Sorry for the delay, I was quite busy these last couple of weeks… But thanks for the review! And I hope the spelling of your name doesn't have any further meaning and that you're not angry with me for taking my time… :)

Anyway, here's the chapter and I hope you all like it! Warning: there are some allusions to 4-01 Trust Metric.

22 – CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – 1,151²²

Ilya Ivanov put the cloth he had soaked with diethyl ether back into his jacket and helped his accomplice to get the professor out of the office. Fortunately, it was Sunday, and there was nobody here at this time. And luckily there hadn't been any incidents when they had waited for Eppes' arrival in Fleinhardt's office, though they had been prepared for any contingency. They could feel the reassuring weight of the two Berettas in the inner pockets of their dark jackets.

Taking the shortest way, they got the limp, but fortunately slim body out of the building and into their van. Pyotr Raskolnitov, the second man involved in this act tied and gagged their hostage, and the little van disappeared unseen into the night.

0 – 0 – 0

Don shook his head, partly because he wanted to shake off his lethargy. After Charlie had left, three hours of file rummaging had passed and everything had calmed down a bit in the head-quarters. Lost in thought, he played around with the cover of a folder. After all... if you looked at it thoroughly... Considered soberly, Colby wasn't even on the list anymore. They no longer actually had anything to do with this whole thing. There was no conflict of interest.

After all, there had only been this little abduction and the intimidation.

No, if there was a new list, then it hadn't got anything to do with the old one and the consequences and emotions it engendered. As long as Colby, and no one else he knew, was on this list, they would be able to work on this case like any other case.

The problem was that Don couldn't be certain. He wanted to trust Colby; he would have entrusted his life to him, and if you looked at it thoroughly, he always did whenever they were on an operation. This however, was something else. Here, he had no control. If Granger intended to take him in Don would probably not notice until it was too late.

It had nearly been too late once already. Time had almost run out on them. And Colby had nearly paid the ultimate price. His betrayal – had it really been a betrayal? It was so difficult to decide – had nearly robbed him of his life if David and Don in particular and the team in general, hadn't been in time to save it.

A shudder ran down Don's spine when once more he realized what would have happened if he had gone on refusing to trust Colby.

Irritated, he threw the file on the desk. The matter was done, once and for all. This whole what-would-have-been-if… seriously got on his nerves.

But then why did it still feel so strange?

0 – 0 – 0

Charlie awoke at the irregular, jolting movement. He felt sick. Oh God, when would it finally stop? And more importantly, where was he? On a ship? That would at least explain why he was feeling seasick.

He was thirsty. His mouth was dry – no, not only that, more, his tongue felt strangely furry.

Charlie wanted to touch his head, but something held him back. He couldn't move his arms. He wondered dimly where his limbs were; if they were still there somewhere. He couldn't feel them, not really at any rate. His whole body felt strangely numb.

Before he could think about it further, he was pressed against a wall and then straight after on the floor again. Centripetal force! it suddenly flashed through his mind. That meant that there was a force somewhere that made him change his direction of movement, namely because he was in a vehicle going round a bend.

That was it! He was travelling – not on a ship, but in a car! And that nearly impossibly bearable rustling around him was traffic noise! The question was only: how had he come here?

Charlie groaned. The headache and the dizziness and the nausea were killing him. How on Earth had he come to be in this damn situation? Had he drunk too much? But that still wouldn't explain –

Oh, damn it.

He hadn't drunk too much – he had been drugged! By the mafia!

Charlie groaned again, but this time it sounded a trace more desperate. This new perspective explained a lot, for example the numbness in his arms and legs. He was tied up; that was why he couldn't move. Or the furry feeling on his tongue – a gag. He had been abducted – and for the second time in nine days. That wasn't only statistically extremely unlikely, it was also anything but good for his health and not only because of the stress.

The car turned around another bend and Charlie could feel his stomach turn. That had to be the narcotic. Maybe chloroform?

However, when the van braked sharply Charlie didn't care anymore. Lying on the floor and vomiting the previous day's meal into his prison after having got rid of the gag rubbing his face along his shoulder, he only hoped that he got as much as possible of it out of his system.

0 – 0 – 0

Ilya Ivanov glanced at his watch and yawned. His colleague Pyotr Raskolnitov gave him a quick look from the driver's seat.

"Be careful that you won't fall asleep later when you hide him away," he admonished him.

Ivanov waved him off. "I'll have a little nap here in the car."

So he did. It had been a long day for him. First the observation, then the discovery that their aim, the Janus List, had been discovered... He had had to act quickly, but he was satisfied with the result. The abduction had passed off smoothly and he also knew already exactly how they would proceed. The Boss would be content with him.

0 – 0 – 0

Don noticed the shadow over him and looked up. "So?" he asked David. "Were you able to find Sanchez?"

David, though, shook his head. "Nothing. He seems to have gone underground."

"Which isn't very surprising," Colby piped as he suddenly came up behind his partner. "I guess this sub-mafia is now also putting pressure on him so that he changes his statement and doesn't incriminate Kalinkov anymore."

"To be added to the pressure of the main mafia," Don continued thoughtfully. No, indeed it wasn't a surprise.

"Why did they buy Sanchez in the first place?" David asked.

Don shrugged. "To distract us, I guess. They wanted to divert our attention towards the branch-mafia so that they can go after their aim without any interference. 'Cause that way they'd have got rid of both their opponents as well as their rivals."

"And so they can get hold of the Janus List without having to do much," David concluded. A bit too late he noticed what he had said there, and the three of them stared at the ground before David plucked up enough courage. If they continued to hush it up for much longer, they would probably really come to a dismal end because of it. "What do they intend to do with it, anyway?"

Colby gave him a glance that was difficult to decipher. "Are you serious? On this list, there are names of double agents, David. People who are betraying the U.S. With this list they can do nearly everything. They can make the agents that are on it work for them, they can blackmail the respective governments, they can sell it to the U.S. government or –" He hesitated for an instant before he continued. "Or they can sell the list to countries that are ill-disposed to the USA."

"That'd be bad," David mumbled.

They fell silent for several seconds before David spoke again, "Couldn't we find out at least what the mafia intends to do with it?"

Don shrugged. Yeah, it'd be quite nice to know that. Maybe Charlie would be able to find out with his... with some of his analysis? It's true he thought that his brother had told them everything he knew, but it was worth a try after all. "I'll ask Charlie."

0 – 0 – 0

Charlie didn't know how much time had passed until the van came again to a halt and the engine was turned off. At the violent jerk he again felt the nausea rising up inside him, but he tried to suppress the reflex. And although the carrying out of his plan was made harder due to the smell of vomit in the sticky air around him, he managed this time.

The door to the cargo bay was opened and a new wave welled up inside Charlie: a wave of panic. And it was probably this wave of panic that made him shudder and not the cool night air.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice with a Russian accent greeted him. However, in the wan light of the street lamp Charlie couldn't detect from which one of the three silhouettes in front of his eyes it had come.

One of the shadows separated itself from the others and came towards him. Charlie became rigid when he felt the rough hands on his skin checking his bonds and putting the gag back into his mouth.

"Chorosho," said the voice that was so close to him. "A teper', shto my delayem c yemu? Ubit'?"

Afraid, Charlie lifted his head. His neck hurt, but he couldn't help but stare at the silhouette. If he didn't understand what they were saying he wanted at least to try and deduce from their gestures what they were talking about.

One of the other two shadows shook his head lightly. "Nyet. Shef govorit shto on zaloshnik." It was again the first voice, calm and controlled, at any rate calmer than the one of the impatient mobster above him.

"Itak, shto?" this impatient one now said, turning towards his accomplices.

"Dyrà."

A brief silence during which the one spoken to nodded lightly. "Da... da, erto priyatnava ideya."

The men fell silent for a short instance, but Charlie's eyes remained widened. What had these guys been saying? What had they been talking about? About him? About their plans? Maybe they had just now decided how they would kill him?

Charlie's widened eyes might have disturbed the three men, at any rate the impatient one, who was still standing above him, took a cloth from the pocket of his jacket and bound it over his hostage's eyes. "Tak lutshe," he mumbled.

The last thing Charlie had been able to see or rather guess at in the dim light was the mobster's sardonic grin. Then he heard him jump from the van onto the street.

"Nu, choroscho, Paka!" a voice that hadn't spoken until now called out. Steps were moving away.

"Paka!" the others answered. They seemed to be saying good-bye to each other.

As well as to Charlie. The sliding door was banged shut and he was alone again.

Cold fear was creeping up inside of him. He was alone with two mobsters. He didn't know what they intended to do with him. And no one knew where he was. These guys were unscrupulous. And he had irritated them. He had mixed up their plans. And the way things were looking right now – that is pitch-black, in the proper sense of the word – he wouldn't be able to get free on his own.

He needed help. Urgently. He wanted to get away from here. Somebody had to help him.

Where was Don?

0 – 0 – 0

Don was frowning. There was no one in Larry's office in CalSci nor at the Craftsman answering the phone. And also on Charlie's mobile Don had only been able to reach the message service.

"What's up?" David wanted to know when he saw Don sitting there rigidly on his office chair, brows knit and the phone at his ear.

Don shook his head, though still held the receiver to his ear while he spoke. "I don't know. But I know I don't like it." He hung up with a jolt and stood. "I'm going home to look if he's still hanging around in the garage."

"Shall I come with you?" Colby offered.

Don looked at him. He considered, but finally shook his head. "No... but you and David, could you two go to CalSci and look if he's maybe there?" He swallowed, trying a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Just to be sure."

Cobly and David nodded. Although their boss had tried to put on a brave face, they hadn't missed his worry.

0 – 0 – 0

Again the car came to a halt. Again the engine was turned off. This time, however, the sensations were different. He didn't see the sliding door opening, he heard it. He didn't see the shadows coming nearer, he heard them. More distinct than before he could feel the breath of air coming from the open door and the men moving around him. Without sight the feeling of menace increased greatly.

He felt two hands grabbing his feet, cutting through the bonds. Charlie wondered only briefly why these guys had bothered to bind his feet in the first place before his attention was already diverted to another aspect in this dark horror theater.

"Get up," a rough voice above him ordered, and hands grabbed him at his shoulders, pulling him upright. Charlie tried to stand, but his legs, his whole body, was too worn-out from the hours he'd been lying tied up on the floor of the van. Completely blind, he was pulled up again onto his feet.

Hands pushed and dragged him out of the van. Since he couldn't see the step, he tumbled down, but fortunately rough hands prevented him from going down to the ground.

The hands dragged him away from the vehicle, to the left, and Charlie stumbled through a black world. He didn't know where he was, had no clue from his surroundings. But he had to know where he was; this disorientation was making him crazy, the blindness...

He could hear water. He could hear. He had other means of getting his bearings. He could hear water roaring. Waves. And he could smell salt water. He had to be at the ocean.

He listened intensely to see if he could hear anything else besides the sea to his left. Yeah... yeah, there was something. Traffic noise. A street. Though the noise sounded strangely muffled and far away. Maybe there were trees standing between him and the road. Or an embankment. A dyke?

With his other senses sharpened, Charlie could now also sense the wind. It came from the right, from the street, from the land. Great, he thought. So it was still – or again? – night. That meant it was dark. Why couldn't these guys commit their crimes in daylight for once?

Charlie was dragged on. The ground changed; he was walking on sand. Here, walking was more difficult, and he stumbled more often. Therefore he was quite glad when after half an eternity the ground finally changed again.

Stone. He had had to duck before he could feel the stony floor under his feet. Now all their steps sounded hollowly; they had to be in a cave. It couldn't be big, though; otherwise the echo effect would have been stronger.

The strange procession came to a halt. Charlie could hear a scratch and a squeak that made goose bumps run over his body. He knew this sound...

Again he was grabbed hard from behind and pushed along. "Now jump!" a voice directly next to him then ordered.

Charlie stood motionless.

"I told you to jump!"

The barrel of a weapon was pressed between his shoulder blades, and unable to resist, his right foot slid a few inches forwards. His body tensed. His toes were hanging free in the air. Underneath them there was no ground.

"Now come on!" It was enough for the impatient voice. A kick to the backs of his knees was enough. Charlie screamed and fell down the abyss into a black nothingness.

0 – 0 – 0

Don had arrived at the Craftsman, only to find the garage dark, when he got a call on his mobile. David. "Is he with you?"

"You should come over, Don."

Don's alertness increased for two further steps. "What's happened?"

"You should come over," David repeated.

Since Don's breath had accelerated anyway, his sub-consciousness decided to let it go easy, and he hung up without a further word.

While he, maybe a bit too speedily, drove to CalSci in his SUV, all sorts of possible and impossible, but all of them unpleasant, thoughts crept into his mind. What was going on with his brother? Why hadn't David told him anything? Maybe they had found him in his office, bound and gagged? Or on the floor, in a pool of blood, de-

Don's throat was dry out, but not so the corners of his eyes. He could feel the panic welling up more and more inside him. What's happened...?

Later, he had no memory of sprinting up the stairs until he finally stood in front of Larry's office, breathless for more than one reason.

David and Colby turned around at the sound, coming towards him. "We didn't touch anything," David told him.

Don pushed past the two of them into the office, coming to an abrupt stop. He was standing in front of chaos. So, everything seemed to be normal.

Except for Charlie's half-open bag on the floor.

And the knocked-over chair in the middle of the room.

And the light sweet smell in the air.

And the unmistakable fact that Charlie wasn't here.

What the hell had happened here?

Sorry for the Russian, especially to those who tried to understand it… As you realized, I'm not really able to speak the language.