Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Three whole paragraphs….

"When the chips are down, save your own ass."- FraidyCat

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Frank whimpered when he heard Jason's footsteps on the stairs. He wasn't emotionally prepared to take any more beatings or torture. But there was no way, no way in hell, that he was going to give up Don, Charlie or Alan, or anyone at the FBI. They'd done so much for him, even though he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve it at all.

He recognized the sound of the metal boots. When he had been previously captured, they always meant relief, until the night Jason was "murdered". Frank hadn't been able to sleep that night and had spent the night crying silently, wondering who was going to rescue him from the current hell he was in.

The next time he had seen Jason again, it had been one of the biggest shocks of his life. Besides finding out that his father was in charge of a massively led drug operation, it probably was the biggest shock of his life.

The boots finally clanked their way down the stairs to where Frank was sitting. Jason stared down at him, knife in hand. "Well," he drawled in a fake southern accent, laughing as he lightly traced his knife up and down Frank's face, "Are we ready to begin?"

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Don had the cell phone open while still holding the panic loop and was hitting the speed dial for Oswald one-handed. He was relieved when Oswald picked up. At least he hoped it was Oswald. "Batter-up," sing-songed Kittner's voice.

"Oswald, knock it off," Don gritted out between his teeth. He was in no mood to be messed with. "Look, we've got major problems. My dad just threw himself into the case. I need you to go to the safe house and find Joe and stay with him, all right? I'm sending an ambulance there for Martinez as well. Apparently my Dad hit his light switch, somehow."

There was a slight pause as Oswald processed that information. He was surprisingly fast at it, and matter-of-fact when he spoke next. "I don't have any way to get to the safe house," he said. "My car is back at Colby's place. Besides, I don't know where the place is. I think that's why they call it a 'safe house'."

Don cursed himself and growled at Oswald at the same time. He made a quick decision. It was damn-the-torpedos time. "Take my SUV out of the parking garage. There's a spare set of keys in the second drawer of my desk. Which I am moving as soon as this is over," he added as an afterthought.

"Cool," Oswald responded, unperturbed. "Can I play with the whole siren thing?"

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LAPD's SWAT team arrived at the house a few minutes before them and had already taken their positions. Sharpshooters had a clear view of Charlie through the kitchen window. He was kneeling on the floor, in an execution position, Jeff Henderson standing over him with a gun. There was no sign of Alan, Fenton or Frank Hardy, or anyone else. Don felt his blood run cold as he lifted binoculars and trained them on Charlie. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. No time for finesse. The asshole was about to blow his brother away.

He literally dropped the binoculars where he stood and addressed the team gathered around him. "We've got to move," he urged. "Units came in silent, so he doesn't know we're here. Colby, you and I take the back. Megan and David, you have the front. Watch your backs – we don't know if anyone else is in there."

As the agents began to move, they passed an LAPD detective's car and heard the radio squawk, the dispatcher calling all available units to an officer-involved shooting less than a mile away. Almost immediately, the noise of approaching sirens split the air as patrol cars responded, and Don gave up all pretense of a secure approach. "GO!", he shouted, taking off in a dead run, terrified that the sirens would push Henderson over the edge. "GO! GO! GO!"

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Jason was thoroughly enjoying threatening Frank again when the sound of sirens filtered into the basement. "Holy shit," he muttered, suddenly forgetting his fun and sprinting to one of the basement windows. Frantically he palmed the grime away and swore again. At least a dozen police cars, including a huge SWAT van, were barricading the house.

"Son of a bitch," he cried, backing away from the window. He glanced briefly up the stairs, wondering about Fenton, Jeff and the Eppes. He quickly decided he didn't give a damn, and ran back to Frank, who was staring at him with huge eyes. Wrapping one arm around his neck, Jason began to drag Frank, who was too surprised and weak to struggle, into the small alcove under the staircase. He knew they would be out of sight, there.

He crouched behind Frank, still firmly squeezing his arm into the boy's trachea. Frank was starting to get light-headed, gasping for air. "You're really in it deep now, boy," hissed Jason. "Cops all over the damn place." He leaned over and whispered in Frank's ear. "It's because of that FBI agent's family. I told Fenton he was asking for trouble on that one. They're just here to get the old man and his kid back. They don't care about you."

Jason was thinking as he spoke, and as a thought occurred to him, his hold lessened a little. He ruminated aloud as Frank raggedly took in breaths and clutched at the arm still around his neck. "They'll find them all, they're all upstairs. When the agent has his family back, he'll either kill the boss and Jeff or bust 'em." His hold relaxed further, and his arm started to leave Frank's neck. He actually chuckled, chilling Frank's blood more than anything else had. "No-one will look for you. It's you and me, kid. We'll just sit it out and listen to the action. Then we'll have time for a little more of our own."

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Colby picked the lock on the back door to the small utility annex so quickly and expertly, Don found himself wondering briefly exactly what he had done in Afghanistan. He crouched over Colby, gun drawn in a covering position while his partner pocketed the picks and got his own service weapon into position. Then, using hand signals, they advanced as quickly and silently as possible the brief distance to the former kitchen, where they knew Charlie was.

There was a suspended, swinging half-door separating the two rooms. As they approached, they could hear Henderson laughing – and then the ominous click of the hammer of a gun falling into firing position.

In a near-panic now, Don silently indicated that Colby should go low, and without waiting to see that he was understood, he blasted through the door. He leveled his weapon at Henderson and shouted. "ONE MORE MOVE AND YOU'RE SPREAD ALL OVER THESE WALLS!"

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Later, when he had to write the reports and talk to the crime scene reconstruction experts, Don admitted that he did everything wrong. As soon as he had heard that click, his FBI-sense was gone, and he was only, totally, a brother. That was an unfortunate error in judgment for which he would never forgive himself. His shout had startled Henderson into discharging his weapon, and had alerted Fenton Hardy in the living room; another few seconds, and Megan and David would have had him, and liberated Alan. As it was, Fenton had drawn his own firearm, crooked his arm over his old friend's neck and dragged him into the kitchen. Nothing short of a firefight ensued while Fenton used Alan as a shield. He had been intending to escape either through the back entrance, or back to the basement, but when he saw all his exits blocked, Hardy reconsidered. In the confusion caused by the hail of gunfire, he backed out of the kitchen, dragging Alan with him, and bolted up a set of rickety stairs, barely escaping injury when Megan and David burst around a corner and joined the quarrel. When it was over, minutes later that seemed like hours, Don looked through the haze and saw both Charlie and Jeff Henderson, lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

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Still in his position after sliding under the swinging door that separated the utility room and the kitchen, Colby scrambled across the bloody floor on his hands and knees. Megan and David, after a brief sympathetic glance at Don, retraced their steps and cautiously pursued Fenton up the stairs. Don kicked a small handgun out of Henderson's reach and leaned over quickly to check for a pulse. He did not expect to find one – and he was not disappointed. "This one's dead," he growled, dropping to his knees beside Colby and his brother. "Charlie's okay, right? It's all Henderson's blood?"

Colby ripped off his jacket and bunched it into a ball, then used it to apply pressure to Charlie's shoulder. He answered Don without looking at him. "He's hit. Arm's broken, too. There's a lot of blood – looks like something large caliber."

"What?", Don whispered, staring in horror at the scene before him. His eyes were drawn again to the gun he had kicked out of Jeff Henderson's hand. Large caliber? Henderson only had a .22, that wasn't right…. He paled, and gasped as if hit in the gut with a baseball bat, as he hefted the heavy steel of the service weapon he still held.

It was a .357.

"Oh my God," he barely breathed. "Friendly fire…"

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End Chapter 16

A/N: Oh, wow. I'm sorry this puppy took so long to get up. This chapter, for whatever reason, was hard to write. My beta and I fought over the first copy (which was eventually ditched), but here you go.

This took over an hour for the both of us – over an hour each -- so hit the pretty purple button and review.

Please?