372

Monday morning. Levi crumpled up another paper and tossed it to the waste basket in the corner...and missed...again. Instead of picking it up with the other five that were already on the floor, he refocused on the desk. Grabbing all the pens in sight, he stuffed them into a coffee mug that doubled as a pencil holder. Was that a candy bar wrapper? It became another missed shot to the trash. Sticky notes....random notes. Um... he stuck several to the outer edge of the computer monitor and several on the front of the filing cabinet. Surely they were important even if he didn't know exactly what his own scribbles meant.

"You, uh...cleaning?"

"Huh?" He didn't look up at his dad, but thumbed through a folder that he'd found buried under some papers. "Sorta. Yeah."

Keith grinned. "Sure you wanna cram in Karla's training on top of everything else? I've got time."

"No, no, I'm good." Levi stuffed the folder into a drawer and grabbed a stack of papers to pile them on top of an organizer that...hadn't helped much. "Although if Gina Thompson calls, I'll let you handle that. I can't figure out exactly what she wants."

"Oh thanks," Keith teased. "Just concentrate on whatever you need to today. No stress."

"Right, right." Levi looked up from trying to decipher something he'd written on a napkin. "What?"

Keith chuckled. "Never mind. I'll yell if there's a fire." He wandered back over to his own desk, which was in better shape than Levi's...for the most part. Sort of.

The office really consisted just of the front room with windows that overlooked the street. It housed the two desk areas, several filing cabinets and shelves, a copy machine, and a small table in the corner with a coffee maker and a mini fridge. A small bathroom was off to the side, then in the back was a storage room. A sad looking fern added some greenery but was in dire need of some tender loving care. Their business was off to a great start, but with all the new work, cleaning and organizing came in second.

Levi grabbed a couple sketches of logos he'd been working on and taped them up on the wall behind his computer. He couldn't risk losing those. He glanced at his watch. Five 'til eight o'clock. He wasn't nearly as prepared for Karla's first day as he'd wanted, but it would have to do.


Con nodded thoughtfully as Angel told him about the past. It was sad, really. Families were separated every day, but this place was different. This place was the very definition of family. So to have someone like Lane - family by blood and by honor - leave and not even stay in contact had to hurt. For a moment, his mind wandered to his aunt and uncle. He missed his cousins and their kids - they were growing up so fast. He needed to go back for another visit. Jamie would probably enjoy it, too. He felt bad that she couldn't enjoy kids of her own...although he'd never told her that. He couldn't give her a child, he'd lost his hearing...what good was he, really?

Though it was a brief thought, it was deep enough that he didn't realize when he'd hit his coffee mug on the table before it was too late and he sent his coffee all over the floor. "Oh, shoot," he muttered and grabbed some nearby napkins. "Sorry," he apologized to Angel and finished cleaning it up. "Sounds like you and Lane have a lot of catching up to do," he mused. "I just hope his boy can be a part of that. I wish we had more to go on."


The rest of the day seemed to drag on. Most of the group caught up on some sleep, but there was unrest through the entire ranch. Mick canceled his riding lesson group for the day, and postponed a trip to get more horse feed in town. It was just safer that way until this thing was solved, and he was glad they didn't have any visitors right now - which was more typical than anyone would like to admit. In all honesty, he wondered about the reality of the ranch's future. But that was a thought for another day. Right now they were back to war, with a lot more at stake than twenty-plus years ago.


Lane spent most of the day either alone in the bunkhouse or in the main house with Con, trying to piece together more information. He knew where he and Travis had been abducted, and had a vague idea of how long they'd driven, blindfolded, to their destination. He also had a vague idea of which direction they'd gone, but he wasn't sure. Con was in contact with Scott and Dalton to try and narrow down the possibilities, and they did condense it to a thirty mile radius instead of fifty, but it still wasn't enough. But as long as the Agency still thought Lane was going to give them what they wanted, they would have a hard time being obvious about investigating, which pretty much tied their hands until they heard more.


"Say hello to Daddy." The main guard finished his task and climbed down off the stepladder in the corner of the dimly lit room.

Travis' head shot up. Had he passed out? He wasn't sure. Still tied to the chair, he looked up in the corner where there was now a small camera.

The man twirled his screwdriver before pointing it at Travis. "Don't bother trying to talk to him. He can't hear you. But he'll be glad to see you alive. For now."

Travis swallowed hard and watched the man return to the seat near a window that was covered like all the windows were. His eyes went back up to the camera. Was it true? Could his dad see him? But why? Where was he? What were they doing with him? Was there a ransom? Did they just want him to see his son like this so he'd give them what they wanted? What did they want?


It was late afternoon. Chores were done until evening, and the ranch was moving slowly. Until Lane received another phone call.

"Yeah?" Lane answered it in the main house, looking to Con again.

Con, now officially set up at a table off to the side, nodded and motioned for him to keep talking. If they could just trace any of the calls, they'd have something to go on.

"No, they haven't told me yet. I'm having trouble gaining that much trust after all these years." Lane ran a hand over his face. "I can't force it out of them," he stated flatly. "And if I ask too many questions, they're going to get suspicious, and this whole thing is over." He paused as he listened and closed his eyes. "I know you said I needed to tell you today, but I'm doing the best I can."

The call ended abruptly and Lane withheld some inappropriate language by biting his tongue. He knew the call hadn't been long enough to trace. "They said they were going to give me a little incentive." Almost immediately, his phone buzzed again as he received a text message. "It's a link." He showed Con, confused.

Con nodded, and instead of using Lane's phone, he typed the address into his computer. He had a feeling he knew what it was... and he was right.

The screen brought up the scene of a dim room. It was the live feed of a camera. And it was aimed down at Travis. Lane's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the screen. Con turned up the volume...

"Somewhere....over the rainbow...way up high.... And the dreams that you-"

"Hey, knock it off!"

Travis' singing stopped and he lifted his head, revealing his battered face. "Ya know... that use'ta be my fav'rite movie." His words slurred together as he struggled to stay with it. "Flyin' monkeys scared me." He grinned. "But I liked Toto. Dang ugly dog but I liked 'im."

"Just shut up."

Lane's face had turned pale as his eyes remained glued to the screen. The others watching found it hard to believe that they were looking at Lane's son... Mississippi's son. If it weren't so serious, it would almost be amusing - the kid had a good voice. But it was obvious he was weak.

Travis cackled as he continued to tug at his ropes. His wrists were bruised and raw from the hours spent trying to get loose. "Someday I'll wish upon a star, wake up-"

"Seriously!" The agent rose from his own chair by the door and gave Travis a swift kick.

Toppling over sideways, Travis landed hard on the floor without being able to catch himself. Crying out as his shoulder hit, he winced in pain.

"Sing from there," the man taunted, and returned to his post.

"What'd I ever do to you?" Travis grunted. "It's j'st a lil music. Don't got anything else to listen to." He let his head rest on the floor, taking a breather. His hands were still bound, his ankles still tied to the chair legs, and now he couldn't even get himself upright. "You gonna leave me like this?" he mumbled.

The guard sighed. "If I set you back up, you gonna quit singing?"

"Mums the word."

The man came back over and set Travis upright again, not caring about being gentle.

Once settled, Travis bounced his knee to a tune that could only be heard in his head. Behind his back though, he'd managed to pick up a small splinter of wood, which he was now trying to use as a mini saw on his ropes.

Lane put a hand to his mouth as his emotions tried to get the best of him. Travis looked so tired and worn. He had to be exhausted and so scared.

Without knowing he'd been lied to about the sound, Travis' eyes traveled to the camera. Was anyone really watching? Or had it all been a ruse for the benefit of torture?

Lane just continued to look at the screen and swallowed hard. "Don't give up, Travis," he whispered. "We're coming. I promise."

Con focused on his work, sending Scott and Dalton the link to see if they could trace it. He knew it was a long shot - the Agency would have plenty of protection against hacking, but it was all they had.

As work progressed, Mick looked to Rosetta, sorrow in his gaze. That poor boy - he was an innocent victim that didn't deserve this. If it was Dylan, he'd be going mad.

Luke was also nearby and set a hand on Angel's shoulder. It had to be hard, realizing that was her nephew in that video. He felt bad enough the way it was - it had to be even worse for her. All they could do was pray they got to him in time.


Jason smirked at Nate and shook his head. "Don't misunderstand. I don't trust this guy." He nodded towards Garret. "My knee still hurts from that stunt he pulled, and I'm not a hundred percent convinced he's not gonna stab us all in the back when we least expect it."

Garret bristled, but refrained from retaliating. Now was not the time, and his good sense kept his temper in check. If he wanted to be involved, he needed to not make Nate mad. Eventually though, he and Jason were going to butt heads. He could feel it.

Jason continued with Nate. "But I trust you, so if you think this is the right course of action, then I'll support it. As far as Reese is concerned..." He shrugged. "He won't kill you - he doesn't want to go to prison. Not even his wife could get him out of that with this many witnesses around." He grinned. "I expect he'll be back in a while though, if you need to run this past him."

Garret maintained his cool and respectfully questioned Nate. "If you want to do this after dark like I originally suggested, you've got a few hours yet to get everything in place."


He was gone longer than planned, but Reese finally reappeared, going straight back to his office after checking with Susanne if anything important had happened. Notified of no news on their current kidnapping case, he set to work on some files. It did strike him though, that he hadn't seen agent Young in a while. Interesting.


Weeks were passing in a blur. The discreet tally marks that had been scratched into the wall above his bed proved the days that had passed. He was nameless here. Just a number assigned to set him apart from the others. Perhaps it was a cruel form of poetic justice that he now was the one imprisoned, rather than the one performing torture.

No one had come. There had been no signs. Silence was the only thing that came from beyond these walls. But maybe…maybe he deserved this.

Alec’s nights were spent in deafening silence, drugs and locks keeping him sedated, secure and unable to reach the small window near the ceiling to see the stars. At times, he wondered if the lights in the dark sky had abandoned their posts, leaving the night to defend itself.

His days were spent in anguish - strapped to tables or chairs. Beaten but never killed, his body was but a playground for brutality. Injuries were tended only to keep him alive for the next session. Promises were made for relief, but he refused to do their bidding. Instead, he suffered without words - only screams that echoed through the corridors.

He knew now what it meant to be a prisoner here. He knew now what it meant to survive on the verge of insanity.

Number 372. Maybe this truly was his fate. Payment for all his past misdeeds. Maybe the rescue he’d hoped for really wasn’t coming. Maybe his few friends and family had decided it was best to leave him in Agency hands as the justice he deserved.