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FOGLE TOWERS: 2:14 AM, Seattle; 11:14 AM, Zurich

Logan drummed his fingers against the wheel of his chair, impatiently waiting for his cousin Richard to take his call. After several tries, Logan had finally managed to get Rick's personal assistant on the line and convince the woman that what he had to say was urgent and needed Richard's immediate, personal attention.

In his second hour of reviewing all the surveillance materials he'd managed from Cale Industries, Logan saw, in footage labeled as occurring nearly simultaneously with the assassination of his uncle, the two male members of the visiting trio return to the lab, overtake the guard, and make their way inside. At that point, one set about destroying every test mock up and piece of hardware in sight, as the other busied himself at the computer console, expertly hacking into the system, as far as Logan could tell on close up, to obliterate any proof that the project ever existed.

They'd deleted the known security data, too–but, to Logan's glimmer of satisfaction amid it all–not from the more recent, stealthy sources he and Bennett had added. So he had that, as well as what he'd taped in real time. Now, with luck, this trio–and whomever or whatever sent them–would not know that, as every business model encourages back up, CI had not only local, but remote back up allowed by its European assets. At least, maybe they hadn't discovered it yet...

As the line finally clicked and he heard his older cousin's voice, Logan breathed more easily.

"Logan, I'm in the middle of a crisis here, or are you too busy playing investigative reporter to know there've been some new developments with the company–and the family?"

Logan chose to ignore the crack. "Richard, listen to me: I need you to upload to me immediately every back-up file you have in any way related to the Seattle office. I sent your assistant the link–have someone do it now, right away; if it's discovered that you have these files too they'll be erased the moment they're discovered."

"Wait a minute; Logan, who the hell do you think you're..."

"Richard, damn it, there's no time to debate this. I promise I'll explain..."

"I don't care if you do, because..."

Hating to say more because of unsecured lines, hating the delay, Logan finally spat "Listen to me: have your IT guy–your best one–encrypt it all, put in as many access limits as you want–but do it and send it, now. Richard, you know who is involved with CI contracts and you know they can wipe out what you have in a heartbeat, if they want. All the Seattle files are gone, Rick, along with the proof I think they contain about who murdered your father. Now do it. I'll be waiting and I can store the files in a way they can't access. When you get it done–and when you feel like discussing it --I'll be here. And when you get your guy to give me access–I might even be able to get some answers."

He slapped the button on his keyboard disconnecting the call, angry at the family distrust that prevented Richard's reaction from being an immediate, no questions asked response to Logan's call. A part of him prodded back that he hadn't spoken to Rick in several years, that he was asking the CFO of CI's European subsidiary, nearly a stand-alone company, to send everything to the family's black sheep, who they all believed would sell out the Cales if it meant a Pulitzer in his pocket...

But Logan was also a significant stockholder in Rick's company, so hurting it would hurt Logan. And in the midst of CI's upheaval, anything Rick could do to keep the division afloat and separate from CI so it wouldn't be looted as a part of Cale Industries would benefit Logan as well. As a Cale, Rick understood that it was all about the bottom line. Logan hoped that Rick would be willing to consider all of that first, and ask questions later...

It was a faster consideration than he'd hoped. Opening the screen at the suddenly appearing, blinking icon, Logan breathed another sigh of relief as he watched Cale Europe connect to his system and begin uploading file after file into his data storage...

FOGLE TOWERS: 10:45 AM, Seattle

Coming into the elevator, feeling an unfamiliar impatience, Bling swiped his security card in the panel and hit the button to Logan's floor. His disquiet rippled again that he could not force the doors to close immediately, nor push the elevator car to rise faster. He was anxious to see Logan and see how he was doing, given all that had happened over the past several days.

Normally he knew what Eyes Only projects were pending and which were soon to break, and particularly, knew when a hack was imminent. But the news of an EO hack the day before took Bling by surprise, the subject matter unsettling. He suspected that the news was very recent, and given the circumstances, he also assumed that it was one of the toughest Logan ever had to do. His calls late last night after hearing it all had gone unreturned. And given that, it had taken all of Bling's strength not to just appear at Logan's doorstep the night before–or at the crack of dawn. Now, in the late morning following, he had no clue in what condition he might find Logan Cale, major shareholder of Cale Industries...

Bling let himself in, as he usually did, and came through the quiet penthouse to enter the kitchen and lay the bag of groceries on the counter, barely stopping on his way to the computer room as he flipped off the pot of coffee still cooking, a nearly-black two inches of thickened sludge remaining. The computers, up and humming, were abandoned --not unheard of, but in the circumstances... Bling moved on to the living room.

And there, long length stretched out on the couch, glasses still on and laptop balanced across his hips, lay the great Eyes Only, dozing uncomfortably as exhaustion had finally caught up to him.

Bling winced at the sight, imagining what self-directed blame and guilt had led Logan to look like he did at the moment . Even in sleep he looked gaunt and the circles under his eyes dark against his palor, brow troubled. Bling wondered if there was anything he could offer that Logan would agree to do to get away from all of it, even for a few days...

At least Logan's position showed him that his patient was finally listening to him, Bling reminded himself. With this particular couch, lying down along its length was actually less comfortable for Logan than sitting on it upright, so Bling knew that his stretching out like this was less for comfort than as a nod to Bling's repeated reminders that he needed to change position more often, that pressure sores were not a joke. Bling also saw, under his computer, the thin insulated board he'd found, so that the heat from the humming computer on his lap didn't end up scorching his unfeeling lower abdomen or thighs when left in one place for several hours, as had yet again happened this morning, apparently. Bling took the acquiescence he saw in these things as a another victory...

He considered Logan, hating to wake him, but knew he wasn't getting much rest like this. Although Logan should go stretch out in bed for a few hours, Bling suspected that once awakened, he'd just get back to the business of trying to save the world. First returning to the kitchen to start a carafe of water to heat, Bling then came back to perch on the sturdy, low table in front of the couch, and spoke Logan's name, quietly. He watched as the groggy face shifted, a breath drawn.

Green eyes appeared between slits of his eyelids, disappeared behind closed ones, then fought again to meet his trainer's. "Hey" he managed. "I thought you said you'd be late today."

"I am" Bling responded, still looking Cale over. "Looks as if maybe you are, too."

Logan grimaced, then shrugged; as he started to press himself up and back a little, coming more upright, Bling deftly reached over to lift the laptop off Logan's hips and lay it on the table. "Thanks" Logan murmured, his expression telling Bling he'd already started remembering all that had been going on in recent days. "I guess I got involved and...it got pretty late."

"I heard about the hack. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He repeated the quick assurance he tried with Max the day before.

"Yeah, I can see that. But how are you doing?"

Logan looked into the wise face, seeing the eyes that carried concern for him. Appreciative, he was always at a loss to know how to take it–it wasn't an emotion extended to him by many after his parents died– and he had been burned often enough that trusting it wasn't always easy. He dissembled, "you know, I never thought the day would come when you were asking me if I was okay because of work, and not because of some new therapy you think will shoot up my blood pressure–or make it bottom out."

Bling never dropped his gaze. "Well, we can celebrate that happy thought later–and can discuss why you think I'm so easily distracted. Right now–I want to know if this has gotten to you."

The facade cracked a bit, and Logan's eyes showed a ripple of vulnerability, with a little of the pain he'd been through over the last hours...and the last years. He sighed, choosing his words carefully. "Yeah, well...imagine finding that your family was in the business of designing better, faster, cheaper ways to kill off the populace." His voice was low, his words, flip–but the pain was there. "Imagine that the 'family trough' paying your room and board was gained by being the best at supplying the tools of subjugation. Not a happy moment."

"So you made it right."

"I made it public–I haven't done anything yet to make it right."

"Yet?" Bling asked, immediately. Logan's first instinct was to play it off, but knew it would be wasted effort. He thought a few moments before speaking again.

"I don't know that there's anything I can do to make it right." Logan admitted. "But...I've been looking in to a few things...I would like to follow the thread, see if I can find who ordered the things, and who or what was behind them."

"You think someone else came up with the idea to add guns to the drones?"

Logan snorted in a humorless laugh. "The sole reason my uncle did anything was to make a profit. Same for his partners. They would have had no reason to build one of those things if there wasn't something in it for them--or at least knew there would be bidders. I'm trying to decide now if there was a special order involved that spurred their development, and so, who–or what–was involved."

Bling watched the eyes, the ones that told everything, and saw a wealth of unstated detail. "You've found something..."

Logan wavered only bare moments before saying, "Come look at this." He reached a bit stiffly for his chair to pull it close, pulling his legs off the couch into a seated position to begin his transfer. But he hesitated, looking up to Bling with another sudden thought–the ripples of effect his hack had on so many...this time, it could be Bling. He had to make things clear, he had a responsibility of candor to this man, over nearly anyone else in his life. He looked back up. "No, wait–before that..." He drew a steadying breath. "Look...I probably just gave away any assets in the Cale Trust, which represented a big part of what I lived on–both the earnings and the shares themselves are likely to be seized. It's not the only thing I had; what broker isn't going to insist you diversify–but I honestly don't know what I have now and the value of anything remaining. With the economy, companies going bust or merging or reorganizing every week...I haven't kept up with any of it, so I have no idea if I have fifty cents or fifty million. I'm sorry, Bling..."

Bling looked at the man before him, cashmere sweater slightly askew, designer khakis rumpled from spending the night on the couch, his usual-three-day-beard looking frouzy at day five, and his spiky, unruly hair looking positively incorrigible. Bling had absolutely no doubt that he had no idea what the current state of his assets was–and was surprised to find that he admired Logan all the more for it. "We'll figure something out."

Stubbornly, wanting to be sure Bling understood, Logan insisted, " I just don't know if I can pay your salary; maybe you should get back with the hospital, full time..."

"We have got to work on this misconception you have, that I'm not smart enough to know when you're trying to throw me off–or when you're trying to tell me the facts of life. We'll deal, Logan, so come on –show me what you've got to show me." He stood, seeing the green eyes raise to him in a combination of embarrassment and reticence. Bling nudged, "Worse comes to worst, just think about the fact that every other informant or operative you have out there does what they do for the good of the act, and not for pay. What's wrong with me going back to being one of the troops?"

Logan finally relented very slightly, with a sad shrug. "I couldn't let you do the therapy, though..." he insisted. "That's your income."

"Why not? You let me sew up folks and do other medical stuff for free, a while back." Bling looked at him and insisted, "we'll work it out. For now–just show me the damn stuff." Logan's eyes dropped, silent, having no words for the man's offer. But after only a brief moment, he nodded–and reached again toward his wheelchair, leaning in to lock the brakes. Seeing that Logan was going to comply, Bling turned to head back toward the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder to his charge. "Looks like you could use some tea to start things–any preference?" He looked back to see Logan shake his head no, and kept on, determined not to let Logan see his concern. In this, Logan reminded him of his father, the same absent-minded professor type: bright, driven, almost childlike in their willingness to let the concerns of real life slide by without question, sweetly trusting in brokers or lawyers or other agents to worry about the details...and he had the same soft spot –and same concern--for each of them. Neither had been bitten by that trust yet–but it didn't make Bling any happier.

Logan had done such amazing things for so many people--yet his degree in--what the hell was it again? "Ethics, Politics, and Economics," some Yale-mixed department-- coupled with his sporadic above-ground work history, didn't exactly make him a leading candidate for the precious few jobs surfacing in the upended economy. Worse, his physical realities cut down the range and number of jobs he could land, not only because of the physical requirements of the work, but the physical limitations of so many structures and locations now that just didn't bother to make themselves accessible to someone on wheels. And not only was Logan as human as anyone, needing funds to buy food and heat and shelter, but truth was, it was just usually more expensive to be paraplegic than not. Logan's injury was the sort that could require medical intervention, both of the preventative and restorative type, as well as palliative, over the years. And none of it was cheap. He'd been lucky, so far, and had not succumbed to too many infections or ills associated with paralysis. But there was no guarantee that wouldn't change in the future.

Bling sighed as he prepared their tea. It wasn't that Logan wasn't able and bright and more than willing to do a day's work, just like the rest of the world had to do...there were just too many damn factors that were going to limit his options, too many that would make financial crisis downright dangerous for him. It just wasn't right, after all he had done...

Bling breathed in deeply, stilling his concerns, to decide sagely with his exhale that all he could do for the moment was just to take a page from their book and trust –here, trust that Logan's brokers had earned their probably-sizeable commission and kept him in the green. After all–both his own father and Logan had managed to sail through on trust, somehow. With a soft smile of hope at the thought, Bling lifted the steaming mugs to shake off his musings and walk in the computer room.

At Bling's appearance, Logan sat up a bit straighter, moving his nose a few inches further back from the monitor. At the proffered mug, he murmured his thanks and took this morning's concoction. As Bling reached around to pull up the desk chair sitting off to the side, Logan began explaining, "I copied surveillance film from Cale Industries, starting about three days before my uncle's murder. Early on I only have eight cameras' feeds, but added more a couple days ago." His fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling data and loading photos he'd added to his files. "I found that Research & Development turned one of their regular labs into some big-deal restricted site" he showed Bling a shot of the security officer, print pad lock and sign in terminal "that had been getting a lot of individualized attention from Jonas' partner, Gil Neal..." he ran through several still photographs, "and some interesting visitors." As Logan ran the clips from the security cameras over three different visits, he watched as Bling sat forward, suddenly riveted on the trio. "Remind you of anything?"

Bling's eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized the movement and behavior of the visitors. "What about footage inside the room?" he asked, low.

"I didn't get that started 'til after the attacks on Jonas and me." Logan admitted, switching to internal feed. "I was able to get some data stored from earlier, but only twenty four hours back. I didn't see too much that was helpful." He ran the video on a fast forward, allowing surveillance of the then-quiet interior lab. "Until this..."

Bling watched the video that had prompted Logan's hurried call overseas several hours before, the attack on the guard and the destruction of the lab. As the therapist's eyes rounded, Logan added softly. "I was able to retrieve some back-up copies of the files they destroyed. I haven't been able to look at them in much detail yet."

"Government, aren't they? Black ops?"

Logan grunted softly at Bling's assessment identical to his earlier. "Sure feels like it. So far, their trail is covered. If they're freelance, it was after retiring from service." He glanced again to Bling, whose attention was riveted on the two men in the grainy video. "See anything to help find out for certain?"

"Hmmmm..." Bling was watching everything, searching for something... "Can we go back to the first tapes, let me look again?"

"Sure." Logan felt a comforting reassurance in Bling's focused attention on the films. Bling had his share of hours in the military, in black ops as well, that allowed him an eye for this Logan could never equal. Suddenly sharing the weight, Logan allowed himself to relax and realized that not only was he still exhausted, his eyes like sandpaper and shoulders aching for release, but that he'd missed several meals over the last hours. As the earliest tape of the trio started up again, he released his brakes and backed up a bit to ask, "You miss breakfast again?" Turnabout was fair play, after all–Bling's recent schedule had him stretched past his own usual counsel, and Logan was damned well going to mother him when he had the chance, for a change.

As the dark eyes turned to him, breaking from the riveted stare at the screen to admit his shameful lapse to Logan, he mused, "Must be your bad influence."

"Right" Logan actually managed a grin, and backed up some more to turn as he spoke. "Omelets up in ten." Moving on to the kitchen to pull out the eggs, cheese and vegetables he'd need to make them breakfast, Logan began to think of ways he just might be able to help Bennett hold CI together, at least enough to regroup and start fresh. That...and to find out who was behind his father's murder.

And that meant that apart from any investigation he ran, any information he found...he would have to regain Bennett's trust that, no matter what, he too, underneath it all, was a Cale, and a part of the family that their grandfather had sired, just as he'd given birth to a company that had taken such a drastically wrong turn...

...to be continued...