CHAPTER 2

The disclaimer continues.

Telford stopped in front of Don. Behind him one man closed the door to the room and another stood near the hallway door. For the first time Don realised that there were three men with Telford. His hopes sank, he was still prepared to fight but he knew that the odds were impossible. Despite his resolve his body was not yet functional enough to take on one opponent let alone four.

"What is your name, agent?" Telford asked in the same measured, polite tones he had used on the informant.

"Special Agent Don Eppes." Don managed, seeing no point in refusing the information.

"Give me your badge and ID." Telford demanded holding out his free hand, the other held a gun down by his side.

Don knew it was foolish but he would be damned if he was going to be murdered and let this criminal take his badge from him. It meant everything to him, he had made many sacrifices for it and if he was going to die he wanted to keep it. "No."

A gun touched the side of his head as Boots again tightened his grip on Don's collar. Don couldn't move as the man on his left searched his pockets. The man found what he was looking for, pulling out the leather wallet and handing it to Telford.

Telford flipped the wallet open as he pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number. "It's me. It's done. The agent is Donald Eppes." He said, reading off the card. He then rattled off a string of numbers, Don's badge number.

Don stayed silent, cautiously looking around at the men, noting their positions. He could hear a slight buzz from the phone's speaker, enough to determine that the person on the other end was male, but couldn't make out what was being said. He was unsure just what this turn of events would mean. Who was Telford speaking to, and why was this person interested in knowing who he was? Any delay to his murder had to be good however. Don hoped it would be long enough for the real FBI agent sent to relieve him to arrive.

"Passcode." Telford demanded abruptly.

"What passcode?" Don answered cautiously, Telford knew far too much about FBI procedures.

Telford's gun hand came up, barrel pointing right between Don's eyes. Don couldn't help looking at the barrel, seeing the slight grey discoloration inside the barrel caused by it having been fired only a minute or so ago.

"I won't ask again, Agent Eppes." Telford said softly.

The gun touching the right side of his head was jabbed forwards, enough to make Don wince. He came to a decision, if it meant that he would live a few moments longer he would give up his code. The code was used to identify an agent to the dispatcher at FBI headquarters when information was requested over the phone. The information that these men could get with his code could be damaging but could also be traced and changed if necessary. If the worst happened and his body was found here, Don swallowed at the thought, there were automatic systems in place to freeze all of his passwords and his passcode access in the reasonable suspicion they had been compromised. Checks would then be conducted over all recent uses. If someone had made use of his code then they would be traced and caught.

"Alpha-seven-four-nine-one-Echo." Don supplied.

Telford's gun hand relaxed back to his side as he paced away repeating Don's passcode into the phone. Don waited as Telford had a quick, quiet conversation with someone before hanging up. Telford walked to the window and opened the blinds slightly, peering out.

Seconds that felt like minutes passed. Don was not the only one wondering what was going on. Although he was more than happy at the continued delay it was obvious that others weren't. He saw the nervous shifting of the men, fingering their weapons, one looked at a watch.

There was a gruff voice from the man at the door. "Let's get it over with and go."

Telford frowned, glancing at Don then facing the man at the door. "We wait. We need to be sure."

"It doesn't matter, it has to be done." Gruff Voice insisted. "He's seen us, he knows too much."

Don was well aware that he was on borrowed time. Gruff Voice made perfect sense, none of the men were disguised in any way and Don was a trained observer. His mind had already filed away a detailed description of each man. He had also witnessed the execution of the informant. He was a loose end that posed a severe risk to their continued freedom. In their position he would have disposed of such a threat long ago, when they first pushed their way into the room. Telford was compromising their position for some unknown reason that seemed to revolve around confirming who Don was. It seemed whoever had been on the phone must be making inquiries about Don. Deciding, it seemed, Don's fate. A fate that could only possibly be one thing, his death.

Upon that realisation his thoughts became deeper, darker. Deserve it though, couldn't keep one man safe. He was your responsibility, agent, and you failed, he berated himself. Why had he let himself be fooled into stepping out of the door and taking Telford's hand? He had allowed his master hand to be captured, blocking his access to his gun.

An extraneous thought struck him, who invented handshaking in the first place?

He growled at himself. If he had stuck with protocol and stepped back inside then the others would have been forced into following Telford in. He would have had a chance then to do something while they passed through the narrow doorway.

Don heard a scratchy sound, voices. It took a moment for his mind to figure it out. A radio, tuned to the LAPD band. Don could hear the voice of a dispatcher, but the volume was too low to make out the exact words.

"It's been called in. A unit is on the way." Gruff Voice announced. "Finish this."

Telford looked to his phone which remained silent. "How long?" A siren could be heard not so far away.

Gruff Voice listened. "One block. They're booking off already."

Telford glanced back out the window for the first time looking slightly less than supremely confident. He appeared to reach a decision. "Bring him."

The siren stopped as Don was hauled to his feet. The man to his left pulled Don's handcuffs from his belt pouch and snapped the steel bracelets around his wrists securing his hands behind him. If it weren't for Boots' grip on his shirt Don would have fallen as the room suddenly started to spin. He had thought he was getting better but the sudden movement didn't agree with him. He started to catalogue his condition. His ribs weren't broken, bruised maybe, and his back ached but he thought neither of them should cause him any real problems. His head however was a different story.

He was in dire straits but things were starting to look up. In the privacy of his thoughts he snorted, yeah right, now I'm a hostage. Better than being dead though, he argued back at himself