Gregg Hurwitz - The Program

Thomas sat at his side for about an hour in perfect silence, hand resting on his shoulder as he breathed away a panic attack. Eventually the walls ceased pressing in on him, and Tim drifted off into exhaustion. When he awakened a few fitful hours later, Thomas was gone and Dray was back sleeping in her chair.

The marshal came by first thing the next morning, wielding an oversize basket of muffins and looking none too pleased about it.

He set the muffins on the floor and said, "The wife."

"She bake them herself?"

"I'm afraid so." He approached Tim and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, yellow cuffs peeking out of a brown sport coat. "You look like the friggin' bride of Frankenstein, Rackley."

"You look like Erik Estrada's ginzo uncle."

Tannino laughed, and then his smile faded back into his game face. "We couldn't get Squeaky Fromme or the other two mutts in custody to flip on Betters. They said the kidnapping was their idea. Inspiration struck when they saw you on the road."

"Of course. Betters works like that. Whatever you do, it's always your idea."

"Now they're lawyered up, want to plead guilty, jump on the grenade for Betters." Tannino ran a hand through his resilient salt-and-pepper bouffant. "You're sure you never overheard them mention reporting to Betters?"

"Never even spoke his name."

"The perfect cutout crew. They land in shit, Betters has total deniability. He doesn't give a damn about cutting them loose, and they're happy to brave the clink for him."

"Is Winston worried about making his case?"

"Stanley John's murder we can't really hang on anyone, since Randall Kane was the trigger man, and he's currently tied up in Hefty bags. But the three kidnappers we've got by the nuts. You'll need to testify, of course. But for Betters the kidnapping's pretty thin."

"We can get him on the mail charges, right? Marshal?"

"I'm sorry, son, but Win says we can't use the burned mail for a warrant."

"What?" Tim shoved himself up in bed, the sharp pain in his ribs making him groan.

Tannino was at his side, easing him back down. "You couldn't identify the mail from outside the shed. You had to open the door to make a positive ID, and that mires us in 'reasonable expectation of privacy' again." Tannino raised a hand before Tim could protest. "However. Win is supporting a warrant based on your kidnapping. Conspiracy charges should grant us the right to search the ranch for communications from Betters, maybe an evidence trail for the bleach, lye, hatchet, and garbage bags. Once we're up there, we accidentally stumble on additional evidence and move from there. Thomas and Freed get their mitts in those filing cabinets, who knows what they'll turn up."

"We've got to get the girl out."

"We will."

"What kind of time frame are we talking?"

"I can't make any promises, but soon. Listen, Rackley, you've done your job, now let us take it from here."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Have a muffin and relax." Tannino shot Tim a conspiratorial look, picked up the basket, and dumped it in the trash on his way out.

Dray came back after her shift and made Tim walk a bit. Unsteady on his feet, he had to lean on her heavily. His knee was pretty torn up; he walked in short, wincing steps.

"She probably thinks I abandoned her. Leah."

"She probably thinks you're dead or you're doing what you are doing – trying to figure out a way to get to her."

They passed a cheery bald woman pulling an IV pole.

"Was she aware that you found any evidence on the mails?"

"No. I just grabbed her and ran."

"Then she probably still thinks you don't have enough to justify a raid."

"You know they already grilled her about the time she spent with me off the ranch. If she survives that, they're watching her every move. If TD sees a ghost of a suggestion she's in on anything, she'll get her own Dead Link folder." He set down too hard on his right foot and stifled a grunt. "Will was right. She would have been better off in his custody."

Dray's mouth firmed. She shot him a disappointed look but didn't elaborate.

Finally he said, "What?"

"Valiant of you to beat yourself up further, but you know damn well that wasn't your call to make. It was Leah's. Kids become adults, Timothy. That's what happens."

The aching intensified beneath Tim's ribs. "I guess that's something we never had to deal with."

Dray's neck tensed beneath his arm. "Yet."

They limped along at his pathetic pace. His legs wobbled, and Dray tightened her grip across his back.

"Come on. If you make it to the gift shop, I'll buy you a Mars Bar."

It hurt like hell, but it felt liberating to be vertical. His gown was drenched by the time they arrived. Waiting in line, Dray spun the rack, then plucked a greeting card from its perch. "Remember this one? 'A sad, sad day has come, e'er full of many mourners, But your beloved keeps the watch, in heaven's fairest corner.' Ca-rist."

The woman ahead of them shot Dray a glare and scurried off, purchases clutched to her chest.

Walking back took nearly twice as long. Tim had to pause three times to rest.

They sat together watching the blind-split sun creep in wavering lines across the floor. The attending finally dropped in and cleared Tim to go. As Dray helped Tim switch out his knee immobilizer for the brace, the door creaked open.

When Tim saw Winston Smith at Tannino's side, he knew something was wrong.

Winston's face was pale. "The judge didn't find sufficient evidence for a warrant."

"You've got to be kidding me. What the hell do I have to bring you? Video footage of Betters sawing off someone's head?"

"It's a tough situation -"

Tim gestured at his battered body. "No shit."

Dray shifted angrily in her chair, but she restrained herself from saying anything.

Winston eased forward. "I'm with you on this one, Rackley, but the magistrate judge didn't see a nexus between the kidnapping and the ranch. We found a receipt for the bleach, lye, bags, and hatchet in the trunk of the Lexus – they bought all the stuff after they left home base. We've got three suspects and three matching confessions. All the evidence was at the scene. There's nothing we need up at the ranch to make the case. We've got zip to tie Betters in, and, given the politics, no judge is gonna be eager to climb out on a limb."

Dray calmly asked, "You wouldn't call that warehouse full of Betters propaganda a nexus? It's a twenty-five-fucking-thousand-square-foot nexus."

"It's rented storage space. Stanley John's the one who picked out the site, signed the agreement, oversaw the operation. It was his gig."

"Thomas and Freed are looking into it further," Tannino said. "The good news is, we froze the warehouse as a crime scene. Which means the video sessions don't ship."

"Peachy." The back of Tim's throat was bitter from the meds. "Maybe you could ding Betters with some late fees at the library, too."

"It's something, Rackley."

"He'll make more tapes."

Tannino scowled, no doubt recalling his niece's credit-card transaction. "It buys us a few days, at least."

"A few days for what?"

Tannino averted his eyes.

Leah was at risk of being reindoctrinated or just killed. TD was roaming his grounds with immunity. Stanley John's absence would put a bump in Program operations for about five minutes before a horde of eager Pros scrabbled forward to compete for the position, and the cottages were full of human fodder to replace Chad, Winona, and Henderson. TD doubtless had hired muscle to replace Randall already.

The Next Generation Colloquium was in seven days. The foundation under TD's rising empire.

Tim batted a bowl of Jell-O off his nightstand. It hit the far wall, spraying green chunks, then hula-ed loudly on the floor. By the time the clatter ceased, his rage had dissipated, leaving him embarrassed and tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd lost his temper, and putting the hurt on a bowl of lime Jell-O wasn't exactly worth the relapse.