Another chapter! Huzzah!
And thank you so much for the lovely reviews - they were very much appreciated and a great encouragement as I wrote!
Leafgreene01, I love(!) that it's getting spicier and you're excited (success!). I hope this chapter and the upcoming ones pull it all together well and are satisfying! And yes, Ben's been a quiet presence. I'm looking forward to seeing where Dax's arc goes, too, and I agree that it is quite likely going to be complicated by Jughead's real identity before long...
Woodscolt215, thanks you! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much!
Natureliesbeneath, thank you for your faithful reviews as well - hacker Jughead holds a lot of appeal for me too, and I'm so excited to see him play the part. I love Jughead's torn loyalties between (sort of?) the grown-up concerns and the teenager ones. I'd say professional and personal, but adult personal concerns would look sliiiightly different. Jug code switches like a pro at this point (yay!), but not always when it is appropriate (less yay). Also, I wish I could have capitulated to demands sooner, but I hope you enjoy the chapter enough to make the wait worthwhile!
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
Clark was blinking at the space where Dax and Jughead had been when he saw Special Agent Davies realize the same thing: they were gone.
Hermione Lodge must have seen Davies clocking this information as well, because she reacted first.
"No!" Hermione was in Brand's face in an instant. "No, you do not even think about Jughead Jones until my daughter is safely out of this building and on a secure floor of the hotel. He's a nobody; she is front page news. She's being targeted."
Davies was frowning and scanning the room, and he didn't reply immediately – but then Mary Andrews laid a restraining hand on his arm. Brand looked down at it, then at her, and then his gaze searched the room once more with laser intensity.
This time he was looking for something else; Special Agent Davies locked eyes with Clark.
Because that was the obvious way to play this. Of course.
Clark felt his adrenaline surge and he hurried over to collect his orders. "Sir?"
Agent Quinn was pushing Clark out of the way before Davies could tell him anything. "Are you okay? This isn't-,"
"An elaborate plot meant to get to me? Yeah, not this time, Sarah." Brand brushed her off impatiently. "Clark, you need to find him, and you need to keep eyes on him at all times. If I'm right about what just happened onstage, he's either completely fine or you're going to need to shoot your way out. Don't try and extract him if that will put either of you into danger – you just get me on the phone as soon as it's safe to make a call –, but if there is any imminent threat-,"
Agent Quinn had stiffened at Brand's words and begun scanning the room. "'Shoot his way out'? Have you lost your mind? Where is he?"
"With Dax." Brand spared just the two words for Quinn before resuming issuing orders to Clark. "I mean any threat at all, you do whatever you have to in order to get him to safety until I am physically present. Or FP is."
"Yes, sir."
"But as long as he's with Dax-," Agent Quinn sounded relieved.
That was weird; normally her instincts were better than that, Clark thought, but he didn't waste any time arguing with her. There were at least six exits from this location, and while he could rule out two of them, that only gave him a start on his search.
Clark moved too swiftly to do more than shoot a sympathetic look at the cluster of worried teenagers who were watching this exchange – and multiple other, similarly intense ones – play out in the backstage area.
They'd all be fine; chances were they'd be back in the hotel in under fifteen minutes. In under an hour, the venue would likely be emptied of anyone not responsible for take-down and cleanup.
That group would not likely include anyone currently on the road crew.
Clark shook his head in amazement as he considered the far-reaching ramifications of the strike and how different this tour was going to look in the morning.
What a disaster.
00000
Brand wanted to slap himself in the forehead. The answer was so obvious now: there were two factions in play. That was why the incidents had never been unified enough in purpose to make coherent sense.
There might well be an insurance scam brewing, sure, but the road crew had probably been laying their own groundwork for a coup; this takeover was too well put together to be a heat of the moment decision.
And it had to be two separate factions because, while the roadies were obviously not responsible for all of the incidents - they hadn't even had access in some instances -, whoever was after an insurance payout would never have taken this approach.
All the contracts made it crystal clear that roadie issues were not going to trigger a payout.
The math was relatively simple once Brand conceded that the situation was more complicated than he'd believed: once the incidents could be sorted into two categories, with two different goals, the situation stopped looking like a random hodgepodge of horrifically bad luck.
Two obvious sets of motives came into sharp focus.
The road crew would be fired, of course. But only after making a wildly public scene that put the bands in a tight spot in terms of PR, most likely forcing them into at least a modest financial gesture... and granting the crew their fifteen minutes of fame in front of crowds that had previously overwhelmed a fundraising initiative with their generosity – to the tune of millions.
It was amazing how many people looked at Archie Andrews with dollar signs in their eyes.
Brand figured that the insurance scammers would be in the tighter spot now, since the road crew had quite likely thrown a massive wrench into their plans. Since this kind of disruption wasn't covered by the insurance policies, that almost guaranteed that the tour would continue – at least for the time being. That meant a reduced payout. It was all pro-rated, of course; the bands didn't need the insurance policy to pay up for the whole tour if they only canceled a single concert.
So there might be some desperate insurance scammers in the venue who were watching their payouts go up in smoke.
And, Brand reflected as he scanned the backstage area anxiously, they might have Jones.
The son of an SAC might look like a valuable bargaining chip for getting a tour shut down with no questions asked.
Well, Jones might look like that if they were idiots. The FBI had a pretty well known track record of scorched earth when it came to threats against one of their own.
Alternatively, if they still harbored any hope of getting Breaking Fast to panic over their pet curse, the kid was ground zero for making that happen. That seemed both more likely and horrifyingly easy.
They could shove him off the roof and say it was an accident.
They could be doing that at this very moment.
Brand's chest tightened. No. Clark would get to him.
Brand took a deep breath and tried to force the mental image of Jones' terrified struggles and cries for help as he was dragged to the edge of the roof – and then of his broken body splayed on the concrete sidewalk below – out of his mind.
The kid's wild imagination must be contagious.
Besides, there were decent odds that the kid could land a few good hits and get himself free. Brand had coached him again and again on not letting anyone on this tour know his capabilities, diminished though they were at the moment, so it was unlikely that any assailants would actually be prepared to overpower Jones.
Unless they took him by surprise. The kid was just so trusting.
Brand ignored a sharp twisting sensation in his gut as he turned to regard the multiple directions Dax might have taken when he'd left the backstage area.
Clark disappeared from the backstage area at a satisfyingly brisk pace. Good.
"Find Penn," Brand ordered Mary Andrews. That could only help.
"He's busy dealing with the, uh-," Mary Andrews motioned to where, sure enough, FP was making a circuit of the remaining roadies, saying just a few words to each one, but galvanizing each into a flurry of action in his wake.
Huh.
"Is the old man… canceling the strike before it's even fully been declared?" Brand asked wonderingly. Then he made firm eye contact with Sarah. "Grab him, but only after he's done making the rounds; that might turn out to be important. And why are you still standing here, Quinn? Go get the band offstage so I don't have to show my ugly mug to the entire internet."
Brand might not be incognito on the tour, but nobody wanted him front and center in media footage or stills.
Brand turned toward the stage and caught Gunnar's eye. He motioned once, sharply, and the teen rolled his eyes. Nevertheless, the drummer motioned to Archie and Veronica. The three were waiting attentively for directions when Sarah went to collect them.
Okay. The band members were moving.
Brand took a deep, centering breath. This could all be addressed; they had a bead on most of the moving parts.
Hopefully Jones was still in one piece.
Brand cast one last worried look in the direction Clark had headed. The kid always was a wild card, but maybe this time he'd be easy to extract. With any luck, they could get down to business and sort everything out within an hour or two.
And, the way Brand figured it, they were due some good luck.
00000
"Easy there." Dax held a hand out to Jughead.
Jughead was already gripping the doorframe, but he accepted the hand gratefully – and was even more grateful when the man placed his other hand behind Jughead's back and propelled him along the hallway toward the exit.
"We're done. Just gotta get back to the hotel now. How's your head?" Dax's expression was mild, but his eyes were watchful.
Jughead knew that combination well; the man was worried but didn't want to spook Jughead by expressing that.
"It's… distracting." Jughead decided to go for selective truth. He felt like the inside of his skull was one large, throbbing bruise, and focusing his eyes had become so painful that he'd been letting the world become a blur around himself as he focused intently on putting one foot in front of the other.
It was official: undercover work was brutal.
"You look like you're dying," Dax observed, still mild but now with narrowed eyes.
"I feel like I'm dying," Jughead admitted, closing his eyes against the pain for a moment.
Only it felt so good that he kept them closed while Dax steered him toward the door.
"That's not disturbing or anything." Dax's voice had a smile in it, but now both of his hands were gripping Jughead as if he was afraid he'd have to support the teenager's weight at any moment. "Take two of these; they should kick in by the time we get back to the hotel and you can get some rest. It's making me hurt just looking at you."
Jughead opened his eyes long enough to accept the pills Dax was offering, but gave the man a questioning look instead of swallowing them right away.
"You allergic to NSAIDs?" Dax pushed the door open, frowning at Jughead's hesitation. "I don't have anything else on me."
That sounded safe enough. Jughead popped the pills and offered Dax a wan smile. "I'm not allergic. Thanks."
"Thank me later, if they work." Dax was still frowning. "Maybe I should have gotten you to a doctor."
Jughead shrugged, but it suddenly seemed very weird that Dax hadn't done precisely that.
Oh well. It wasn't like he had medical training like Brand, so maybe that sort of thing wasn't as obvious to Dax. Although it seemed like a security team would have some training, at least. So maybe it was a little strange.
Jughead was relieved to see that Ben had brought a car around. Kiara was riding shotgun, glowering as usual, and Dax opened the back door and slid in first.
Jughead followed, sighing contentedly as he got off of his feet. He closed the door twice and then eased his head gingerly back against the headrest behind him.
"What was that?" Ben demanded from the front. "You sending smoke signals to someone?"
Jughead wanted to sigh again – this time in frustration. Apparently there was still more conflict between Ben and Kiara. Hopefully it wouldn't slow them down too much; he still had work to do before he went to bed.
"Hey. I'm talking to you, kid. What the hell was that?" Ben's voice was sharp and it sounded like he was leaning back between the front seats.
Jughead didn't open his eyes, but he tried to replay the last few moments and figure out what Ben was upset about. He came up blank. "What?"
"Are you that paranoid? The car door didn't close right the first time. Just get us back to the hotel, Ben," Dax spoke up.
Oh. Jughead opened his eyes and he looked around at the others in the car to gauge how weirded out they were by his tic.
"Sorry about him, Cyrano. Just a few more minutes and then you can lie down. I'm ordering food; what do you want?" Dax said, typing into his phone. "Kiara? Ben? You too. We've got work to do, and I am starving."
Jughead leaned his head back a second time, and he felt a mild rush as his neck muscles relaxed. It was such a relief that he took a deep, settling breath and let it out slowly.
Another rush of relief followed.
"They're pretty good, huh?" Dax said absently. "They won't knock you off of your feet, either. Thai or barbeque?"
"What kind of barbeque?" Ben asked.
"Dunno. Looks like they've got some options," Dax responded to Ben.
As the two men worked out an impressively large order of barbequed meats, Jughead allowed his head to loll back as successive waves of relief continued to roll over him.
"You okay?" Kiara's voice was suddenly too close. "Kid?"
Jughead opened his eyes; Kiara was right in his face. The car was stopped. It looked like they were in front of the hotel.
"Concussion," Dax said briskly. "He'll be okay, but he needs rest."
Jughead's body cooperated when Dax came around the car and helped him up onto his feet.
"I'll get him to bed." Dax guided Jughead into the hotel and toward the elevator bank.
The lights were no longer stabbing into his eyes. The sound of the elevator music was neutral instead of piercing.
Jughead wanted to cry with relief.
And that was his only excuse for the delayed response. It was only after Dax had eased Jughead onto a bed in their shared hotel room and begun removing his shoes that Jughead realized that the world was moving without him – which meant that something was very wrong.
With an abrupt, panicked gasp, Jughead tried to force himself upright. He needed Brand; he needed to find out what he'd taken; he needed to get away from this man who had apparently drugged him without his consent–
"Hey, hey, shhhh." Dax pushed Jughead back onto the bed. "You're exhausted. Take it easy for now; the food will be here soon, and after that the real work begins. You're no good to me if you're in so much pain that you can't think straight."
Jughead was horrified to find that he had lost any ability to physically resist Dax. His muscles had been steadily recovering, but he was suddenly pathetically weak and the effort required to even attempt to sit up was making him tremble from exertion.
"You gotta listen to your body or you'll injure yourself." Dax was looking down at Jughead critically.
"No, I–," Jughead was suddenly overwhelmed by a sweeping, pervasive sense of calm that was at odds with his panic from just moments before. Disoriented, he fell silent, trying to size up the situation. Dax really wasn't acting as though he'd drugged him. He was acting like Jughead had a head injury and was actively fighting his body's demands for rest.
So… Maybe Dax hadn't given him a sedative or a narcotic. Maybe Jughead was just having a bad reaction to something every bit as innocuous as Dax had said it was.
That was probably even more terrifying in some ways, but Jughead managed another deep breath. He felt himself relaxing still further.
Dax wasn't his enemy. He was only trying to help Jughead.
"What kind of NSAID did you give me? I might have an allergy after all. I feel…" The word that came to mind was 'good,' but that did not convey Jughead's concerns. He wracked his brain for a synonym, but his mind had gone blank.
"You've got a head injury." Dax gave Jughead a firm look. "I would believe that you feel all kinds of wrong right now. Your body needs time and rest in order to heal. I don't see any signs of an allergic reaction, but what do you think you could be reacting to? I'll check the label."
Jughead tried to assess his own condition, and was relieved to feel his heart rate was down where it belonged; he breathed easily.
Dax watched Jughead carefully. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Get you a full workup?"
A warm feeling washed over Jughead and he relaxed even further, though it hardly seemed possible. Dax was right; he felt better now that he was lying down. The last thing he wanted was to get up again. Besides, he didn't seem to be in any danger of losing consciousness or lucidity. And he wasn't alone.
"No." Jughead managed a slight head shake. "I guess not. Thanks. I feel a little better now. I just… I think I lost a little time on our way back to the hotel, and I didn't expect that."
Jughead smiled weakly, feeling himself relax even further. Yeah, everything was fine; the lack of pain felt pretty great, actually.
Thank heavens for Dax and for NSAIDs.
"Do I need to bench you for the night?" Dax was studying Jughead critically now. "How much time would you estimate you lost?"
"It was like… driving home and not remembering the whole route." Jughead found that he was not at all worried about it now that he reflected on the events. "You know, garden variety exhaustion symptoms. Just-,"
"You hit your head. You took something for the pain. Of course it seemed like it might have been more," Dax finished, regarding Jughead with concern. "That's a good instinct. And I want you at your best if we're all going to… strategize together."
Jughead frowned. That sounded like a code, and it sounded like a code that Dax intended for him to identify and understand. Huh.
"You still aren't catching on." Dax was suddenly chuckling and rubbing his forehead as if he were the one with a headache. "Did you really think I'd have this much information if I didn't have at least a clue who was scamming the tour?"
Jughead felt strength flood back through his limbs and he slid up into a seated position. "You mean... you know who's behind everything?"
Wow. Dax must be innocent after all.
Jughead felt his whole body react to that information and realized two things in rapid succession: first, that deep down he'd believed Brand that Dax was the culprit; and second, that he was wildly relieved to learn that Dax was not responsible for the sabotage and the hacking.
"I suspect that it's Ben." Dax spoke the words flatly, and his eyes never left Jughead's. "And it's complicated."
"What? How on earth can it be complicated?" Jughead demanded. "You think that he tried to – and he's right here – you can just call-,"
Jughead heard himself sputtering and cut himself off.
"He's got family. A sick kid." Dax shook his head. "I tried to steer him away from going down this path when I first started getting suspicious. But…"
"What are you talking about? Kids don't get denied medical care and die. He can-," Jughead was ready to tell Dax off indignantly, but he faltered when he realized he really didn't know how that would play out in a medical context. "Uh, declare bankruptcy, maybe? I don't know the specifics. But I do know there are ways that don't involve hurting anyone else."
"That part was an accident. He never wanted anyone to get hurt," Dax said fervently.
Jughead's muscles tensed; somehow, the more Dax talked, the more Jughead was getting the sense that Dax didn't just suspect Ben. It was sounding more like Dax knew exactly what was going on.
And supported it.
"Do you have any idea what his annual salary is, or what this tour is bringing in over just a few months?" Dax's eyes flashed, and he apparently read Jughead's silence as a willingness to be persuaded. "Do you know how much of that goes to sycophants, whether that's insurance companies or promoters or merchandisers, with all of them making bank while people like Ben put their literal bodies on the line, day after day?"
Jughead shook his head; he didn't have a clue about the finances of the tour as a whole. He certainly didn't know what Ben was being paid. He didn't know what insurance companies charged, either, aside from the fact that the premiums were about to go way, way up for both bands because of everything Ben – and perhaps Dax too – had pulled on this tour.
The road crew was not innocent either, but that had been due to Kiara's instigation. And she had obviously not been involved in Ben's plan, even though she somehow knew a whole lot about what was going on.
Dax was waiting tensely; apparently Jughead's silent headshake had not been a satisfactory response.
"Um. No. I don't know. But, um, isn't that literally the job description?" Jughead braced himself for Dax's reaction, which was likely to be negative. Perhaps extremely negative.
Another thought occurred to Jughead, and he scrambled to add something that might sound more palatable to the man: "Or, uh, maybe the security teams could threaten to strike too! I'm sure the bands just haven't thought about it that way, but they definitely value their security. A lot."
"Sure. They do. Just about the same amount that Davies values you," Dax replied meaningfully, with a knowing expression.
"Oh. Uh. Well," Jughead thought quickly, "obviously he's not a great example. But the band members themselves-,"
"Call you directly on the phone," Dax finished smoothly. He was studying Jughead carefully again. "At least, their family members do. They do value you quite a bit; I actually believe that. But are you being paid enough to risk your life for them?"
Jughead shrugged helplessly; the conversation was getting confusing, and he couldn't recall what he was supposedly being paid, if anything. "I'm getting experie-,"
"You're getting abused," Dax snapped loudly; Jughead flinched. "And there is no excuse."
Dax shook his head and his tone turned even darker. "By both your boss and your mother's boyfriend. Your mother hasn't stepped in, either, so in my eyes she's just as bad as the rest of them."
Oh. Yikes. Jughead frowned and trained his eyes on his sneakers, which were tucked along the edge of the room.
"I mean, look at you right now: you're cowering. That's not right. You deserve better." Dax suddenly reached out and grabbed Jughead's shoulder, making him jump. "Easy. I won't hurt you; I'm not like them. I want to help you. And this might be our ticket to doing just that."
What? Just like that, it was no longer just Ben's regrettable bad decision? It was "our ticket"? Fraud and theft and sabotage and attempted-
"What if you and I make the executive decision to let things play out for a little longer, figure out those insurance contracts, and then maybe… just maybe, everyone could go home a couple of days early." Dax ducked his head in front of Jughead, trying to reestablish eye contact. "Or not go home. Maybe you could go somewhere new and make a fresh start. Everybody wins; the bands would be made whole by the insurance, and the fans would lose a little pocket money but learn a valuable lesson about unofficial concert tickets being sold below market price."
Jughead blinked. He could not begin to count the ways that idea was twisted and wrong. And illegal.
"Whaddya say?" Dax's voice sounded strained.
Jughead felt lightheaded as he absorbed the onslaught of information, but all of a sudden he realized what all of this meant. He had confirmation: Dax was a criminal.
And now Dax knew that Jughead knew.
This conversation was officially dangerous, and it was time to start playing along.
"And… Ben could pay the hospital bills?" Jughead asked quietly.
"Ben could pay those hospital bills," Dax confirmed, relief evident in his voice.
"Okay. I guess..." Jughead made his voice very quiet, hoping against hope that he sounded sincere. "I'm in."
"There you go!" Dax clapped Jughead on the shoulder enthusiastically. "I knew you were a smart kid. And I meant every word that I said. I'm going to look after you, don't you worry."
Jughead managed a weak smile, but then something else occurred to him: he'd just cracked the case. He'd actually done it. His smile widened.
"You see? This is a good thing. From now on, things are going to change for you." Dax grinned along with Jughead. "But for the time being, we've got our work cut out for us. We'd better get started."
Jughead nodded, silently tallying the lies he was going to have to tell in order to keep the tour alive.
There were a lot.
00000
Forty-five minutes later, Jughead was lounging on a pile of overstuffed hotel pillows and feeling a lot more alert. His strength was slowly returning too, or his control over his muscles, or whatever the issue had been. That was immensely reassuring.
And the pain was down to a dull throbbing, which felt fantastic after the hours of slowly-progressing agony he'd suffered through all afternoon and evening.
Now it was getting late. Dax and Ben were working intently and seemed almost manic.
"So yeah. That's the app. If you can sort of stir the pot, that should help; distractions are the name of the game." Dax was sitting on the bed across from Jughead, packing up his laptop so he and Ben could decamp to Ben's room and work privately for another few hours before they all went to bed.
"Good work today with that embedded journalist, by the way. That was pure money." Ben smirked over at Jughead. "Let Dax know if you need anything else. We'll be next door going over the contract language."
Jughead shot them both a thumbs up and then looked down at the laptop-based access they'd given him to the app through an emulator.
Dax closed the door behind himself, and Jughead was – finally – alone. And he could think clearly.
It was time to get to work.
Jughead slid off of the bed and lowered himself gingerly into the desk chair. He set his laptop on the desk and took a moment to breathe and center his thoughts.
Yes, there was an app he needed to investigate. Yes, there were criminals he needed to catch on a very tight schedule.
Yes, his phone was – even now – lighting up with worried messages from Brand, FP, and (not least) his mother.
But first he had an article he needed to write. There was no question about it: the events of the day demanded a brand-new article, and the deadline was looming.
Unfortunately, Clark was not actually the embedded journalist; he just played one on tour.
Jughead did have the energy to smile faintly at the memory of his friend barrelling into Ben's broad chest in the hallway, taking one precise step backward with apologies for the collision, and then sprinting past the man.
The skidding halt when Clark had realized that Jughead was also standing there had been impressive, while his ability to pivot from what was obviously a fairly frantic search straight into his cover story was downright masterful.
'Oh. It's not you this time?' Clark had demanded, breathless. He'd given Jughead a careful once-over, which basically confirmed that Brand had been the one to send him. 'Huh.'
Jughead had felt his heart thudding in his chest. Was it possible that, somehow, Clark knew what was going on? He'd obviously come running to find Jughead. Maybe the bust had already happened.
Or maybe it was happening right in front of him, in real time.
'Nope. It has nothing to do with me.' Jughead had given Clark a feigned frustrated glare. 'So, you mean to tell me you didn't cook all of this up for a better story?'
'Even I don't have that kind of power.' Clark's shoulders had relaxed, and he allowed an easy smile at Jughead. 'It's gonna make quite a story, though, isn't it?'
Sitting here at his hotel desk, Jughead had to smile as well. It was true; it was making quite the story, and he had a front-row seat for all of it.
And a deadline.
He started to type.
00000
An hour later, Jughead wanted to slam his fists on the desk when there was yet another knock on the door.
"This, uh, seems to be... I mean, you're doing a brilliant job and all, but... Isn't this going to create new problems?" Ben's voice came from outside the door.
Jughead looked up from the article he was attempting to edit - while drafting a conclusion for at the same time.
Inspiration was not coming, in large part due to the near-constant interruptions regarding the merits of his 'hacking.'
Hacking that he was not actually engaging in.
Something was apparently stirring up the app users so monumentally that the security team assumed it was Jughead, creating posts and chaos to distract anyone from disengaging and, you know, spilling the beans to the public. Or the press. Whoever.
Stalling tactics on the app and a quick death to the tour was Dax's official plan, and his success figuring out the Madrid clause had breathed new life into his efforts.
Dax and Ben were now officially manic.
Jughead wasn't entirely sure how to combat them exploiting the clause, either, and he didn't have the time or mental energy to figure it out now.
Not while he had a deadline to meet.
Apparently in Madrid the secretly married members of Breaking Fast had fought with each other. It had almost become public, and it had very nearly taken the band apart - and the marriage.
This had all occurred before the band had made a real name for themselves, and before they had employed Dax's team.
The clause notably did not specify what had happened or which members were married to one another. It also read as if anyone who had been anywhere near the tour at that time knew all the details, though. Whatever it was that had taken place, it must have been bad.
Dax was doing some digging to try and find out more; the marriage records should be available, and there were a number of people who had been on the tour and should know what had gone down.
Ben's idea was to then 'encourage' conflict that would escalate and trigger the powerfully worded clause. And it was apparently quite the wording: one good argument could potentially pull the emergency brake on the whole tour.
Jughead heaved a sigh as a new thought intruded on his concentration: perhaps the married couple themselves had been the ones who drafted the clause – in order to protect their relationship.
That almost made more sense than the rest of the band being that paranoid about the band being torn apart, something that obviously has not taken place in the years since they had made it big.
That idea turned Jughead's thoughts to Betty. What would he be willing to do to protect their time together and their relationship? Would he honor an unwritten 'clause' and shut down his professional life in a dime if he thought he might actually lose her?
It was food for thought.
It was also food for his resurging migraine.
Rubbing his forehead and squinting at the computer screen that had become increasingly irritating of its own right and now seemed to be pulsing pain straight into his eyeballs, Jughead tried to focus enough to come up with a conclusion. He would settle for anything at all that could conclude his story with even a modicum of elegance.
"Wait, did you make several fake profiles? That is brilliant. This is blowing up. Forget what I said - keep doing what you're doing."
Footsteps moved away from the door.
Jughead wanted to go find Brand. He wanted to write a letter filled with promises to Betty. He wanted to conduct another interview with Archie and make sure that the tour was going well for him and that the series of articles really dug into all that the band was experiencing and thinking and doing.
He also wanted to take some more of Dax's painkillers and sleep for a week.
But he had to finish this article. And he had to find a way to protect the tour from the Madrid clause.
He took a deep breath and shot a nervous look at the only drug in the room that might help.
The tiny coffeemaker looked harmless enough.
00000
"The brief was simple," Brand growled.
"Clark stayed right by his side until they all split up to leave the venue. It sounds like he was both present and obnoxious," FP raised both hands, but his expression was tight and they both knew he wasn't seriously defending Clark so much as trying to calm down Brand. "Jughead didn't seem to be in any distress. Clark thought that was sufficient. And, to be fair, we still don't know for sure what-,"
"Bull. We know what's going on. What we don't have is proof. But you and I both know that Dax has gotten his talons into the kid or else Jones would have walked into this room by now." Brand was pacing aggressively; FP was standing by the doorway, clearly waiting for them to make a decision and spring into action.
Just then their phones lit up in tandem.
"It's the bat signal," Brand said as he groped for his phone. "That can't be good."
FP was already reading from his phone's screen.
They looked up at each other with varying degrees of skepticism.
"So… Jughead thinks he's hit pay dirt," FP finally said, his tone dubious. "He thinks he can promise us a bust, as long as we make sure no concerts are canceled and the tour finishes its full run. And he's given us a shocking lack of detail about what's actually going on."
"Dax could have taken his phone," Brand declared hotly. "Beat it out of the kid that this is a back channel to calling the shots, and-,"
"Brandon. You cannot come up with excuses to ignore him every time he uses the group text. Besides, I thought our current theory is that Dax wants the tour to end early," FP interrupted. "And how exactly would Dax 'beat it out of' him in under two hours?"
FP had a point; Clark had been with Jughead very recently, so the time depth was awfully limited. Brand made a face as he considered how quick the turnaround would have had to be and the brutality that would have necessitated.
The kid might not have any teeth left. Maybe he was missing a few fingers.
Darn that contagious imaginative streak.
"You really want me to answer that? It's not impossible, you know, and it's not pretty." Brand was not insistent, though – because it didn't matter. "It's a moot point, anyway. We're not going to bet his life on that sort of logic. The facts speak for themselves: he sent us a suspicious message and he hasn't checked in with us in person. Something's wrong."
FP glowered at Brand. "I am well aware."
Their phones lit up again.
And again.
And again.
"Could it be that the kid is giving us an actual briefing?" Brand wondered aloud, not trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
"Who-oa-a," FP said as he swiftly read the texts. "There are only two possibilities. Either he's being fed bad intel, and he's being encouraged to spread it-,"
"Or he's actually cracked the case and he needs extraction. Now." Brand stared in confusion at the jumble of texts that had somehow arrived in his phone out of order. "Okay, does he really mean that it isn't insurance fraud? Or is autocorrect screwing with us?"
"Not insurance fraud is my read," FP said. His voice was radiating just as much confusion. Good. "But he seems entirely unclear on what the motive actually is, or who's behind it."
"It's Dax. Obviously."
"Dax is probably the one who told him this bull story," FP said. "So he's either recruiting Jug or he's lying to him."
Brand snorted. "The man is not recruiting-,"
"You did."
Brand frowned. "I was stuck with him and so, yeah, I made the best of the situation. Eventually he grew on me. No way does Dax have the patience to-,"
"Jughead now comes fully trained." FP gave Brand a look that held more than a little censure. "He's a lot more obviously valuable now."
Only FP would complain about Brand adding value to his kid.
"You made him-," FP sounded even more accusing. Nothing good was going to come next, so Brand interrupted him:
"I made him stronger and I equipped him for what we had in front of us. I did not make him Dax-bait."
"Yeah… that was both of us. Or rather, all three of us." FP frowned down at the texts. "This isn't hard to figure out, though. Even recruiting him means Dax won't let Jughead out of his sight. Not until he's completely sure of his loyalties. Jug knows too much."
Brand grunted, nodding reluctantly.
"But he'll have to trust Jughead eventually. If Dax is lying to him, he'll want Jug to spread those lies and send us all on a wild goose chase. At that point, we shouldn't have trouble getting him safely away from the other security team." FP looked at Brand, but his expression was unsure. "Right?"
"Maybe." Brand weighed what they knew against the seemingly infinite possibilities. "It's as good a rubric as any to start with. We can update our priors as we go."
Another text arrived in both their phones.
They both stared at it silently, perplexed.
"Huh. He's worried about the Madrid clause and wants us to keep an eye on things? That's bizarre. And that means… it's definitely insurance fraud," Brand said. "And it also means that the kid should know it's insurance fraud."
"Which means that we have a third option," FP added slowly, obviously worried. "Jug might be playing all of us."
"Well, it's safe to say he's playing someone." Brand nodded. Then he smirked. "I guess this is what you're complaining about, huh? I taught him everything he knows, and now he's a dangerous force."
"I never said that you taught him everything he knows." FP shot Brand a look. "I said you made it obvious how valuable he is – and has always been. This right here?" FP tapped his phone's screen. "This is pure Jughead. Including the fact that he might be playing everyone at the same time. Whatever he thinks he's accomplishing, lying to us is quite likely to lead him straight into danger."
"So what are we going to do about it?" Brand asked.
FP was silent for a few moment. Finally, he shook his head as if in frustration, but when he looked up again he was grinning darkly. "Brandon, that is the right question."
That seemed like a positive response, but Brand had gotten to know FP well enough to suspect that the man's thoughts were going somewhere slightly different from where Brand's own ideas were leading him.
"You shouldn't be involved in any of the planning, though," FP continued thoughtfully. "You haven't separated from the FBI yet."
Oh good grief. "FP, whatever you're thinking-,"
"You are my right hand in this." FP waved one hand impatiently, in a motion that was reminiscent of a magician. "You just can't know what the left hand is doing, or we could all get in trouble."
The fact that FP was resorting to metaphors was not in any way reassuring.
Brand opened his mouth to retort, but the pesky intrusive thoughts stopped him. This time he was struck by a mental picture of Sarah being summarily cashiered out of the FBI for not keeping a better eye on him; far-fetched, but actually possible if things played out horrifically and they hadn't firmly established plausible deniability.
Then, before Brand could banish that mental image with prejudice, it was replaced by a vision of Jones screwing his eyes shut and then stepping directly in front of a loaded gun.
He'd done it before.
"Fine. Right hand, reporting for duty." Brand glared at FP, but his anger was really aimed at Dax for creating the situation that was putting them in this position. "And keep in mind that Sarah will probably be with me throughout. She's been hard to shake."
"I'm counting on it," FP responded, and this time his ominous tone was reassuring.
Probably because this was the version of FP that Brand wished on his worst enemies.
00000
FP getting to make a plan that Brand has to follow without full information is maybe my favorite part of this chapter. :-D
I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did; I'll be working along on the next one and hoping it is not delayed; I've got schedule chaos for a few weeks, but writing is my happy place so I will hopefully get there steadily during those weeks. Here's hoping! Any and all notes will be encouraging, as always. I hope you are doing well!
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