The early hours of Day Four found Megan and her teammates staking out an auto shop three blocks from the karaoke bar. As they watched the infrared surveillance from the back of the tactical operations van, Megan counted a dozen heat signatures moving freely through the shop. Judging by the noise of buzz saws and welding torches, this was a chop shop with a major order to fill. The plan was to go in fast and go in hard before the gangsters had the chance to turn the shop into a war zone.
One infrared signature, cooler than the rest, remained stationary in the back quarter of the shop. Megan could only assume that this solitary signature was Don. She told herself that it was cooler because he had been kept in a cold meat locker, not because his body was no longer generating heat. David and Colby worried about the same thing, Megan could tell; they were getting frustrated and impatient waiting for her to give the go-ahead. Still, she wanted to be certain that LAPD, SWAT, and their own FBI backup were in place before she gave the order to execute the raid.
Finally, she heard the last team check in, and none too soon.
"So are we just gonna sit here all night, or are we gonna go get him?" David had been running on angry for weeks now, and the current situation wasn't helping any.
"We've got to play it smart, David, or they get to him first and it's all over." Colby's voice was calmer, but no less determined.
"You think I don't know that?"
"I know you know that, man." Colby clapped David on the back. "He's right, Megan. The longer we wait, the worse the odds get for Don."
Megan confirmed the last check-in. "All right. LAPD SWAT is covering the back, we're going in the front. Pendergrast and Tomaki's team will secure the place while we find Don."
The entire raid took ten minutes. As Megan had feared, the shop equipment created an obstacle course, and the large weapons cache that was being readied for transport provided additional ammunition that could go up with one stray bullet.
Amid the kinetic confusion, Megan, Colby, and David focused on their primary target, the room in the back quarter of the building. The rest of the building was being secured when Megan saw a lone gangster take off in that direction. Following the thug, Megan caught a glimpse of her team leader through the open door, and her heart constricted. She chose to believe that he was unconscious, not a lifeless body they were only minutes too late to save.
Megan went in low, Colby went in high, and David covered the rear. Instinct, reflexes, and adrenaline carried Megan through a scene that became a blur. The gangster took two shots at the Feds, then flipped the gun around and raised it high, hitting Don across the jaw, backhanded, twice with the butt of the pistol. Megan saw Don's head snap back, but his jaw hung loosely, and red oozed down his face.
Megan heard a report from above her head as Colby fired at Don's assailant, catching him at center mass.
Then she heard two more shots as David took out an unseen guard who had taken aim at Colby.
Megan and her teammates eased themselves quickly into the room, sweeping their weapons around what looked like a storage room filled with all sorts of things Megan was sure Colby saw as potential torture devices. She had declared the room clear when a gurgling sound caught her attention. She turned to Don; no longer gagged, he was strapped to a heavy wooden chair, wrists tied tightly to the tops of the chair's arms. Though unconscious, he was alive, gagging and coughing, choking on his own blood. She holstered her gun, trusting her team to cover her, and gently cradled the back of Don's head with one hand and his jaw with the other. His skin was chilled and clammy to her touch, and his forehead was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. She eased his mouth closed and carefully tilted his head forward slightly so the blood from his broken nose and jaw would run out of his mouth rather than down his throat. She felt the warm liquid drip over her hand, but the gagging eased and the shuddering breathing became less labored.
"Don? Don, can you hear me?" Megan called desperately as she tried to rouse her friend. "Don, it's Megan. We're gonna get you out of here." She angled herself behind the chair, where she could more easily support Don's head with a hand to his forehead, reducing the pressure on his jaw as much as possible. From this nearly cheek-to-cheek position, Megan could hear every whispering, rasping, pain-filled breath.
She took a moment to visually assess his other injuries as she heard David relay the information to the medical unit standing by. Though they knew better than to try to move Don, Colby cut his bonds to give him freedom. Leaving the strap around Don's chest to keep him upright in the chair, Granger cut the ropes from Don's wrists and ankles. As he released Don's arms from their bindings, Megan noticed the swelling and bruising of three broken fingers on her team leader's right hand and two on his left. Her jaw tightened. Prolonged torture had been the Yak's agenda. This had not escaped Colby's notice either, as he again surveyed the tools and equipment in the room: batteries, cables, wrenches, crowbars, tire irons, sanders, all manner of caustic chemicals, blowtorches . . .
Don gave another weak, shuddering cough, and a blackened, swollen eye cracked open. "M— Meh—?" He forced the sounds between shallow breaths.
"Yeah, it's me, tough guy. Don't try to talk. We're gonna get you out of here." She rubbed a thumb ever so lightly across his chin, offering comfort, feeling the stubble there from four days without shaving. "I don't know about the scruffy look, Don. It works for the academics, maybe even for Granger here, but I think I prefer you clean shaven."
Don blinked slowly, and to Megan's relief he quirked the tiniest smile. ". . . keemp 'at in min'," he breathed. Then he grew serious. "Cha— Char—"
"Charlie's fine. We found him right where they said we would. He's the one who helped us find you."
Don let out a pained sigh and closed his eyes. "Goo'n," he said. "Knew he wouln."
Megan's muscles started to burn from the awkward position from which she held Don, but that was a small price to pay for finding her friend alive and keeping him that way. Megan called to David, "How long until the medics get in here?"
David snapped his cell phone shut. "As soon as the place is secured. Just a couple more minutes."
"Ge'nd 'em?" Don asked without opening his eyes. "Maj'r shibm'n'. Da'bin knows."
"Yeah, Don, we got 'em," David said as Colby cut the ropes binding Don's ankles. "They're rounding 'em up right now."
Don managed a small nod. "Goo'n."
"Hey," Megan said softly, bending closer to his ear. "I thought I told you not to talk."
Don still had not opened his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"But we do need to know what's wrong," she said. "Can you tell us that? In as few words as possible?"
Another labored breath. "Ribs . . . sum'n wron' . . . kidney punch . . ." He tried to lift his left wrist. "Han's . . ."
"Hey, man. Don't do that," Colby scolded as he carefully repositioned Don's hand on the arm of the chair. "The medics will get you patched up good as new."
Megan took Don's sighing breath as agreement.
"Da'n?" Don asked.
"We haven't been able to get a hold of your father yet," Megan said. "I've left messages for him to call me, but I haven't heard from him."
"Remod'e," Don replied, then gave a weak cough that sent an additional trickle of blood dripping down Megan's hand.
"I know," Megan said, growing frustrated at her friend's lack of cooperation. "Now shut up and let us do the work."
Don did not reply, and Megan knew that he'd succumbed—to shock, to pain, to exhaustion, and more hopefully, to relief that his trusted team had found him in time.
"Hang in there, Don," she whispered in his ear. "We'll get you home."