Chapter 13

Jeremy slumped on the couch. It was nearly midnight, and he was tired, but knew he wouldn't sleep. He had dozed a little between phone calls. It seemed like all he'd done was talk, talk, talk. His mom and brother had called and the three of them had talked for over an hour. Powell had called twice, his grandparents. Even Eames, who was back out on duty, had called. For some reason, that call was the hardest.

The television still flickered. He had the sound turned low, unable to turn it off. Why hadn't they been able to stop it? He thought of his dad, sitting at the table every weekend, fighting with his duty schedule, never having enough people to go around. It had all been for nothing.

Jeremy angrily tossed the remote on the couch cushions. This afternoon he'd only wanted to come home. Now he couldn't stand to be here. He went to the kitchen, peered out the window, before checking his watch. Even with everything that was going on, the PD was sending a car by every hour. They'd be by in a few minutes.

Jeremy grabbed his coat and locked up the house. He'd flag them down and talk them into taking him to the station. If they wouldn't take him, he'd damn well walk and they couldn't stop him.

"Hey, Eames, you want to wake up?" Goren waved a cup of fresh brewed coffee near her.

Eames opened her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost six. It's still dark outside. Another shift's coming in. We can go."

Eames rubbed her forehead. "My neck aches."

"Might have something to do with sleeping like a pretzel in a hospital waiting room. I felt the same way when you came to get me."

"Okay, I'm conscious. Where to?"

"Downtown. The whole place may be nuts, but I haven't given up on Ross. I want to talk with Powell."

"Let's roll."

Jeremy rolled onto his side and rubbed his eyes. The couch in his dad's office wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than being at home, alone in an empty house. At least here, he had a sense that his dad could walk through the door any second. He ran his hands over the leather of the couch. He remembered coming here with his dad when he'd first been promoted to Major Case. The thought brought tears to his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was lose it.

He checked his watch and sighed. Even though he had slept for a few hours, he didn't feel rested. He pushed aside the coat he'd used as a blanket, sat up and stretched. Sergeant Powell hadn't been too pleased to see him last night, but at least he hadn't kicked him out. They'd talked the last time around two. Jeremy opened the blinds and looked out into the bullpen. Everybody in the place looked the same way, worn out and worried.

Avoiding everyone he could, he slipped out and went to the restroom, taking extra time to scrub the sleep from his face. The reflection in the mirror seemed like someone he didn't know. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed, he was wearing yesterday's clothes and he needed a shower. His dad wouldn't be pleased to see him so scruffy. Jeremy could remember plenty of times when he'd been sent back to his room for a more appropriate outfit.

He ran into Rhonda on the way back. She teared up when she saw him, which had Jeremy doing the same. He covered by gruffly asking if she needed help with the boxes of food she was carrying. He let her explain the obvious without comment. Detectives would be coming back to the station and they'd need to eat. He promised to start some fresh coffee while she went back to her car for the rest of the food. It was a relief to be left alone again.

He wandered back to his dad's office, nibbling on a blueberry muffin. It tasted like sand, but he realized he was hungry. He'd never gotten around to ordering anything last night. He sank into the chair behind his dad's desk, feeling very alone and abandoned. If only his dad would walk through the door. Then everything would be okay.

He fiddled with the familiar objects on the desk and noticed the folder. The sticky note attached was from Culver. She was on her way to Philadelphia, but left the forensics report for Powell. Jeremy hesitated, and then opened the cover. He might not understand all of it, but he didn't have to understand the science to understand the conclusions.

Armand Fischer closed the door gently and flipped the lock. Their last session with Ross had not gone well. At least the man wouldn't be giving them any problems for a few hours. He motioned Ibrahim to follow. "Where is the boy?" he asked.

Ibrahim shook his head. "The house was empty."

"A disappointment," Fischer remarked with a sigh. He was tired and restless. "Without the boy, I do not think our good captain will indulge us. It would have been as the Americans put it, the icing on the cake. It's time for us to move ahead."

Ibrahim nodded solemnly. "And our other plans? Shall I remain?"

Fischer shook his head. "No. Our guest will give us no problems. Send for Joseph, since we intend to use him. You have been to the mosque?"

"Yes." Ibrahim's eyes flashed in anger. "Instead of rejoicing, they condemn. The fools and the cowards." He shook his head in disgust.

"Be calm, my friend. Our time will come, and sooner than they could possibly imagine. That is why our mission is so important and it must be implemented now." Fischer said, placing his hand on the other man's elbow. "This is why we must show them the way, goad them to the righteous anger they should already feel. When we are finished, they will be brothers in the struggle instead of apologists. Are there special gatherings being planned?"

"Yes." Ibrahim dug a paper from his pocket. "I made a list."

"Excellent." Fischer scanned the list. "We will begin with the mosque this afternoon, but I predict the school will be especially productive. How can a true Muslim man fail to avenge his child or wife?"

"How indeed?" answered Ibrahim with a smile.