A/N: Thanks for the reviews - sorry this was delayed - I was out of town yesterday.

Chapter 12

Don walked into the bullpen Friday morning, unlocked his desk, and grabbed his coffee cup. He'd spent another restless night; the nightmares worse than normal, no doubt generated by the news of Charlie's narrow escape. He'd had two cups of coffee already, and they hadn't seemed to put a dent in the fog enveloping his brain. It was nearly eight, but the sky outside was dark, and the sheets of rain made it seem darker yet. The remnants of the Santa Ana winds had blown fitfully the last week, starting two small wildfires, but the torrential downpour that was soaking the coastline would take care of that situation. The darkness outside made the lights in the office seem unnaturally bright, as Don made his way to the break room.

Colby and Megan were already there, and Don nodded as he greeted them, heading for the coffee pot. Last night at the restaurant, he'd made it sound as though Charlie had been in a minor car accident when he'd gone back to the table, figuring it would fend off some questions when his brother returned.

"How's Charlie?" Megan asked immediately. "Did you get a chance to talk to him?"

"Yeah, at about ten last night," Don replied. "They'd released him – he's okay except for bruises and a couple of cracked ribs. He's coming home tonight – said he'd call later with the arrival time." All true, he thought to himself.

"What happened?" asked Colby. "Was he wearing a seatbelt?"

"Uh, I don't really have all the details. It was one a.m. his time; and we didn't talk long – he was going to bed." Don concentrated on pouring coffee, avoiding Megan's gaze. "I'm going over to his place later this morning with the crime lab techs – I told you we found Sean Moran's hiding place in the basement. I want to get that done and get it cleaned up before he comes home."

Colby's face clouded. "If you don't mind, maybe I'll come with you. I'd like to see what I missed."

Don turned and took a sip of coffee. "Yeah, well, you'll probably feel a little better when you see it. There's no way you would have thought that space was back there when you looked at the boxes." He moved back toward the office, and they trailed after him.

"What time are you going?" asked Colby, behind him.

Don nodded at David, who passed them on the way to his desk. "I'm meeting the techs there at eleven." He sat at his desk and chanced a glance at Megan, but she was already on her way over to talk to David, for once unaware that there was a little more to Don's story than he was letting on. Charlie's assignment, and the fact that Moran case was heating up again, was still a secret. 'Not for long,' Don thought to himself with satisfaction, as he remembered Pete Wilhelm's comment about arrest warrants being issued, possibly today. The thought of Moran finally behind bars made him grin to himself, as he turned to the paperwork on his desk.

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Jason Walsh slipped out of the hotel delivery entrance, and trotted down the service drive and across the street. He was fairly certain that his only surveillance was stationed in the parking lot near his rental car, but he took the added precaution of taking the back way out, hiding his face under an umbrella. One good thing about the rain, he thought – it had canceled golf plans for the day. It was now a little after seven-thirty, and he had plans to meet his golfing buddies for breakfast at ten – but he had business to attend to, first. He slogged the two blocks through the rain, and entered the parking garage where Moran had stashed the silver Pontiac G6. He put down the umbrella, and as he approached the car, a figure detached itself from where it had been leaning against a concrete pillar.

Jason eyed him. "Name?"

"Ramon," said the man, with a hint of Hispanic accent, and Jason hit the remote keyless entry for the vehicle.

"Get in."

Walsh got behind the wheel as Ramon got in the passenger side, but he didn't start the car. "Moran told you I have a job for you."

"Si. Yes."

"You know Sean Moran."

Ramon smiled. "Of course. Sean and I were – bizness associates – before I knew Dillon."

"Then you know where Sean is. We're springing him this morning." He shot a glance at Ramon to gage his reaction, but the man seemed unperturbed. Good. Walsh continued. "I got some information from Dillon; and some of it from a database I know of. They let Sean's group out for exercise in the morning at ten a.m. They wear tracking bracelets – the guards keep a visual on the grounds through monitors, but mostly they watch the bracelets, to make sure that they stay within the perimeters of the fence. There's some kind of alarm that sounds if the bracelets go past the fence boundaries."

"Is the fence electric?" asked Ramon.

'Good question,' thought Walsh, 'the man is thinking.' "No," he replied. "Some of the prisoners are medicated; some of them are mentally incapacitated. The most dangerous of them are doped up so much they couldn't find their ass with both hands. They're too out of it to stay away from the fence – they'd get fried. The yard is bare – just grass, and it's that way for most of the way around the outside of the fence too, at least for a few yards. Beyond that there is some brush and trees. I don't know exactly how close they come, but I looked at surveillance photos this morning, and it looks like the cover comes closest to the far right corner of the yard, if you have your back to the prison buildings."

Ramon nodded. Walsh looked at him. "I will make sure Sean gets to that back right corner this morning. What you need to do is get there ahead of time, but not too much ahead, and cut a slit in the fence that he can get through. When he comes back there, hand him the cutters, and have him cut his bracelet off and throw it back into the yard, then get out through the fence and into the cover. Then you'll take him to your car, and drive him to this location." He handed Ramon the address of the warehouse.

Ramon took the paper and glanced at it, but he was frowning. "This will be in plain view of the watchers."

"Perhaps," conceded Walsh. "It is risky. The weather will probably help, although if it's raining as hard as it is now, they may not let them out at right at ten – you'll have to be flexible. You'll have to move fast – then you'll maximize your chances that they aren't looking at the yard at that moment – they have to watch surveillance screens, too. I'm going to try to come up with some kind of diversion, but I don't know what that will be yet. We're working on borrowed time. I can tell you it will be well worth your while."

Ramon grunted. "How much?"

"Thirty grand."

Ramon looked at him. "Si," he said, "very well. I will do it."

They exchanged cell phone numbers, and Ramon exited the car. Jason waited a moment after Ramon pulled out, then got out of the car, and headed back to the hotel. He would take his rental vehicle, complete with his tail, out to the prison. The agents tailing him would become part of his alibi.

He'd made it sound to Ramon as if Dillon knew what they had planned – in fact, Moran had no idea. Jason would have to tell him eventually, and he would try to spin it so that Dillon thought he had Sean's best interests at heart. The fact was; Jason had no such motive. He needed Sean out as soon as possible, because Sean Moran was going to take the fall for the kidnapping and murder of Don Eppes.

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The director of the state hospital, Sam Willington, hurried into the waiting area. It wasn't often they got such a high-ranking member of government, and the man was visiting unannounced. He bustled forward, his hand outstretched. "Mr. Walsh, very good to meet you, sir. What brings you here today?"

Walsh regarded the man in front of him. Round face, small, somewhat suspicious eyes, petulant mouth. "I was in the area," said Jason smoothly, "and I wanted to check on the status of an inmate. He was put here based on a psychological evaluation until he was fit to stand trial. I'd like to see for myself his mental capacity. We may want to have him re-evaluated."

Willington's eyes brows rose. "This is somewhat irregular." At Walsh's cold look, he continued hurriedly, glancing at his watch. "It's shortly after eight-thirty – he will have finished breakfast. I'll see if they can bring him down."

"Thank you," replied Jason, the cold expression replaced by warmth. "I've heard excellent things about your facility – after I talk, would it be too much trouble to ask for a quick tour?"

Willington relaxed a bit. "Of course. No trouble at all."

Moments later, Jason was ushered through two sets of security doors to a small room. Now that he was here, he was second-guessing himself. This was insane – maybe he should be committed here himself. Sean knew him from earlier days in Philly, and Jason was about to surprise him. What if Sean let that fact slip? He had no clue what Sean's current mental state was – or whether he'd be sharp enough to pick up on what was happening.

The door opened, and Walsh tensed. Sean stepped in, and his eyes held a flicker of recognition, but he said nothing as he was led, shackled, to a chair. Walsh looked at Willington and the guard. "I'd like to speak to him privately."

Willington hesitated, but nodded. "All right." He jerked his head toward a one-way window, indicating behind Sean's back that he and the guard would watch from there.

Jason had been expecting that, and he knew he had only the seconds it would take for them to step out of the door and go into the viewing room. "You're getting out this morning," he said to Sean in a low voice. "During your exercise break, go to the far right corner of the fence. Now play along." Sean's eyes widened but to Walsh's infinite relief, he said nothing. Jason raised his voice, and for the next several minutes, asked Sean a variety of questions, pretending to gage his acuity. Actually, he really was measuring Sean's response, and was heartened by what he saw. Sean had no problem playing along – he seemed to be alert, all there. At nine, Walsh rose, and addressed the window.

"All right, I'm finished with him."

After they'd taken Sean back, Willington took him on the tour personally, which, although short, included the surveillance room. As Jason had expected, the two guards there kept watch on several monitors, including the grounds, so there would be moments when the yard itself would not be watched. They sat in front of a large window that looked out on the yard, which was currently unoccupied. Jason pretended amazement at the bracelet tracking system. "That's a great idea," he said to the guard, who was proudly explaining how the system worked. "That's something we could use at some of our federal prisons. Would you mind if I called you later to discuss it?"

"No problem," said the guard, flushing with pride. He scrawled his number on a memo slip, along with the name, Mack Johnson, and handed it to Jason. "We've never had a break here, in thirty years."

Walsh looked at his watch. It had taken forty minutes to get out here, and it was nine thirty. If he wanted to solidify his alibi, he had to leave now. He shook hands with the guards, and turned to Willington. "Thank you for the tour. I'm afraid I need to be going." He looked at the guard. "I'll call you soon. Thanks again."

His tail was waiting for him in the parking lot, and he made sure they followed him all the way back to his hotel. He made better time on the return trip, and had his rental vehicle back in the lot at ten. He re-entered the hotel, and made for the hotel restaurant, but before he went in, he checked his watch. 10:05 a.m. Through the entrance, he could see two of his golfing group already seated at a table, as he dialed the number of the prison guard in the surveillance room. "Hi – this is Jason Walsh – bet you didn't think I'd call you so soon," he said to the surprised guard on the other side. "Look, Mack, I was talking to a director that oversees our federal prisons, and he had a couple of questions. He wanted to know how long the bracelet system has been in operation, and how you man it."

In the control booth, Mack shot a glance out the second story reinforced glass window to the exercise yard, below. It was a little after ten, and they'd just let out the maximum-security ward – at least the bulk of them. There was a handful that was so diseased, so mad, that they could only exercise them individually, inside. This group was allowed general exercise in the yard, but they merited close scrutiny, and his eyes flitted to the blips on the screen that indicated their bracelets. Fifteen men out, fifteen blips. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I'll have to look up how long it's been operating in the files. If you'll wait just a second, I'll run and do that, and Jim here can talk to you about how we man the system." He handed the phone off to his partner, and said, sotto voce, "This is Mr. Walsh – he's got a question. I'm going to run and look it up for him – keep an eye on the yard."

Jim took the phone and nodded. Technically, there were supposed to be two of them in the surveillance booth when prisoners were in the yard, but they'd deviated from that rule more than once, for lesser things – cigarettes, bathroom breaks. They'd never had a problem. He took a glance out the window. It was starting to rain again, anyway – they'd probably bring the men in early. "Yes, sir, Mr. Walsh, what can I do for you?"

Jason listened with the phone to ear, and smiled at the last of their golf foursome, who had entered the restaurant lobby, and was crossing the floor in front of him, on his way in to the table, and the man nodded back. Jason had no reason to hide this conversation – if anyone questioned him, he planned to claim it was a legitimate work-related visit – and on his vacation time, no less. "Yes, just a quick question, apart from you two in the booth, how do you man the bracelet system? Are they ever used indoors?" He listened, smiling, as Jim launched into a description of how the system was run. He'd gotten one of the guards out of the room, and one of them was distracted on the phone. He could only hope the man was distracted enough.

What Jason hadn't planned on was the inclement weather – but it was proving to serve to his advantage. It had already rained more than once that morning, and some of the downpours were heavy, cutting visibility to near zero. During one of them, Ramon had managed to sneak forward out of the brush and cut a vertical slash in the fence. It would not be apparent unless someone came right up on it, but the edges could be pushed aside enough to let a man out.

By twelve minutes after ten, Sean had managed to wander toward the back right corner, and just then, the rain began to start again. A figure slipped out of the brush, and as it handed cutters through the fence, Sean, with a pounding heart, recognized Ramon. Ramon pantomimed, pointing to his wrist, but Sean was already at work with the cutters. It took him two seconds to cut through the bracelet, and he tossed it a few feet behind him into the yard, just as the heavens opened in earnest, and it started to pour. Inmates covered their heads with their arms, and began shuffling back toward the entrance, as Sean slipped through the gap in the fence, and disappeared into the brush after Ramon.

Mack had just gotten back to the control booth, when the word came crackling up through the radio system that they were bringing in the prisoners. The yard was merely a gray blur by this time, the view from the window almost obliterated by a sheet of water. In these cases, they relied on the white blips on the screen, created by the bracelets. He watched as the blips moved slowly toward the yard entrance, which on the screen was the left hand bottom corner, and took the phone back from Jim. "Yes, Mr. Walsh; thanks for waiting. I looked it up – we've run this system for twelve years, sir, since February 1996. Yes, it's been quite successful. No, sir, no problem."

He hung up, and Jim pointed to the screen at two blips still out in the yard. The rest of the blips were a cluster at the lower left hand corner – inmates waiting to be counted and let back through the gate. Jim wrinkled his nose. "I used to work that detail – whenever it rained, the scumbags would come in smelling like wet dogs. It sucked; you had to stand out in the rain and count 'em, and they stunk."

Mack looked at the two remaining blips, and squinted out into the yard. It was raining even harder, now – he could make out nothing. He got on the radio mike. "We got two morons still out there," he said to the guard on the other end. "Better send a guy out to get 'em." He sat back and muttered. "Never fails. There are always a couple of the bastards too dumb to come in out of the rain."

Jim smirked. One of the blips was moving aimlessly in a small circle, and the other was completely still. "Must have given them the good stuff this morning."

Another voice came through the radio. "Okay, I found one of them – I'm bringing him in." Mack and Jim watched as the blip moved slowly toward the bottom of the screen, and then waited.

"Damn, it's raining hard," Jim muttered into the silence, which seemed to be stretching just a bit too long.

"Where in the hell is he?" The guard's voice came up through the radio again, filled with frustration. "Is he moving around?"

Mack frowned and depressed the mike button again. "Negative. He's standing still – about four yards each way from the back corner fences."

"That's where I'm at," insisted the guard. "I don't – oh damn."

Mack and Jim peered futilely out the window at his words, into gray dimness. "What?"

"I got a bracelet, looks like it's cut. Better get some more men out here, and sound the alarm."

Miles away, back in L.A.; Jason Walsh sat at the table, perused the menu, and glanced, smiling, at the members of his golf foursome. He'd hung up with the guard, only to get Ramon's message on his disposable cell that they were away, already in Ramon's car. That settled, he had finally entered the restauarant and joined the group. "Wouldn't you know," he said, shaking his head. "We come all the way out here and it pours."

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End Chapter 12