Manipulation part 12
By Ecri
Buchmann knew he'd been betrayed, but he could still pull off his objective. Perhaps he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing Alan Eppes as he began to realize that his world was over, but he would still inflict the damage, and he would find a way to tell Eppes that he was responsible for it all. Revenge might be a dish best served cold, but the chef had every right to see how his work was received.
With Alan unattainable, he could still use the man's disappearance to his own advantage. His men had reported that Alan Eppes had been abducted and thrown into a limousine, but they had tailed it and watched the building for hours. Eppes' sons had not gone there.
If, by some chance they had been behind it, if the Eppes' were all safe and laughing at him, Buchmann still had an ace up his sleeve. Don Eppes. The Agent would want, would need to find him, to put him behind bars. He could still get what he wanted if he played this right.
He grinned as he imagined what he would do once the Eppes boys were in his custody.
Don's phone rang, shattering the silence of the pre-dawn hours. "Eppes," he barked into the cell, even as his peripheral vision picked up Charlie's hovering nearby. He turned slightly away from his brother, not entirely sure he could say what he needed to say in order to end this.
"I want you and your brother to meet me"
"Not Charlie"
"You have no choice, Agent." Buchmann spat the last word as though it were an insult. "Either I get both of you, or the next sound you hear will be your father's last breath."
"Buchmann"
"I'm not kidding, Agent."
Don's phone beeped just then.
"I'd check that if I were you." Buchmann advised. "It's likely very important."
Don checked the phone and saw that he had a message. No, not a message. A picture. Dread made each movement impossible, but somehow he accessed it. Buchmann stood beside Alan, who was tied to a chair. He looked unhurt, except for the haunted expression. Buchmann held a knife at Alan's throat. Don swallowed the bile that rose to his throat. He heard Charlie drawing nearer, and quickly scrolled past the photo careful to save it as evidence.
"I trust we have an understanding, Agent Eppes." Buchmann's voice was smooth as silk, but somehow hideous in Don's ears.
"We do. Where? When?"
Buchmann gave him the location and time. "Remember, Agent, don't be late. And tell your brother that I look forward to our next meeting."
Those words chilled Don to his core. He was still holding the phone after Buchmann had disconnected. He took a moment to compose himself then turned to face the expectant group behind him. "He wants me and Charlie to meet him at the zoo an hour after it opens."
"A public place?" Terry was puzzled.
"How's Dad?" Charlie demanded as he crossed to stand in front of Don, his posture and physical proximity making it impossible for Don to ignore him.
"He's okay, Charlie. He's going to be fine."
Charlie didn't say anything else, but Don saw in his eyes that there were a lot of questions. He brushed that aside and looked at Kraft. "There can't be any police involvement since we don't know who to trust." He gestured to his brother. "But I want him protected. Vest, wire, GPS"
Kraft shook his head. "We don't have any of that with us. Well, I think there's a vest in the trunk of the car, but the other stuffI can't get it in time."
Don had expected that. He turned to David and Terry. "I have no right to ask, but I need you on site, armed and ready." He didn't say ready to kill, but he knew they understood.
"You've already got us." Terry said as David nodded.
"Me, too." Pierce insisted.
Don stared at him, gauging his veracity. "You?"
"Me. You can trust me. I'm behind you."
Charlie snorted, but didn't say anything. Don realized Charlie was going to let him make this call. Neither of the brothers had had a chance to come to terms with what Pierce had done, but Don recognized their need for help. He took a step toward Pierce, invading his personal space. His voice was a menacing growl, and his eyes held enough of a glint of insanity to underscore his words. "If anything happens to my brother and my father, and I find out it was because of youbadge or no badge, I will tear you apart."
Pierce nodded, showing neither fear nor anger.
Don ran through a few things with the other agents and with Charlie.
"Don," Charlie finally ventured. "II meanI'm a fugitive, aren't I." He gestured to the prison orange he still wore. "What if the police are there or some officer sees me"
Terry nodded. "He has a point. Maybe we should disguise him. A hat, sunglasses" She let the words trail.
"Yeah, I guess we should do that much." He began to realize what nightmare this was going to be. This was an unsanctioned operation. Even if they got through it all with no injuries or fatalities, would the illegal nature of it all end their careers? Would they even have a chance of getting to the zoo; a public place, a tourist attraction, bustling with private citizens, and, certainly, the occasional police officer? Would Buchmann allow this to end quickly and quietly, or would Don be forced to let Buchmann take Charlie and himself to some secret hideaway where they would be reunited with their father only to be killed?
He couldn't think that far ahead. Accustomed to planning for every contingency, he recognized that planning just wasn't possible whenhe smiled to himself as he borrowed one of his brother's favorite phraseswhen there were too many variables.
Charlie was given fresh clothes, a hat, and dark glasses. Don had helped him change, the brothers slipping into one of the bedrooms
Gingerly, Don eased his brother out of the hated jumpsuit and gasped at the rainbow of colors that covered Charlie's body. Green, black, purple, yellow, blue, even red from the blood, Charlie's body sported them all.
He'd insisted that Charlie get a shower, and then he wanted to see to the rest of his injuries. He cursed himself for not seeing to it sooner, but Charlie had been hungry and exhausted, and then Buchmann had called...
Don could see the idea of a shower appealed to his brother. He waited in the bedroom after carefully covering Charlie's cast. He was going through the first aid kit when Charlie returned.
"You look better." It was amazing what the hot water had done for Charlie. He seemed almost relaxed...almost normal.
Charlie offered a small smile. "I feel better." He paused and waved the bag-encased arm in Don's direction. "You want to help me with this?"
Don did, and then pointed to the bed. "Sit."
With a tenderness few had ever seen in Don Eppes, he gently washed and treated the cuts and scrapes. He wrapped the still-bruised ribs, and dabbed antibiotic ointment over everything.
It was the puncture wounds that worried him most. David had pulled him aside to explain about the blood on the walls of the cell in solitary confinement. It had almost been more than he could handle. That Buchmann had driven his baby brother to such extreme behavior was bad enough, but his biggest fear was that Charlie wouldn't recover...that he couldn't recover. Not physically, but mentally. It was a true concern. What if they came out the other side of this nightmare, and Charlie couldn't cope? He'd read once about a mathematician driven over the edge into obsession simply by tackling chaos theory.
When Don had taken the obligatory psychology courses in college, it had surprised and worried him that genius often seemed to lead to mental instability. He'd dismissed it at first, the way everyone dismisses such things. Not Charlie. It couldn't happen to him.
But what if it could? What if Charlie could be pushed into losing his grip on reality? A grip that Don had on more than one occasion hinted could be tenuous in that he seemed to live in a safe little bubble.
You know Charlie. He's in his own world.
Don't mind Charlie, he's out of touch with reality.
How many times had he said or thought such things? Even when he had said them, he'd felt a hidden dread somewhere in the far corners of his mind–or his heart–that insisted that it could happen.
And yet...
Wasn't Charlie the one who'd been called upon to solve crimes for the FBI, the NSA, and who knew how many other alphabet organizations? Surely those cases, whatever they were, must have exposed Charlie to some of the horrors of real life.
Charlie sat still as Don dressed his wounds, but he was struggling with something. Don could sense it. Placing the last bit of gauze on the last injury, Don sighed. "All done." He looked Charlie in the eye, and that was what broke Charlie out of his silence.
"Donny, it's...I'm okay...now, I mean."
Don nodded. "Sure you are, buddy."
Charlie shook his head slowly. "You don't believe me."
"It isn't that!"
"What is it then?"
Don wondered how he could explain it. Charlie's physical wounds would heal. Yet, what about the emotional ones? They might not know for months what those might be. He'd heard of cases of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder that took months if not years to surface. "I'm worried for you, Charlie. I was...scared...of losing you."
That admission seemed to surprise Charlie, and Don wondered at that. Was Charlie shocked to learn that he'd been worried, or that he'd been afraid of losing his brother? Before he could ask, Charlie spoke.
"I was scared, too. I didn't want to let you down..."
"Let me down?"
"Yeah, the equations...he...Buchmann caused your car accident. He sent that mugger to the house to hurt Dad. I...I didn't want to be responsible for whatever else he did, but his equations...they were scary, Donny. They were...scary."
Don placed a hand lightly on Charlie's shoulder. "You couldn't let me down. You've never let me down. You're...amazing. We'll get through this together. Only together. We can do anything as long as we remember that. We're stronger when it's you and me."
Charlie grinned as Don had known he would. This was almost word for word what their mother had told them when they were kids. It was a pleasant thing to remember now. Both boys felt comforted by the words because they were hers and because they invoked a memory, a presence, and somehow, neither brother felt so alone.
When they finally finished dressing Charlie, a task that took much longer than it should have thanks to the injuries, Don looked at his brother critically. Anyone who knew him would recognize him, but even then, not right away. It would have to do.
Don and Charlie returned to the living room, and Don glanced at the team. "Let's go."
Buchmann had planned every moment of his revenge, and he considered the meeting place to be a stroke of genius. He knew the innate law enforcement officer in Agent Eppes would do nothing to jeopardize the lives of the innocent bystanders. And, with the scheduled tours arriving just a few minutes after he did, he knew he would be able to spirit the Eppes brothers away without anyone in the area–civilian or otherwise–being aware of it.
He was still congratulating himself for his cleverness. He'd used a stand in for the picture, and had had one of his men alter the image with his computer program so that it would look like the Senior Mr. Eppes. With the brothers convinced that he held their father, things would go much as he'd planned them. He would still have his revenge.
He considered his preparations for the meet. That Eppes likely had brought in some trusted officers to assist him wasn't a surprising notion. Buchmann would bet on Terry Lake at any rate. The woman was practically family. She was of no concern to Buchmann. He knew what he wanted to do here. He had come far in his plan, and he knew it could only end as he had envisioned it.
He stood in front of the theater with several bodyguards, though none of them near enough to be recognizably with him. When the Eppes boys arrived, it would take no time at all to sweep them away with him. Perhaps it was ego that led him to do it here, but it was also meant to throw the boys off balance. They would expect an exchange. They would be upset when they didn't see their father. They wouldn't understand that this wasn't Endgame. This was the penultimate move in his lifelong search for justice.
Alan sat staring at Jeff Mason. "You're saying that my boys were set up by The Bookman?"
Mason nodded. "By now, he's contacted them claiming to have you."
Alan's heart nearly leaped from his mouth. He knew Don would never let that go. He would try to make a deal, do those things that the FBI does in hostage situations.
He had not worked out the details of The Bookman's scheme, but he knew that it would end with one or both of his boys dead. After that, what did it matter if he himself were alive? That was the revenge The Bookman sought. He wanted to leave Alan alone in the world. He wanted Alan to suffer loss as he'd known it.
That he blamed Alan for his own sons' deaths was incomprehensible. They had died in a car crash while The Bookman had been in prison. The man had to know that Alan hadn't anything to do with it.
"It wasn't supposed to turn out this way." Alan whispered again. He turned suddenly angry eyes on his old supervisor. "You promised! You said they'd be safe!"
Mason sighed. "I misjudged the depth of his need for revenge."
"You misjudged?" Alan's eyes widened in disbelief and shook his head almost violently dismissing the words. "Jeff, he wasn't supposed to be able to find out about my involvement. That was the entire reason I even agreed to help with the research after I stumbled onto the scheme. If I had doubted for a minute that you could keep your promise..."
"You'd have what? Let him get away with it? Let him break the law? Damnit, Alan, the only reason you never joined the Bureau yourself was because you were afraid it would put your family at risk!"
"No! I was happy where I was!"
"You could have been the best agent we ever had." Mason had long ago insisted the same thing. Alan could recall when his supervisor had revealed to him that he had really been undercover, and that the Bureau wanted to recruit Alan because, as they put it, he'd "seemed to be one of the most intuitive and meticulous men of this generation, a real puzzle-solver." Alan had been flattered, but he'd never seriously considered the offer, and he'd never told Donny about it, even when Don had decided to join the FBI.
Alan shrugged away the memories. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that my sons are supposed to be safe."
"Don is one of the best agents we've ever had. He can take care of himself." Mason insisted.
Alan shook his head. "That doesn't mean his life should be put on the line!"
"We're doing our best!" Mason raised his voice slightly. "My people have no intention of letting Buchmann walk away from this. We'll take him into custody..."
Alan shook his head and took Mason by the shoulders. "You don't understand. For you, the final outcome of all of this will be The Bookman in custody. For him, the final outcome is both my boys dead." His eyes took on a steely glint. "For me, it's my boys safe. At any cost."
He held Mason for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked toward the door. He pulled it open, but two burly men blocked his exit.
Exasperated, he turned to Mason. "You can't keep me here."
Mason just shrugged. "I can, and I will." At a gesture from him, the men entered the room, forcing Alan back inside. Mason squeezed past them and stood in the doorway a moment before turning around and looking Alan in the eye. "I'll do what I can for them, but I can't have you ruining the bust."
Alan watched Mason leave, tried to follow when the two men tried to leave, but in the end was left pounding in futility on the door.
His boys were in trouble, and the fault was his alone. Oh, he knew his boys wouldn't blame him, but that was no consolation. That was not something that would make him able to walk away from this secure and happy. His boys! There had to be a way to save them!
He shook his head in anger wishing he could tear through the door with his hands, but when they began to throb, he stopped and slid to the floor. He couldn't even warn his sons.
Images floated before him. He could see it in his mind's eye. His boys would meet The Bookman expecting to find him, and, as far as Alan could see, there was no way for things not to turn out as the Bookman intended.
Charlie was less than comfortable. He tried to keep pace with Don, but his rib made it hard. His cast was heavier and itchier than it had been in prison and his disguise had the unexpected effect of making him feel more conspicuous than he ever had in his life.
He wasn't about to tell Don to slow down. He wasn't about to be the weak link in the Eppes family chain like he'd been his entire life. He knew how much he had cost his family, both financially and emotionally. He'd been aware of it all his life. He'd told his mother once that he wasn't that special that everyone had to sacrifice for him, but she had told him that when you love someone as much as they loved him it was harder not to sacrifice. He hadn't understood that at the time, and he'd wondered about Don, since he seemed to feel the sacrifices more than his mother did.
Now, he understood. Since he'd begun working with Don, his life had shifted. He'd felt it when Kim had come into Don's life. The realization of how much he and his brother hadn't shared had frightened him. They'd grown apart, and, though Charlie hated to admit it, if Mom hadn't gotten sick, they might never have had the chance to get as close as they were now. He didn't like the thought. He didn't like the way it seemed to make him need to choose between his relationship with his mother and his relationship with Don. He wondered over and over again why he couldn't have them both in his life at the same time. His fantasies of what that would have been like had seemed blissful.
His mother used to tell him that God never closed a door without opening a window. He hadn't really understood that at the time. Recently, however, he'd come to see Don as having come through a window that had popped open when the door of his mother's life had slammed shut. His relationship with Don had always been strained. Equal parts hero worship, frustration, misunderstanding, and envy had alienated the brothers. It was only through working together that they had begun to recognize that what they had in common was much more than just a last name.
His brother had always been important to him, but now...it was as though the relationship they should have had all along had suddenly blossomed before his eyes. Not perfect, certainly, and still growing and changing, but it was there, better than it had ever been before.
He didn't want that window to close, and he didn't care what was behind the next door.
He would back up his brother, though he didn't know what use he could be. He didn't have a gun and doubted he could use one if Don had decided to give him one. He couldn't fight too well even without a fractured wrist and a busted rib. He would do what he could, though, even if that was just to be there by his brother's side.
Charlie was grateful when they finally reached the theater. Standing still, unwilling to tax his ribs again, he tried to even out his breathing. It hadn't been that long a walk from where they'd left the car, but the short time he'd spent in prison, unable to ride his bike everyday, coupled with his injuries had robbed him of his strength. He spared a glance around the area, but there were too many people milling about. Don tapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the far left. There stood the Bookman.
Don glanced around them, and then, a hand lightly touching Charlie's elbow, he led his brother closer to the man who'd turned their lives upside down.
Charlie was uneasy. He knew Don's instincts were better than his own in a situation like this, but something about getting closer to this man made his skin crawl. He felt a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach, and he was certain that his brother had no such problem.
They came to within five feet of the man and Don stopped them. Charlie looked to his brother expectantly, but Buchmann spoke first.
"Your prompt arrival has saved your father some pain."
"You're supposed to release him. Where is he?" Don demanded.
Buchmann smirked. "You don't think I'd bring my only bargaining chip here and release him, do you?"
"That was the deal." Don seethed.
"No, I said I'd release him. I didn't say when."
"Buchmann"
"Doesn't your brother have anything to say, Agent Eppes?" Buchmann turned to look at Charlie.
For a moment, Charlie was grateful for the faux protection of the sunglasses, the false sense of anonymity, of being safely behind some shield. Then, embarrassed by the thoughts, he slowly took the glasses off and glared at the man. Still, he didn't say a word.
"My, my!" Buchmann smiled, almost laughing. "Don't you look angry. Almost as angry as Don."
Don stepped slightly in front of his brother, and Charlie felt a rush of embarrassment that Don felt the need to shield him. That it had been such an automatic reaction must mean that Don saw him as a hindrance.
"That's enough." Don's voice halted his thoughts. "Where's our father?"
"You'll see him soon enough." He took a step backward and Don, instinctively, took one with him, keeping the distance between them the same.
It was just as Don moved away from him, that Charlie, already feeling vulnerable and conspicuous, realized that Buchmann was even now manipulating them. That thought was confirmed a moment later, when two men neared him and gripped his arms painfully. The man on his left placed a finger to his lips in warning not to speak, but it was the gun shoved painfully into his ribs that convinced him to follow that mute advice.
Don stared at Buchmann. He had expected the man would try something, but he wouldn't allow Charlie to go anywhere with Buchmann. Knowing David, Terry, Pierce, and Kraft were nearby made him wish they had radios. He'd love to know what Terry could see.
"Where's our father, Bookman? Turn him loose."
"I don't think you're in any position to make demands." The Bookman gestured behind Don, and, in that instant, he knew his plans had failed. It was confirmed when a moment later, he turned to see two large men, each holding Charlie by the arm. By the look in Charlie's eyes, he knew they weren't merely holding Charlie still.
"Donny" Charlie swallowed whatever else he'd been about to say, and Don could now make out the way one of his captors was positioned. To his trained eye, the man was obviously holding a gun on Charlie. The thugs were good, however. They weren't being overt about it, and, as they instructed Charlie to replace his sunglasses, it was almost impossible to see that he was in any distress.
Buchmann's smile grew and he moved to stand in front of Don. "I'll take that." He whispered as he relieved Don of the concealed gun he'd been carrying.
Don had no choice but to allow it. He spared a glance at Charlie, but, with the glasses on, he couldn't even catch his brother's eye.
Buchmann led him and his brother to a black limousine. He was shoved inside the car, and, as the car was pulling away, he turned to notice Terry, David, Kraft, and Pierce, weapons drawn and chasing after them on foot. It didn't take long for the limo to leave them behind.
Don turned around to face front and saw Buchmann leering at him with a satisfied grin on his face. "I suppose you've gotten what you wanted."
Buchmann's smile was a death's head smile. "There was never any doubt."
Alan had given up pounding on the locked door and demanding that Mason return and release him. He'd known it was futile, but there was little else he could do and his desperation was hard to deny.
Intellectually, he knew he could do nothing except worry for his boys, and already, he was feeling the precursor to the pain The Bookman had long ago promised him.
He prayed Don would find a way to keep himself and Charlie out of The Bookman's hands, but he knew, just from the amount of planning, from the meticulousness for which The Bookman was famous, that things were bound to get worse before they got better. From what little he'd learned from Don and Terry, and even from David, things like this usually declined rapidly.
That thought stopped him. Was Don involved in these sorts of situation regularly? Alan knew the dangers his son faced, or rather, he had a general understanding of it. No one with family in law enforcement didn't, but now he wondered if it could be a true understanding or perhaps it was too general?
Alan had to admit that it had to be so. After all, Don faced his own mortality all the time. He worked closely with people who could be killed on the job. He worked at putting away criminals who didn't only break the law, but often broke it in ways that Alan couldn't conceive. He remembered several times when Charlie was helping or even offering to help on a case that Don would hastily remove parts of the files, allowing Charlie access only to what was necessary. He knew what was in those files without having to see them: details, photos, things that Don didn't want Charlie to see. Now, he realized that they were probably much more than that. They were details that had already robbed his son, his Donny, of sleep or haunted his dreams, or stayed with him throughout the casework and beyond.
He shuddered to realize that his oldest son was systematically losing pieces of himself and that he did it voluntarily in order to save the innocent.
He remembered when it had been his chief priority in life to keep Don safe–to shelter and protect his son. It was something that never disappeared for any parent, but Don was surprised to realize how completely he'd repressed the urge. He could only hope he'd have the chance to speak to Don, to both of his sons, soon.
Charlie hadn't said a word since he'd uttered Don's name at the zoo. The thugs hadn't let them sit next to each other in the car, and one had kept his gun pointed at Charlie for the entire ride. He'd wondered at first if he should worry about the thing going off if they hit a pothole or another car or something, but he drove the thoughts away. He knew keeping the weapon on him was a psychological thing, so he'd worked on keeping himself calm. Don would know if he were a wreck, so he did his best to appear in control. To distract himself, he ran probabilities in his head, but they weren't encouraging, so he drifted. Pi, prime numbers, P versus NPhe hauled each one out as the previous one failed. P versus NP was almost his undoing. His hand started to move like he needed to write, and he caught Don's concerned stare. Stilling his body, he gave his brother what he meant to be a reassuring nod, but Don didn't seem at all convinced that he was okay.
The car had seemed to go on forever, but Charlie didn't trust his own perceptions of time. His perceptions of the outside world, after his incarceration, had become strange. He couldn't really remember the trip from the prison to the safe house, but from the moment they'd left the safe house, Charlie had felt as though things were moving at an accelerated rate. It was a natural enough phenomenon, but his fascination with it didn't make it easier to bear. Even on the way to the zoo to meet Buchmann, the cars seemed to be going twice their normal rate. The buildings seemed impossibly tall. Once, he'd looked up to see the clouds above moving at such a dizzying rate that the world seemed to tilt, the building, to sway, and the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and give in to his stomach's desire to go into reverse peristalsis seemed undeniable. Don's hand on his shoulder had steadied him at the time, but he'd been allowed no contact with his brother since Buchmann had forced them into the car.
He knew that this wasn't in the plan. Don had expected to confront Buchmann and retrieve their father. Charlie's concern for his brother, and for himself, doubled when the car stopped. This was where things would get worse. They were herded out of the car and Charlie was surprised to see that they'd entered an indoor garage. Whether they were above ground or below he had no way of knowing. Buchmann's goons marched them through the cavernous space and toward an elevator bank.
Once aboard, Don tried to position himself closer to Charlie, and, though the goons tried to prevent it, Buchmann relented and allowed the proximity. Then the man hit a blank button on the elevator's panel and they began to descend.
Charlie promised himself he would follow his brother's lead. He wouldn't hinder any escape attempt Don might put together, and he would be ready if Don needed him, no matter what he might ask.
It seemed an interminably long ride down, especially with a gun crammed in your back, but eventually they came to a stop.
Buchmann led them out into a corridor and they walked. Charlie saw Don's eyes darting everywhere taking in all the details he could, so Charlie began to do the same. He had to have as much information as Don. He was the trained logician. He might be able to help his brother after all.
Buchmann slowed their pace as they moved through the damp, dank, cement corridors. The hall was narrow and as they moved seemed to be narrowing. The slower pace seemed to amplify this feeling, and Charlie knew Buchmann did it on purpose.
The man opened a door to their right and ushered the Eppes boys inside. Inside, the first thing–the only thing–Charlie saw was his father.
"Dad!" He called out loudly, to his father, prepared to run to his side. He took half a step forward before remembering his moments ago promise to himself that he would follow Don's lead. He glanced at his brother, and saw the almost imperceptible shake of his head. Charlie stilled himself, not quite nodding, but somehow conveying the impression of agreement. He didn't want to distract Don, whose attention seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The mathematician was certain that his brother was as horrified as he was to see their father tied to that chair, though he didn't seem as surprised as Charlie was.
Then again, Don's experience with this sort of thinghe stopped his thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself, distracting himself. He had to be more aware of his surroundings.
Charlie stared at his father. He sat in a chair, his hands tied behind his back, and his head hanging down so his chin touched his chest. Only the top of his head was visible. Charlie wished Buchmann would turn up the lights so he could see how seriously his father had been hurt, but the lighting remained dim. Alan remained still, not responding to Charlie's call.
He heard Don speak, and turned his attention once more to his brother.
"We're all here, Buchmann. Now, let him go."
Buchmann walked over to Don. "All in good time."
Alan glared at Mason. "What's going on?" He stared at the equipment that his ex-supervisor had brought him to see. They were in a room that could have been Mission Control in any of a half dozen movies about space flight that Alan had seen. Agents were listening attentively to various machines, watching various dials, and there was the unmistakable sound of Don's voice coming from one of he speakers. "That's Don!"
Mason nodded. "He's confronting The Bookman."
Alan's eyes widened. Realization left him cold. "You're trapping The Bookman but you didn't tell Don. You're using my boy." He shook his head. "You don't even know if you're going to get what you want from this! You're letting this happen..." He took a step toward Mason, his hands outstretched as though he would go for the man's throat, but it was a voice that stopped him. A familiar voice. Charlie's voice."
"Donny!"
The voice was full of fear, and it froze Alan's heart.
To Be Continued