe's safety. "Okay," he said slowly. He sighed and shook his head. "Let me pull a few strings until I can get this sorted out…" He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He pulled out his cell phone and wandered around in the hallway directly outside the conference room, clearly visible through the glass windows.

Frank watched carefully, judging the expressions on Don's face. "He doesn't believe me," he said miserably, to no-one in particular.

Oswald slapped him a couple of times on his hunched shoulders. "Of course he does," he said, although watching Don himself, he wasn't at all sure that was true. "He's making a call, isn't he?"

Charlie smiled at Frank, but didn't add an opinion. His smile was a little distracted, and his own expression had become a little guarded. He had no problem believing Frank's story – and it wasn't just because it dovetailed nicely with his numbers. He had long hated Fenton Hardy, and he had long known what the man was capable of….

The door slammed back open, nearly pinning Charlie against the wall, and Don advanced in a cold fury toward Frank. "I can't believe you," he said, in his interrogation-room voice. "My father has taken you in, you live in my brother's house, and you have nothing better to do than make up lies to muck up a case that's already driving us all crazy?!"

Oswald suddenly flashed back on the time he was a suspect in a case, and Don had him "in the box". The memory sufficiently paralyzed him, and he was completely unable to repeat his earlier defense of Frank. Frank's own eyes welled with tears, and he took an involuntary step back. "I'm not lying," he whispered. "Joe…"

Don crossed his arms over his chest and spoke sarcastically. "'Joe' nothing," he interrupted. "I just called Chief Collig and asked him to place Joe in protective custody until we could pick him up and arrange safe transport to L.A. He laughed at me, dammit! He said he had dinner at your house last night, and he knows for a fact that Joe is safe! Your mother and father decided he should get to relax a little and spend the summer away himself, and he's been with your Uncle Jeff for almost a week!" He turned toward the door again as if to leave. "Why the hell I wasted my time with some troubled teenager my father took in like a stray puppy…"

Two things happened that caused Don to stop. First, Charlie, who was in his line of sight now, suddenly turned gray and swayed, barely managing to latch onto the back of a chair before he passed out and hit the floor. As Don hurried toward him, he heard Frank burst into tears behind him, sounding more like a terrified 7-year-old than a troubled teenager.

Don grabbed his brother's arm. "Sit down," he commanded. "Put your head between your knees."

He barely registered Frank's garbled, tear-thickened words. "Oh, God! Dad's st-started, al-already! Uncle Jeff is a sex-sexual predator, he's been arrested three times, but my, my, my Dad always plants evidence somewhere else, or gets him off on a tech-technicality! My Mom won't let any of us be alone with him, Dad must have forced her cooperation…oh, God, he must have hurt Mom, t-t-too…." He began to cry harder. "It's wrong, it's all wrong!"

Don was squatting next to Charlie's chair. He smoothed his curls as his brother took a few deep breaths, and frowned slightly when he brought his head up suddenly.

"Uncle Jeff. Your father's brother, right?"

Frank looked at him and nodded, visibly trying to regain control. "Y-Yes. But they're, they're half-brothers, so he has a different last name. Henderson." He suddenly looked hopeful. "He should be in the system, even though he was never convicted, right?"

Charlie paled even further and turned his attention to Don. "Jeff Henderson," he whispered, and Don's hand tightened on the back of Charlie's neck.

He thought he might get sick then, himself. Yeah, Henderson was in the system. Maybe he was never convicted of pediophilia, but he did time for beating the hell out of his step-daughter, Jessica Cartman. She had been a friend of Charlie's in elementary school. After her step-father got out of county and court-ordered therapy, he was allowed back in the house, and her mother, stupid woman, had taken him back. Just before she had disappeared, Charlie had come back from an afternoon at the park with her, bruised and bleeding, arm broken, and inexplicably terrified. His brother had always insisted he had fallen off the jungle gym. Not even their mother had been able to get a coherent story out of him, and when the nightmares started a few days later, they told themselves it was because Jessica had run away, and Charlie couldn't understand that.

Don intended to get Charlie to himself and get to the bottom of this, but before he could do anything about it, Charlie's cell rang, making them both jump. Charlie was able to retrieve it from his pocket, but then just held it in a shaking hand, as if he didn't know what to do. Gently, Don took the phone and checked the caller display. Knees creaking, he stood and lifted the phone to his ear, stepping behind Charlie's chair and leaving one hand on his brother's back. "Hi, Dad," he said into the phone. "Charlie's…in a conference room with a witness, right now…." The conversation continued for a few seconds before Don snapped shut the cell and looked apologetically at Frank. "We have a problem."

Frank was still looking at Charlie. He recognized the look in the professor's dark eyes, and he was so floored by it that it dried his own tears. He spoke almost absently to Don. "What?"

"Fenton's coming down to spend the night at Dad's house. He says he's so overjoyed you're speaking again, he wants to see you."

That got Frank's total attention. Even Oswald paled. "How the hell did he find out?", demanded the statistician.

"Dad said it slipped out when Fenton called him yesterday to check on Frank. He said he was sure you were being silly anyway, when you asked him not to say anything."

Now Frank looked like he might pass out. "What are we going to do?"

Don was rubbing circles on Charlie's back, and his brother was wheezing a little. "Hell if I know," he growled.