Chapter 19

Huntington was now formally known as East Valley Hospital Medical Center. It lay just east of Pasadena, minutes south of the warehouse, and boasted the 10-bed Joy Slavik Memorial Intensive Care/Critical Care Unit, which that night only held one patient. That situation would shortly change, as two ambulances pulled up, one behind the other, followed closely by a third.

The ER staff had been notified, and were waiting, rooms cleared, as the gurneys came in, followed by two FBI agents, looking damp and disheveled, faces stern, eyes worried. "I've got this one," said Ryan Boyle, over his shoulder to his fellow physician, Dr. Robert Grimes, who was stepping forward to the second gurney. The radios had called in three critical patients, one of whom would likely be DOA. The dead man and the two patients were all coming from an industrial park to the north.

Dr. Boyle glanced at one of the agents, who followed his gurney in, but didn't comment. Technically, the man shouldn't be there, but Boyle allowed him; he might have some useful information. "What do we have here?" the doctor asked, as he glanced at the man's battered face.

"Male, late thirties -,"

"Thirty-seven," interjected David, who was standing at the head of the gurney.

The medic shot him a glance and continued. "Beating victim. Possible rib fracture and collapsed right lung. BP 88 over 60, pulse 87. Vitals fairly stable, but there is possible chest pressure." As the medic spoke, other technicians had moved in, cutting off the man's clothing, and Boyle noted the swollen left leg, and the nasty bruises on the man's torso. "There's evidence of head injury, and possible concussion," the medic added.

Dr. Boyle looked up at David. "Does he have a name?"

"Special Agent Don Eppes," David replied quietly. "Kidnap victim. We think he was beaten by his kidnappers."

"Okay," replied Boyle. "Let's get a stat portable chest X-ray for starters. I'm thinking he's going to need a chest tube. We'll worry about the rest of the X-rays after that."

David watched; wincing slightly, as they gently slid what was left of Don's shirt out from under his body. Don's face and torso were ugly with swelling and red-purple bruises, and David's jaw tightened as he watched, fear turning to anger. A bullet was too good for Dillon Moran, he decided, way too good.

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Dr. Robert Grimes was in speed mode, feverishly helping to remove his patient's clothing, as the medic breathlessly filled him in. "Male, early thirties, stab wound to the middle right back, kidney area. Significant blood loss, BP on the scene was 85 over 58, but it's been tanking ever since."

"Now 75 over 48," interjected an intern. "Pulse rapid, 115, weak."

Grimes glanced at the young man's torso. "What about the bruises?"

"I think he got those last night," offered Colby, who was standing by, tensely. He paused and rubbed his forehead, trying to remember what Don had told them about Charlie's injuries. "I think they said he had cracked ribs, but nothing else."

Grimes glanced at the agent, then at the monitors. He wanted particulars, but there was no time. "Call the OR team in stat, I think Atchison is on call. Let's get him intubated, and have a portable chest X-ray done in the OR."

Twenty minutes later, only the time necessary for intubating the patient, they were pushing the gurney out the door of the room at a trot, heading down the corridor for the elevator. Another gurney was coming in as they were going out, and Grimes could hear the medics calling out, "Got another one – a stabbing victim – we need a room!"

He slapped the intern next to him on the back as they pulled up in front of the elevator. "You take him up to Atchison. We've got another one – I've got to take him." The intern nodded, and Grimes turned away, jogging down the hall. Another stabbing victim. It was apparently going to be a busy night.

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With Don in X-ray and Charlie up on the surgical floor, Colby and David convened in the ER waiting area. Still too pumped up with worry and adrenaline to sit, they stood near the receptionist's desk, shifting from foot to foot; waiting, as the woman talked on the phone. Colby's interest was piqued as her voice rose, sounding a little impatient.

"No, I don't have anyone named Eppes, here, sir, I'm sorry. Three patients were just brought in, but I don't have their information yet – if you check back in a bit -,"

"Hold on, ma'am," interrupted Colby, and the young woman looked up. She was already a little frazzled, and David imagined from the look on her face that she didn't take well to the "ma'am."

"There are two Eppes, here," Colby explained. "We just brought them in – who is calling? Can I talk to him?"

"A man named Alan Eppes," she replied, and she handed him the phone with resignation, and a touch of exasperation. "At least someone knows what's going on here. I wish they'd tell me."

Colby stepped aside with the phone to his ear, and David moved closer to listen.

"Mr. Eppes, this is Colby," said Colby into phone, "we're glad you called – we didn't know how to reach you."

On the other end, Alan could feel his pulse ratchet up a notch. He'd called East Valley because it was the nearest hospital, and if anything, he'd expected a report that Charlie was there, maybe at worst getting stitches after falling and breaking the chair. The fact that Colby was there made him more than a little apprehensive, but he was still relieved to find someone who might know what was going on. "Colby, thank goodness. I just got home, and found a broken chair in the kitchen, and some drops of blood. Charlie wasn't here, but his car is – I thought that maybe he'd had an accident. Is he there, then?"

Colby paused for a moment, not sure where to begin. "Mr. Eppes, it might be best if you come here and we explain in person. Don and Charlie are both here – some things happened today – anyway, they're being admitted." He heard an odd clunk. "Mr. Eppes - sir?" He heard nothing. There was a reason for that.

Alan was already on his way out the door.

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Don groaned, and blinked. He was lying on something hard and cold; and he heard a voice. "Don't move, sir, we'll be done here in a minute." He heard a buzz; then movement next to him, and the owner of the voice was peering into his face. He hurt, God, he hurt. Vaguely, though, he recognized that it had become slightly easier to breathe, not like in the warehouse, when he'd been with Charlie…

He gasped suddenly as he remembered Charlie's face, the eyes staring as the life left them. He tried to push up, his one open eye roving wildly, disjointedly. "Charlie," he rasped, and he felt hands on his shoulders pushing him back down.

"Relax, sir." He heard the words only dimly – the roaring sound was back. He and Charlie were drifting in the black ocean, and he could feel the drag of the whirlpool, pulling them under. Charlie was ahead of him, the current taking him first, and Don could see him floating, not struggling, his eyes vacant, a soft smile on his lips. 'Fight it!' he wanted to scream, but it was taking all his energy just to stay afloat, and he watched in horror as Charlie reached the vortex, and was sucked under. He was moving faster now, the black water whirling around him, and as he reached the center, it claimed him too, and he sunk into blackness, nothingness.

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Alan was hunched forward on the waiting room seat, and he ran a distraught hand over his face, and shook his head in confusion. "Wait, you said Don was kidnapped, and Charlie went in after him? Don't you have that backwards?"

Colby shot a sympathetic glance at Megan, who was gently trying to explain the situation. She and Decker, who had stayed behind to secure the scene and make sure someone picked up the Hispanic lookout, had arrived just seconds before Alan, and now the group was clustered in the waiting room. David had just given them what he and Colby knew about the brothers' conditions, which was minimal – that Don was in X-ray with a collapsed lung and a concussion, at best, and Charlie was in surgery with a stab wound to the back.

"Don was taken earlier today by Dillon Moran, his brother, and Jason Walsh," she said patiently. "They were trying to get him to tell them where Charlie was – he was assisting on their case."

"And where was Charlie?"

"Philadelphia. He went out earlier in the week and returned this evening."

Alan stared at her. "Philadelphia?" Before he left, Charlie had told him he was going to a math conference in Atlanta for two days. "And Don knew this, apparently."

Megan nodded. "He was involved too, but we didn't even know about it ourselves, until today. The investigation was highly confidential, primarily because of Jason Walsh."

Alan rubbed his face again. "Who was he, again?"

"FBI Internal Affairs Director. Charlie and I had a phone conference with him at your house."

Alan absorbed that for a moment. "Yes, I remember – he was involved in this?"

Megan nodded. "He was an old acquaintance of Dillon's. He tried to squelch the first investigation, unsuccessfully. As the Philly office dug into Dillon's activities on the East Coast, Jason's name came up. They brought Charlie out there to help their consultant. Somehow, Dillon and Walsh became aware of the investigation. Their men made an attempt at Charlie and the consultant out there last night, but Agent Decker here and his partner stopped it. When that failed, we think they decided to go after Don as leverage."

"And Don was at the house when that happened?"

Colby spoke up. "He and Charlie had found Sean Moran's hiding place just before Charlie left. Don and I were there with the crime scene techs. He wanted to get it cleaned up before Charlie came home." His face fell. "I left to go back to the office while he was finishing up. If I'd stayed there, none of this would have happened."

Megan shook her head. "Colby, they would have found some other way to get to him. None of us saw this coming, not even Don."

Alan was silent for a moment, as he remembered the kitchen, the signs of the struggle, and he tried to fight down the horror that the image generated. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest of the story, but he steeled himself, and asked, "And Charlie? How did he get involved, if he was in Philadelphia?"

"He'd finished his part of the investigation, and had made plans to fly back. Sometime this afternoon or early evening, we think Moran and Walsh contacted him, and told him they had Don. We'd found out what was happening in the meantime, and we intended to take him to a safe house when he landed. We didn't know Charlie had been in contact with the kidnappers. When Charlie landed, he gave us the slip at the airport, and took off to meet with them."

Alan stared at her. "You must be mistaken – he couldn't have made that decision consciously. They must have tricked him somehow."

Megan's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "I wish I was mistaken. No, he called us on the way. He apparently stopped to get his pistol, and took Don's SUV. He was afraid they would kill Don if he didn't come alone." She shook her head. "At least he called us – I don't think at first he even intended to do that. He insisted on going in alone – I couldn't talk him out of it, and we couldn't catch up to him in time. We were a few minutes behind him, but not close enough."

Alan was only half-conscious of the end of her statement; the image of his youngest son, who normally abhorred violence, charging off into the night with a gun, was almost too much to fathom. He shook his head helplessly. "I was only gone for a few days," he protested weakly. He looked up at them, scanning their faces as if looking for an explanation. "Four days. How could all this happen in four days?"

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Doctor Boyle glanced up as Dr. Grimes approached him, and leaned on the central desk in the ER. Grimes looked gloomy, and he slapped a file down with more energy than was needed.

Boyle looked at him sympathetically. "What's up?"

Grimes sighed and shook his head. "The young kid who came in – the high school student from the south side of town – he came in right after our first two guys. We lost him. Multiple stab wounds. He bled out before we could deal with them all."

Boyle sighed. "It's unreal. What in the hell are these kids thinking?" He looked at Grimes. "Then there was the GSW, Moran – he came in DOA. Tell me your first one went okay."

Grimes shook his head. "I don't know. He's in surgery with Atchison. He was a stab wound too – just one to the back, right renal area, but he was bleeding like hell. He didn't look so hot, but they got him here quick – maybe they can pull it out."

"If anyone can do it, it's Atchison," said Boyle. "Mine was beaten to a pulp – he's in X-ray now – I'm waiting for him to come back. He seemed to stabilize after we put in a chest tube, but the jury's still out on him until I get those results. Hell of a night."

"Yeah," sighed Grimes. "Hell of a night."

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End Chapter 19