Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

Chapter Six

"The Los Angeles Distribution Center operated by the Hitachi Transport System," Charlie said. "I can say with about eight-five percent certainty that your guy works here."

"Look at the location," Colby said. "In the South Bay, near the LA port, and right by LAX."

"If this guy works here, he could kill half of the city," David finished.

"Colby, pull up a list of employees that work at the center," Don commanded from his seat at the back of the room. With such a targeted search, the results were up in only a minute or so.

"We're probably looking for someone with a criminal record, someone with links to past terrorist organizations," Megan added.

"David, your list," Don ordered. David leaned over Colby's shoulder and punched in a few more things. The list narrowed down to about ten people.

"Jordan Reynolds," Megan said. A picture of a white man with hauntingly dark eyes, heavy brows and dark hair took over the screen. "He's been previously charged with assault, and he has been involved in violent protests against the government."

"Let's go talk to him," Don said, pulling his keys from his pocket. "Hey, thanks, buddy."

"Of course," Charlie said, watching the agents file out until he was left alone sitting on a desk in the war room.

"Okay, according to the manager, he should be inside, returning his truck and punching out," Megan said, returning to where the other agents were waiting near Don's truck.

Don wordlessly walked toward the doors, Colby and Megan on his heels. Stepping inside the building, Don scanned the room back and forth looking for their guy. Jordan Reynolds became incredibly apparent with the sound of running footfalls, of a door bursting open on the other side of the room, the face from the picture just visible looking back in fear before disappearing outside.

"Aw, hell! FBI! Freeze!" Don exclaimed, taking off toward the door. "Colby!" He motioned to Colby to go around the side of the building as he accelerated to a full sprint. He slammed into the door, knocking it open wide, then turning right then left looking for Reynolds. Reynolds was running down the alley towards the back of the warehouse, glancing over his shoulder as he went. Don gave chase again, every step coursing through his aching muscles, making him dizzy. After only a few seconds his lungs burned with the lack of oxygen, but he forced himself on, to the end of the alley, around the corner, closing in on Reynolds but still nowhere near close enough. He heard Colby's steps behind him, out of sync from his own, and prayed that if he couldn't make it Colby would.

Reynolds ran to the edge of the back lot, meeting a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The wire did little to deter him as he leapt against the fence, catching the wire between his fingers and beginning to scale it, though more carefully towards the top. Don ran even faster, somehow though he had been sure he was not capable of more speed, at the sight of Reynolds about to disappear over the fence. He reached the fence just as Reynolds made to swing one leg over the top and he lunged forward, catching the man's ankle, prying him from his precarious position.

Not having thought this through entirely, Don struggled as the other man toppled from the fence to land almost on top of him, knocking Don to the ground.

"Stay down!" Don yelled, wrestling with the guy, trying to keep his hands in sight while still gaining the advantage. Quite abruptly, Reynolds was lifted off of him, and the sudden lack of crushing pressure on his chest allowed the sharp intake of breath that his body craved but which he did not want, and he began to cough, wheezing and gasping. He rolled onto his side, trying to make it to his hands and knees before the inevitable happened – and he just made it before he vomited in between coughs. When that was over, still coughing, he rolled away, feeling his legs curl in toward his chest.

"Don! Don, you okay?" Colby shouted over the coughing, holding tight to Reynolds' handcuffs. Don blinked up at him, noting , for reasons not apparent to him, the chain-link pattern on Reynolds face where Colby had shoved him none too gently against the fence to cuff him and the worry on Colby's face and he could hear footsteps running toward them. And suddenly Megan was there, helping him to sit up, one hand on his chest, instructing him to slow his breathing, to just relax and he listened, letting her voice calm him until he could inhale in short, shallow bursts, but it was enough to clear the black spots from his vision.

"I'm okay now," Don said finally, watching Colby march Reynolds across the lot. "Thanks."

"Maybe you should just stay here a moment and we'll call –"

"I'm not going to a hospital," Don interrupted. "Seriously, I feel better. Just let me up. Ground's cold."

Don watched the monitor as David questioned Reynolds, watched as David lowered his voice menacingly and Reynolds stared unflinchingly back, refusing to answer a single question. There was no doubt Reynolds was their terrorist – a vial of ricin in his pocket was evidence enough for a full warrant for his car and his home, as well as a warrant for his arrest. Colby had reported that Reynolds' house contained enough ricin for the kind of attack the FBI would only consider in its worst nightmare. "On the bright side," he said, "we're not seeing any evidence that he had anyone else in on this. It's looking a lot like a one-man operation."

Don had called and had all of Reynolds' deliveries pulled from the stores and brought back to the FBI lab for testing and probably disposal. The ricin at the house was being taken care of by Haz-Mat and really all that was left was to verify the lack of accomplices and fill out some paperwork.

David strode out of the interrogation room, joining Don walking over to their desks. "He's not giving an inch," he reported. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if he was mute."

"He may not need to," Megan said, waving a notebook as she walked in with Colby. "We found this at his home. Details on all of his plans, his motivations, basically every thought he's had in months."

"Guy's a nutcase," Colby added.

"And an anarchist," Megan added. "He thought that by killing just a few people to hint at a larger attack, when the larger attack did happen, all the flak would be on law enforcement for the initial cover-up."

"If we had put it all over the news, there would've been mass panic," Don said.

"But the public doesn't see it that way," David said. "If you or your family got poisoned and you found out the government knew and didn't warn anyone – you'd be pissed." Don nodded his assent at that.

"It was all a scare tactic designed to crumble the trust metric between the people and its government," Megan said. "Make people fear something as colloquial as going to the grocery store, the world becomes a very irrational place. And then by setting up the FBI to take the blame…"

"And we're sure he acted alone?" Don queried.

"There's no evidence otherwise," Colby said. "He's a loner. No real friends. Hasn't even made any calls except for takeout."

"I guess that's it, then," Don said tiredly. "Good work today, all of you. Go home, get some rest, you deserve it," he said sincerely. Colby and David exchanged glances. Don, too tired to even try to deduce what they could possibly have a problem with, decided to ignore it, turning back to the report in front of him.

"No, you don't," Megan said, shaking his shoulder. "Don't get too comfortable. It's time for you to go home, too."

"I was just going to finish this up," Don said weakly, sensing the three of them were about to gang up on him.

"You'll finish it later, after you go home and get well," Megan said. "You're lucky I didn't call an ambulance back in the field, but don't think I won't do it now." Colby and David grinned slightly as Don dropped his pen and stood up shakily, reaching for his keys, only to have Megan swipe them. "And I'm driving you home."

"You know I'm your boss, right? Not the other way around," Don grumbled, walking with his team toward the elevators.

"I'm the boss when you're incapacitated," Megan retorted. They rode downstairs, Don leaning heavily against the wall of the elevator, then headed towards Megan's car. David and Colby split off toward their own vehicles, David wishing Don well, and Colby telling Don that he was suing if he caught whatever Don had.

Once in the car, Don leaned his head back against the seat, eyes drooping. His entire body literally ached, every muscle coiled with stress and anxiety and, he suspected, dehydration. He hadn't managed any water since the breakthrough on the distribution center, and he hadn't even kept that down. He could hear a rattle in his chest when he breathed and it was starting to irritate him.

"My apartment is that way," Don interjected as Megan turned the wrong way.

"We aren't going to your apartment," she said simply.

"No. I'm not going to Charlie's," Don said loudly. Megan ignored him. "Do you know how much my dad is going to fuss and make a big deal out of this? I don't want them to worry."

"I know how you get after cases like this," Megan said, looking over at him with worried, sincere eyes. "And no matter if you don't realize it or don't want to admit it, you are extremely ill. I'm not comfortable leaving you alone, but I'm too tired to stay with you. So it's Charlie's or a hospital, take your pick."

Don gave her a sulky look before closing his eyes, the pinkish hue of the morning doing nothing good for his pounding head. He felt himself shivering again and thought maybe Megan was right. Much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't remember the last time he was this sick. And if he was going to be even more honest with himself, he knew he was too sick to be taking care of himself. He doubted he could even make canned soup right now, not that he had any. He didn't even like soup, for the most part, but that was what you ate when you were sick and your stomach was unsettled and it had not occurred to him until now that that was probably the reason most people kept soup on hand. It wouldn't be terrible, he concluded, to have his family around him to help, should he need it. He didn't want to worry them, but he did have a sneaking suspicion that they worried just as much on the nights when he turned off his cell phone and dropped off the face of the earth as they did when they knew he was hurt. Maybe there really was just no avoiding it. As much as he struggled to never worry anyone – his team, Liz, his family – in the end, maybe it wasn't possible. Maybe no matter how hard he tried, he was just destined to be a burden.