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5 – CHAPTER FIVE – 1.379^5
Don opened the door. "It's me!" he called into the house, exhausted by a long day's work.
"Ah, Donnie!" His father rose from the couch.
After a short, "Hi, Dad," Don's gaze fell on the television where a black and white film was playing. His father had probably just turned on the television to wait for his oldest son.
"I was already afraid you wouldn't come anymore. It's good that we waited for you despite everything. You can already go and call Charlie; dinner's as good as ready."
He didn't have had to tell Don; the odor of braised meat had already wafted up to his nose when he'd entered the house. However, his joy regarding the meat wasn't great enough to suppress a feeling he couldn't quite classify, but was very similar to irritation and that had extended inside Don at hearing Charlie's name.
His father disappeared into the kitchen, and Don heard a hysterical female voice from the television: "Do you know what you've done to me? You have no business being here! Leave! Come on, get lost or I'll shoot!"
Don looked at the screen and saw some blond actress trying to threaten an unpleasant looking guy with a gun in her theatrically trembling hands. "And if you don't shut up at once and hold the gun with both hands," he murmured, turning the television off with his mood decreasing steadily, "your arm is going to tremble and you'll drop the weapon or you will be shot."
He went to the garage. He was certain that Charlie was already brooding over the copies of the files David had brought along this afternoon. The law firm will surely be glad. "Charlie!" he called, acknowledging the commanding tone of his voice a bit reluctantly. The fact that he didn't get an answer didn't really make his mood better. "Charlie, come on! Dinner!"
Alan grinned to himself when he heard Don call for his brother with his slightly annoyed voice. There were things that would never change. However, his grin faded much too fast, thinking of the problems his two sons had to be facing at the moment. It seemed that they still hadn't managed to find an accord. Well, they hadn't seen each other much since last night when Alan had helped a bit with the file. But maybe the mood would brighten up over a tasty dinner?
A sudden ring at the door startled him out of his thoughts. Who might that be? He wasn't expecting expect visitors.
After a quick look at the meat that could – depending on the visitor – serve as a practical excuse, Mr Eppes hurried towards the front door and opened it. Outside, there were two men with baseball caps and sunglasses they hadn't taken off despite the darkness.
"Hello, Mr Eppes!" the one closer to Alan greeted. "Are Don and Charlie here? We have to talk to them about something."
Slightly astonished, Alan turned towards the house and called in, "Don, Charlie! Visitors for you!" He was just about to turn towards the two men to inquire the reason of their visit and to ask them into the house, when an iron-hard arm was laid around his neck and something ice-cold was pushed against his temple.
"No sound, Mr Eppes," the man Alan just had spoken with hissed, "or I'll pull the trigger."
Alan couldn't have got a sound out of his throat anyway; at least not while this guy was squeezing his airway shut. He heard the back door open and his sons come closer, fogged in silence. He wanted to call out a warning, to hold them back – but they had already come in.
Don and Charlie stopped abruptly. Instinctively, Don stretched out his left arm to hold Charlie back while his right hand was scrabbling for his gun.
"I'd let go of that if I were you," the second intruder said, his voice vibrating. "Come on, hands up, both of you!"
While they followed the order it crossed Don's mind how unreal this whole situation was. They were being assaulted, his family and him, here, in Charlie's home! At home! That wasn't possible!
Don sensed Charlie trembling beside him. He couldn't blame him. He, too, felt a cold shudder down his back at the sight revealed to him: their father, under the thumb of some unknown guy, a gun at his temple. A gun that could go off at any moment, especially if the invaders were frightened and lost control.
"Hey, you!" invader number two called to Charlie. Charlie jerked slightly. "Come on, take the gun from him" – he briefly indicated Don with his weapon – "and lay it on the floor. But slowly and with your fingertips!"
Don was thinking feverishly. There had to be something he could do, anything… If he, as quickly as a flash, pulled his gun? Or called for help? At this time their neighbors must still be awake, surely somebody would hear them… But he couldn't take the risk. He mustn't endanger his family. The most reasonable thing to do would be to just follow these guys' orders; as hard as it would be.
Charlie had already turned halfway towards Don and stared at him with questioning eyes. This was his big brother, the FBI agent. Couldn't he save them? Don gave him a brisk nod and held his jacket open. Charlie swallowed and pulled the gun out from the holster with trembling fingertips. As if in slow motion, he bent and laid it on the floor. The two intruders didn't turn their eyes away from Don or him for a second.
"And now tie him," the guy ordered to him, throwing at him a thin rope.
Don took down his hands and sensed how Charlie's unnaturally cold fingers were fiddling behind his back trying to get the rope around his wrists. He wanted to calm him down – Charlie couldn't freak out now! – but he couldn't think of a way of doing it. Instead, another idea suddenly occurred to him. He eased his hands apart a bit. He sensed how Charlie's cold fingers paused briefly, then formed a knot.
"You ready?" number two pushed, and carefully came round Don, gun drawn, in order to be able to get a glimpse of his hands. Then, without warning, he lifted his weapon and hit it against Charlie's temple and Charlie careened into the wall.
Alan, still in number one's hard grip, gasped. Don automatically shot around to invader number two, but the other man's voice made him turn to stone. "Don't move, or your father has a bullet in his head."
Don didn't stir. Instead, he stared at the man who'd hit his brother with a look full of hatred. Hatred and desperate worry. He at least wanted to turn around, see how Charlie was, just turn his head; but he was afraid of what number one would do then. He had no idea just how professional or in control of their actions they were.
Thank God he heard Charlie gasp behind him. At least he was conscious, although he was certainly seeing stars. He appeared to be on his legs again, for number two hissed, "No more tricks, got it? Now tie him up properly, but hurry!"
This time, Don didn't dare give the tiniest resistance.
Number two was watching mistrustfully as Charlie bound Don's wrists tightly. As soon as he was finished, he in turn found himself with cord around his wrists. Number two seemed to have a lot of fun seeing how tightly he could pull the rope. Don noticed how Charlie's face contorted in pain.
He then pulled two rags that might have been dishtowels one time out of his pocket and stuffed them into each of the two brothers' mouths. Gags. As if they would be so silly to shout for help.
"Okay, no poor tricks anymore, got it?" number one hissed in a dangerously low voice. Then, unceremoniously, he banged his gun against Alan's temple. Alan crashed against the wall and slid down it to the floor.
Through the gag, Don heard his brother gasp and he himself was staring with wide, angry eyes. Fortunately, it meant that he could see that Alan's chest was moving. At least their father was alive.
Don had barely noted this happy observation when he noted something totally different. He took a stumbling step forward when the barrel of the handgun hit him between his shoulder blades. He couldn't suppress a strained moan, and without being able to struggle against the invaders he shambled forward out of the door and down the few steps to the little transporter the kidnappers had come in. If only someone would see them… But nothing happened. Behind him, Don merely heard the unsteady steps of his brother.
Alan moaned inwardly when they left the house, as if he was feeling how his sons were being taken away from him. He then slipped into the black cover of unconsciousness.
Even before opening his eyes, Alan sensed the pulsing ache in his head. For some seconds he couldn't remember what had happened. Then, the fraction-like scenes of the things having occurred hit him with all their cruel force and meaning.
They had been assaulted!
Where were his sons?
Alan ordered himself to open his eyes. He was dizzy, but he forced himself to overcome his weakness, and soon he was able to see. But his sons were gone.
"Donnie? Charlie?" On wobbly legs, Alan sat up, trotting aimlessly around the room. His raised his shaky voice, "Don! Charlie! Where are you!"
He got no answer, though. He was alone.