Title: High Society

Chapter 33: Zeroing In

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Don sat at his desk, trying to focus, but fatigue was making his head swim. He found his eyes wandering to Jack Timmons' desk, and the furrow between his brows deepened. Jack had been one of their better agents, well liked; trusted. To find he'd been a spy – that he'd been working for Mr. X, was like a blow to the gut.

The search of Timmons' apartment had turned up no evidence to support a relationship to Mr. X, and the same appeared to be true of his phone records. He had received some calls from pay phones, recently, which could very well have been from Mr. X, but there was no way to prove it. LAPD was going through his bank records, but Don suspected that any suspicious transactions would also lead nowhere. Mr. X, whoever he was, was meticulously careful. If Timmons had been able to ditch the gun before he was hit, they would be none the wiser.

Not that the knowledge was doing them any good, Don thought bitterly. It was now Thursday; Charlie had been missing for nearly a week. Too long.

His phone rang, startling him out of his reverie, and he could see David's head come up as he picked it up. "Eppes."

"Don, it's Colby. I'm on Ramon Mendez – he's moving. The funny thing is; I think he's tailing someone himself."

David had risen from his desk, and Don waved him over and put the phone on speaker, turning the volume low so that only they could hear it. He had to admit, he was a little less than trusting these days. Colby's voice floated from the phone. "Here's the thing, first, the limo came out, with what looked like Morrison in the rear. LAPD followed it, just as they should have. Then, a few minutes later, the gardener drove out – at least, I think it was him – he was wearing a ball cap, and driving the old gray sedan that we have listed in the files."

Don had the same file in front of him, and he fished for it; then flipped it open. "Okay, yeah, David's here with me, and we're looking at the photo. Sami Adjani, the gardener – he drives a 1998 gray Ford Taurus."

"I could be completely off the mark," said Colby, "but look at Sami's picture, then look at Morrison's. Do you see a resemblance?" There was a muffled exclamation, then the faint screech of tires. Colby came back on the line. "Sorry – I had to do some maneuvering. He just jumped on the highway, almost lost me for a minute."

"Yeah, I see a resemblance," said David. "What are you saying – that they're masquerading as each other? And if that is Morrison, why would Ramon be following him? I thought Ramon was Morrison's right hand man."

"I don't know," admitted Colby. "It seemed pretty crazy – but why would Ramon follow the gardener, for that matter?"

"One's thing's certain, there's something going on," said Don firmly. "Where are you?"

"Headed west on I-10, just passing El Monte."

"Okay, listen, David and I are gonna join you. I'll hook up with you once we're in my SUV. I think I might try to call in a chopper, too – I don't want to lose them." Don and David were on their feet as he spoke, and David dashed over to his desk to grab his own cell phone.

"Okay," came Colby's voice. "Talk to you in a minute."

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David gripped the armrest subconsciously as Don jerked sharply on the steering wheel, one-handed, and roared onto I-10, his lights flashing. His other hand was adjusting the earpiece for his cell phone, and David breathed a sigh of relief as Don put his second hand back on the wheel. He was no stranger to high-speed chases, but he had to admit, Don was cutting in and out of traffic like a man possessed, and more than once, David had to bite back a gasp. Don jerked the wheel again, and they were changing lanes and squeezing between two trucks, breathing down the back of one semi, and narrowly missing clipping the front end of another, as Don said, "Yeah. You got it? Three vehicles, moving west on I-10. Get a bird out, but keep him high – we can't afford for them to hear it."

"Jesus," muttered David under his breath, as they squirted through the trucks, and he pulled on his seatbelt to make sure it was latched. He shot a glance over at Don. "Get a chopper?"

"Yeah. They've got a traffic cop out over 605. He's gonna swing over." He punched at his phone. "Colby? Where are you?" He paused a minute, listening. "Okay, listen, call dispatch and relay that. They're sending a chopper your way. Hook back up with me after you talk to them." He punched the phone, disconnecting the call. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the road. "He's a few miles in front of us. He said they just turned south on 71."

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Colby dropped back a bit as he turned east on 91, on the outskirts of Corona. He was so busy relaying the change in the direction to Don and then to dispatch, he nearly missed seeing the silver Toyota exit, and he jerked his wheel hard to the right, cutting off an old Hispanic man in a battered truck, who waved his fist at Colby through the windshield. "Okay, hold up, Don, we're getting off. Green River Road. We're backtracking away from the railroad tracks, heading west again. Whoa, hold up, I see brake lights. I need to pull off here."

The vehicles were on a dusty strip of road on the edge of nowhere. This section of road was dotted with small businesses, a tiny used car dealership, a café, a truck stop, a liquor store. Far ahead, Colby could see the gray Ford turning into the truck stop, and Ramon, in the silver Toyota, suddenly swerved into the used car dealership. Colby was coming too fast and had no choice but to continue past him, and he pulled in at the liquor store, bringing his car alongside the building instead of in front, to get it out of Ramon's view. Even from the side, he could see the gray Ford parked several hundred yards away, and watched, with eyes narrowed, as the man who was supposed to be Sami the gardener got out and stretched.

Don's voice was in his ear, sharp, impatient. "What's going on?"

"Sami – damn, Don, I think that is J.T. It's hard to tell with the ball cap and the shades, and he's wearing a T-shirt, but he moves like Morrison."

"Back up – what are you talking about?"

"We all pulled off on Green River Road. There's a string of small businesses here – the Ford pulled into the lot of a truck stop, and Ramon pulled off right in front of me, at a used car dealership. I went past it, and I'm parked at a liquor store between the two. Sami – or Morrison, or whoever he is, just got out of the Ford, and there's dark blue van pulling up to him now – looks like a work or utility van – no windows in back. Okay – a man just got out – our guy's getting in the back, and the man closed the back doors for him and got back in."

"Colby, get off the call," Don said urgently. "Get on dispatch; tell the chopper to follow that van. Then head over to the used car lot – we're pulling on to Green River Road now – we'll meet you there. I want to have a chat with Ramon."

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Ramon sat in the used car lot, his fingers drumming the steering wheel, as he watched the blue van pull out onto Green River Road. Green River Road was long, and only small subdivisions branched off from it a short way down. He could afford to wait just a moment more before he pulled out behind the van. This time, he had decided, he was going to follow it to wherever J.T. was going. He had no idea what, if anything, he would do when he got there, but he would at least get a look. He could see a man inside the small office, peering out the window at him, but he ignored him, and the man stayed inside.

Finally satisfied that enough time had passed, Ramon put the car into gear and swung around – only to stop sharply as an SUV zoomed through the entrance to the lot and lurched to a stop in front of him, cutting him off. He immediately recognized Eppes and the agent named Sinclair through the windshield, and his heart jerked in his chest. They'd followed him here – how much did they know? How much had they seen?

He climbed slowly from the Toyota as another vehicle swung in behind them, and he recognized another of the agents – the sandy-haired one. How many of them were there? Were they preparing for a raid? He licked his lips, and forced a smile, as they came toward him. "Gentlemen – is there a problem?"

The two junior agents stopped a few steps away, but Don Eppes kept coming. He grabbed Ramon by the shirtfront and pushed him against the side of the Toyota. "Maybe you can tell me," he growled. The man in the office had stepped out and called out a protest, but quickly shut his mouth as David flashed his badge at him, and went back inside, to peer out from the relative safety of his window.

"I don't know what you mean," stammered Ramon.

Don took a calculated guess as to the identity of the man in the Ford. "Why were you following Morrison?" He shook Ramon roughly. "Where is he going?" The hands crept higher, closer to Ramon's neck, and pushed against his windpipe, uncomfortably. "So help me, if we find Charlie and anything has happened to him, I will personally take care of you and your boss."

Ramon's eyes widened in alarm. "It would not be my fault."

Don's face paled at the statement, and he shook Ramon again, with a growl of fear-fueled frustration. "What wouldn't be your fault? You know where he is, don't you?"

"No! No, I swear – I do not!"

Don's eyes narrowed. "But you were trying to find out, weren't you?"

Ramon dropped his eyes and shook his head – at least, as much as he was able, with the two fists knotted against his neck.

Don pushed him harder against the side of the Toyota. "You're lying. And you know what, Mendez, we're gonna find out. We've got a chopper following the blue van that your boss just got into, and when the pilot sees where he's going, he's going to bring us in. So if you've got anything to say, you'd better say it now."

Ramon looked up with a horror-stricken expression, and for a moment, his mouth worked silently, then his shoulders sagged. "You have to know that J.T. is the only reason he is still alive," he implored. "Mr. X wanted to kill the professor that night at Fantasy, but J.T. pleaded for his life. Mr. X has been keeping him somewhere – I don't know where – and J.T. has been going to visit him. I followed today because I was curious. That is all I know – I swear."

Don's face had gone blank, stunned, and his hands had slowly released their grip. He stepped back, as if in a daze. "He's still alive."

Ramon nodded eagerly. "Yes. J.T. saw him just yesterday." An expression of fear crossed his face, as he repeated. "Don't forget, when you find him, that he is alive because of J.T."

His repetition of the comment brought a look of speculation to the agents' faces, but then it was gone, cast aside by the necessity of the moment. David stepped forward, and pushed Ramon around to face the vehicle, cuffing him quickly. "Stay with him," murmured Don, the urgency in his voice belying the quiet tone. "Call Corona P.D. When they get here and have him in custody, hook back up with us. I gotta get hold of that chopper pilot, and Colby and I are going to follow that van."

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Markus met J.T. at the van again, and the two fell into step beside each other as they approached the building entrance. "You shouldn't have come today," said Markus. "He's in bad shape – you hurt him yesterday. You need to give him a day or two to recuperate. If you're that hard on him today, I doubt he'll live until tomorrow." He shrugged. "Not that I care – the sooner he's gone, the better. You, however, would have a problem with that."

J.T. pouted. "I had to see him – I can't come tomorrow – it's Friday, and to keep up appearances I'm throwing a small subdued dinner party. Business, of course. And Saturday, you'll be dealing with Fantasy – you told me you couldn't deal with a visit then. Besides, he fought me yesterday, he gave me no choice." He sent Markus a sidelong glance. He knew he was pushing, and he needed to stay in Markus' good graces if he wanted the situation to continue. He dangled a carrot. "I've got a new client for you. A Saudi playboy – he loves high stakes gambling."

Markus merely grunted, but J.T. could tell by the way his eyebrows rose that his curiosity had been piqued. The illegal gambling portion of Fantasy was the most lucrative of all of the activities. "I'm interested. After your last recommendation, however, I plan to do a very thorough search – and you can do some of it with me. Let's go to my office."

J.T. smiled to hide his impatience; this was going to delay his visit with Charlie. "Of course," he murmured. "It's the least I can do."

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Don stood, chafing, a quarter mile from the gated entrance. He and Colby were on an unmarked paved offshoot of Green River Road, several miles out of town, and in front of them, beyond the gate, lay a long stretch of gravel road that wound off into the distance. The gate was flanked by wired fence, and cameras were trained on the road in front of the gate – which was why he and Colby had stopped well away from the area, and backed Colby's vehicle up behind a small rocky outcropping. According to the chopper pilot, the blue van had entered at that gate, and proceeded down the road to a sprawling complex of some kind. The pilot had since departed to a nearby landing area; it would have been noticeable if he'd stayed, hovering over the complex.

Don had immediately phoned it in to Wright, and they were here now; and hour and a half later, waiting for reinforcements. It was going to take some time, Wright had told him – a complex of that size would require a sizeable force of highly trained agents. All Don and Colby could do at the moment was wait, and watch the entrance.

Don finally stirred, drifted wearily over to the SUV, and leaned against it, closing his eyes. He could feel the desert sun on his face; hear the sibilant sound of the wind playing across the rocky ground, the rustle of the scrub, as the breeze caressed dry branches across the expanse of fenced land. Charlie was in there somewhere, and he was alive – at least according to Ramon, he was yesterday, and there was no reason think he wasn't, still. Against all odds, his brother was alive. He prayed that he would remain that way during the raid – prayed that the attack would be quick and overwhelming, with no resistance. They couldn't come this far, get this close, and lose him.

The hum of the breeze was growing louder, less fitful, and suddenly Don realized that it wasn't the wind. He opened his eyes and looked up the road the way they had come, to see specks moving along the road, drawing closer. Backup. They were here – it was time.

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J.T. let himself into the room, and surveyed the prone figure on the bed. His session with Markus had taken much longer than he wanted, and he was brimming with impatience. The professor had been prepared for his visit – stripped of his clothes, his hands once again in the leather restraints. He was motionless, lying curled on his side with his eyes closed. The harsh glare of the fluorescent light in the ceiling revealed the damage that had been done – J.T.'s eyes roved over protruding ribs, skin darkened by bruises, marked by cuts. It occurred to him that perhaps he had gone too far the day before – and that Markus was right; the young man couldn't take another beating.

"Hello, Charlie," said J.T. softly, as he stepped forward. The professor's eyes opened for a brief instant, revealing dull despair in their depths. The fight was gone from them, and J.T. frowned. He craved resistance - the thrill of conflict, and the eventual dominance. With no fight, there was no sense of conquest.

Charlie's eyes had closed again, and J.T. gave him a poke, trying to generate a reaction. "You will respond when I speak to you," he said. He could feel anger rising inside – he wanted, needed reaction. His voice rose. "Do you hear me?"

He grabbed Charlie by the hair, jerked his head back. "Get up!" he commanded. Charlie's eyes flickered open again and he grimaced weakly, but did nothing else, and J.T. responded with fury. He tightened his grip on Charlie's hair, and with a powerful motion, dragged him off the bed onto the floor. Charlie landed with a thump and groan, but still did not resist. J.T. was panting with panic-tinged anger now, and he aimed a savage kick at Charlie's ribs. "I said, get up!" he rasped through clenched teeth, his fists opening and closing. He could feel rage and desire seeping through him like black ink; blotting out everything else.

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End Chapter 33