Per my profile page, this story includes a warning.
Warning: This story contains the most gore I've ever put into a posted story. My lovely beta Izhilzha has declared it to exceed the rating of the show itself. Then "Thirteen" aired. That ep pretty much makes this look like a tea party. Regardless, please be aware of this and proceed at your own discretion.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made. Many thanks to Heuton, Falacci, et al for the source material. Additional author's notes can be found at the end of the piece.
Four Days
by
V. Laike
Four days.
It had been four days since her team leader had walked into that narrow alleyway to retrieve the whereabouts of his brother.
Four days since her team leader had vanished, his disappearance followed shortly by an automated phone call describing the location of Charles Eppes.
Four days since David Sinclair and Colby Granger had found Charlie locked in an abandoned garage, bound and blindfolded, but otherwise unharmed.
Four days since any of them had slept, pursuing every lead, following Charlie's every algorithmic clue.
Four days.
She knew the statistics. She knew the odds. In fact, this was one unfortunate piece of mathematical data that Charlie had learned from the FBI and not the other way around.
If they were wrong, if this didn't pan out, Don Eppes would likely be lost to them forever.
Being wrong was not an option.
Charlie had flatly refused to go home upon his release from the hospital. His father was at an out-of-town convention and unreachable; the best they could do was leave messages at the front desk of the remote Washington State lodge where Alan Eppes was staying. This was not a situation the specifics of which one wanted to leave in a message. As they awaited Alan's return call, Megan Reeves was prepared to send an agent to escort Charlie home, or to entrust him to Amita Ramanujan and Larry Fleinhardt's care, but the mathematician argued vehemently.
"I'm not going anywhere but to the FBI office. There are too many scenarios to run, too many probabilistic—"
"Mr. Eppes, you've been through quite an ordeal," the attending doctor said. "I'm sure these agents here will agree that you need to rest for the next couple of days, to—"
"Rest?" Charlie said sarcastically, his tone edged with an intense anger. "You expect me to go home and take a nap while my brother—my federal agent FBI brother—is in the hands of some two-bit low-life Asian gangbangers who are—who are doing—" Charlie swallowed. "—who are doing God knows what to him right now?"
"Wait a minute, Charlie." Colby held up a hand to slow Charlie down. "How do you know they were Asian? Did you see them when they snatched you?"
Charlie shook his head. "No. They came up behind me and threw a bag over my head. But I heard them talking. I don't know if it was Chinese or Vietnamese or what, but it was definitely an Asian dialect."
"Well, that's a start," said David. "Don and I were working a Japanese weapons ring a few weeks back." He threw a scowl in Colby's direction, and Megan knew David was referring to the five weeks when the core team consisted of only Don and himself. She had been on leave, and Colby had been in lock-up. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Don about that time period; she prayed silently that she would get that chance soon.
Charlie leapt at this information as he slid off the ER exam table. "Great. If you can give me the information you collected during the case, I can start running—"
Megan reached out and grabbed his arm before he could pull away from them. "Charlie, don't you think you should listen to the doctor? This is a lot for you to deal with. Maybe you should go home for the day and—"
"I will not go home!" Charlie spun around, facing off with the three agents. "I helped find you, Megan, and I helped find Colby. I'll be damned if I don't help find my own brother!"
When they arrived at the FBI office, Megan sent one of the junior agents to the corner deli to get Charlie a sandwich.