Thanks to notsing for the continual motivation you provide me with by your reviews :)
Playing the mobsters against each other? Nice idea. Well, let's see what our favorite Feds are going to do…
Have fun :)
28 – CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – 1,126^28
Instead of improving, everything seemed to be becoming worse.
After they had informed him about the result of the lineup, Ivanov admitted the abduction. He confessed the crime without further resistance. It was his crime; Petrov and Borisov didn't have anything to do with it, he declared. And with this statement, he set his two colleagues free. Despite their investigations and despite Charlie's analysis they had no evidence that they had committed any single crime. They didn't have anything on them, so reluctantly they had to release the two men.
And that wasn't everything. For even though Ivanov confessed the deed – he was still withholding information on Charlie's whereabouts. They had lost two suspects in the lineup and hadn't gained any clues.
Only Chrushtchov remained. After a short hesitation, Ivanov had admitted his complicity in the abduction and also Chrushtchov himself had confessed his participation. Though even his cooperation had reached an end at this point. And the confession had become unnecessary anyway after O'Connagh's team had found Charlie's belongings when they'd searched the car with the pi-plate – his wallet, his keys, his turned-off mobile – and the items had the fingerprints of Ivanov and Chrushtchov.
"Where is he?" Colby had again taken on his very-bad-cop-posture, but if he thought he could make an impression on the criminal that way, he was mistaken.
"Just give in, agent," Ivanov sighed arrogantly. "You know exactly that you won't make me make tell you. Unless, of course, you can offer me something in compensation." He grinned innocently and knowing how much of a criminal he was the gesture seemed so inappropriate one wanted to scream.
"Not before you tell us where he is!" In reality they of course didn't intend to ever give in to this horse trade, but they didn't have to tell Ivanov that. After all, how would it work? They would release the criminals, hoping that Charlie would eventually come back to them as if nothing had happened?
In another interrogation room, Don and Daniel Richardson, an agent from O'Connagh's team, were busy with Boris Chrushtchov.
"I can tell you, Chrushtchov, your situation in here isn't improving!" There was a menacing undertone in Don's voice.
The mobster however shook that off of him with a shrug. "So? Do you think the situation's any different for the professor?"
Don held his breath.
"Where is he?" Richardson asked, not for the first time. They had already stopped counting how many times they'd asked this question.
"In a hiding-place," Chrushtchov answered inexpressively without giving any information. "Moreover, in a very good one. Besides Ilya and me, there's no one else who knows where he is."
Don's fist landed hard on the table. A flicker of grim enjoyment made his eyes sparkle when the mobster flinched slightly. His voice was low, dangerously low. "Are you aware that Ivanov has given you away?" He laughed briefly, a cold laugh he didn't recognize as his. "He told us everything about your complicity without hesitation. He turned you in to us."
With satisfaction, Don watched Chrushtchov's jaw muscles tense. The guy was furious. Good. Maybe he would now betray his accomplice...
"He's going to betray you again," Don added. "He's going to tell us about the hiding-place. He'll probably get out years earlier and you'll have to serve the full time. And that only because you thought you could trust him."
For an instant Don really thought they had him. But only for an instant. "Ivanov has only given me away so that no one from the outside can spoil his plans." That seemed to be a satisfying explication to him, for he did not continue.
"You can tell yourself whatever you want," Richardson went on. "He's shopped you. And he'll do it again. He'll lead us to the hiding-place sooner or later, and then you're going to be the loser.
"Even if that's right," Chrushtchov waved the argument away, "you still can't play tricks on me. I won't tell you where he is. That is unless you've got a bargain for me. If you don't want to make a little bargain and make Ilya and me stay here... Well, in that case it's not my fault if your little friend kicks the bucket."
It came all of a sudden. Don didn't even need a second in order to grab the mobster's collar and shout at him. "WHERE IS HE? WHERE DID YOU TAKE HIM TO?"
He could sense hands from behind pulling him away from this bastard. "Don, calm down –"
However, Don neither could, nor wanted to, stay calm again. Sitting in front of him, there was one of the only two people that knew where his brother was, and they weren't telling him. And they couldn't do anything about it.
With a jerk Don ripped himself away from Richardson's grip and stormed out of the interrogation room.
Chrushtchov in the meanwhile had managed to replace the startled fright on his face with a scornful, innocent grin. "Seems to have some anger issues, your fellow."
0 – 0 – 0
Alan stared at the phone as if he was trying to make it ring by thought alone. When he had called Don, they had just intended to start interrogating the people that with all probability had his son in their hands. That conversation had occurred nearly two hours ago. Now, it was shortly before two o'clock in the morning, eleven o'clock at night in L.A., though for Alan the idea of sleeping didn't even cross his mind. Who knows, maybe those men just confessed and told them where Charlie is and they're freeing him right now...
For a wonderful moment Alan let himself be carried away by the hope that they at this very moment were rescuing him. And soon his phone would ring and Don would tell him that everything was alright, Charlie was unhurt and safe and sound. He imagined them searching an abandoned house. The upper rooms searched as they slowly make their way downwards to the cellar. They open the door and the light of the torch falls onto Charlie's face, the skin pale, eyes wide open like a deer caught in car headlights. His stomach threatened to revolt at the image; at the same time his heart seemed to tear apart and he longed so much for encircling his youngest son in his arms, together with his eldest, feeling both his sons at his side and knowing they were safe and sound...
Something made him shiver. Shuddering, he seemed to shake off the warming image of his sons from him and it disappeared in the darkness of the room. However, the darkness wasn't that intensive anymore, it was lit by a ray of light blocked by his sister's shadow. She was standing in the open door through which a slight breeze had just blown.
For some seconds she just stood there in the door, searching for the right words to say. There were none and she tried to chose the most helpful ones. "Can I do anything for you, Alan?"
She didn't receive a response. She lightly touched his arm. Until now she had seldom seen her elder brother so lost. "Alan?"
He swallowed, though several insecure seconds passed until he spoke, "He should have come with me."
This wasn't Alan. Not the voice, not the tone, not the words. The voice sounded rough, hoarse; the tone was resigned; the words spoke of regret, of railing against fate, of a what-would-have-been-point-of-view that was normally so unlike her brother. His optimism, his whole optimistic nature, had given way to the one of an old, tired, nearly embittered man.
"They haven't given up searching yet, Alan," she said and there was a hint of reprimand in her tone. "And you shouldn't give up either."
0 – 0 – 0
"I don't think they'll confess of their own accord."
Don's head turned towards Megan. "How can you be so sure about that?" he asked trying to suppress his anger.
"Well, besides the fact that they haven't talked since yesterday evening and that they want to have a deal? Don, he's simply not the kind of man who easily lets himself be intimidated."
"So you're proposing that we just sit around here and wait for new information."
His hands had clenched into fists. After his outburst in the interrogation room he had come here into the observation room and had joined Megan. However, Richardson's futile attempts to make that bastard talk didn't really contribute to him calming down.
Megan didn't miss his tension. "We have to look for new evidence. Maybe we're lucky and Petrov and Borisov will lead us to the rest." Megan was talking about the surveillance of the two released mobsters. "Until then we won't be able to do anything. None of them are talking."
Don was breathing shallowly and fast. He knew that Megan was right. It could only be a matter of a few hours until the surveillance would finally provide them with results, and maybe it was then that they would finally make progress. However, he was equally well aware that Charlie's life might be hanging by a thread at this moment.
There had to be a possibility, something, anything they could use to make the mobsters talk! Heavens, they had never had such problems until now! Why out of all their cases it had to be this one?
Don paused. They had had a problem like this already. They had tried everything, applied all methods they knew and hadn't made any progress. The situation was so similar to this one that it was even a bit eerie. And back then they had also managed – or rather: Charlie had managed. He had... damn it, what exactly had happened then?
Don made himself concentrate hard. He closed his eyes. His forehead was furrowed. He could see the files in front of his eyes again, the faces of three men, their suspects, Charlie at a white wall, in an interrogation room, black numbers and words on a white board...
Megan flinched when her former boss stood without warning and headed out of the room. He had to find Larry, Larry... Without taking care or even notice of his surroundings he rushed through headquarters until he finally reached the slightly remote conference room. He stopped abruptly when a pale-faced woman stood in front of him.
"Don – I just wanted to ask you... do you have anything new?"
Don was shocked when his gaze took in Amita's appearance. Actually he should have been prepared for this, though he had been so occupied with himself during these last few days that he had hardly thought of her. No, he hadn't thought of her, only about her, and that always in connection with Charlie.
She looked awful. On her pale forehead, furrows of worry had collected; the pasty skin was only interrupted by her slightly reddened cheeks that had to have arisen from the lack of sleep or the anxious work. Her dark eyes were big, looking at him; the pupils were quivering a bit, as well as her lips.
"We're working on it," he said brusquely and tore his eyes away from the sight of her. He couldn't let himself become distracted now; there would be enough time for compassion later. "Larry, I have to ask you something. I think it was three or four years ago that Charlie did something when we had three suspects and none of them wanted to talk. It was about this truck with the toxic waste that had disappeared."
"Ah, the caesium. Of course, I remember."
Don couldn't help but notice that Larry also was pale; the dark shadows under his eyes were proof of his lack of sleep – whether due to the work quota, due to the worry or because of both. There were more urgent things, though. "And what did Charlie do then? He was in a room with the three suspects and showed them something and finally one of them gave us a statement."
Don's eyes were fixed onto the professor in tense expectation, but the other man only exchanged a confused glance with Amita.
"We talked about it!" Don continued, desperation rising in him. "You explained me something about... about suspects making statements and not making statements and yet still making statements because if they do they get the lowest sentence..."
Larry was frowning. Don's feeling of helplessness was rising. Could no one help him, did no on understand, did no one know what to do?
"The prisoner's dilemma?" Amita asked, uncertain.
Larry's features lit up. "Of course! I remember what you mean! The risk analysis! If I'm not very much mistaken, Charles did a risk analysis in order to find out the one among the suspects who the most had to lose. Under normal conditions, they should have talked anyway because of the prisoner's dilemma; though they hadn't done so. It was only after the disclosure of the data that they couldn't be sure anymore if their accomplices would testify or not and so they decided to cooperate."
Don was frowning, though due more to concentration than to confusion. "Yeah, I think that was what I meant. Could you do the same with the mobsters?"
Larry's features became a bit darker again and thereby buried the hope and expectation that had crept onto his face. "I'm not sure," he answered hesitantly. "That would require that one of them has more to lose than the other one. And judging from our previous information..."
"We'll try," Amita decided. And with determination upon her face she didn't look quite as bad as earlier.