"They went in that building," Merchant said helpfully. Taylor's Beemer was idling across the street from the place. It looked like a small industrial complex of some sort. According to all the signs he could see it was "Fairfax-Conston," but that really didn't mean anything to him. "That building just there."

"Huh? I know. I'm thinking." Out of habit Taylor brushed his hair away from his face. He often did when he was nervous. The fact that he had been doing it nonstop for the last three hours and currently had no hair in his face gave the impression of swishing at invisible flies.

Isaac hadn't called him. He just couldn't get over it. He thought about calling Isaac while they were following him, but didn't want to give his position away. Merchant hadn't been able to find out anything significant about the car. It was registered to Fairfax-Conston, the very company they were sitting outside of, but no helpful information was apparent.

"You know, if it wasn't for this car, I'd say this company didn't even exist." Merchant tapped his teeth with a pen. Everyone has their annoying habits. "The car is registered to them, but they aren't registered with anything. They don't have a tax ID...any employees. It's like they exist just to own that car."

"Mmm-hmm..." None of this had registered with Taylor. Why hadn't Isaac called him?

"Are you going to call him?"

"Mmm-hmm..." Isaac was probably armed. He wouldn't just go out like that. Not with agents--Especially agents of the "Fairfax-Conston" company, whatever that was. Taylor didn't know why there would be agents of any kind at a place like this, but the cheap suits were a dead give away.

"Are you William of the House Windsor, Prince of Wales and future king of all England?"

"Mmm-hmm..."

"Living legend?"

"Yeah? I mean no I'm not. I mean what?"

"What now?"

And that, basically, was the question. What now?

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"So what now?" Isaac sat down in a folding chair across from the agents skeptically. As war-rooms for major hostage situations go this one was pretty sparse. There was a telephone and tape recorder sitting in the middle of the banquet table that, along with the three occupied chairs, was the only furniture in the place. "Are we supposed to get a phone call or something? Have you talked to anyone at the bureau yet? And can you guys lose the sunglasses?"

With some hesitation the sunglasses in question were removed. These were definitely the guys from the White House earlier. Isaac felt grateful that the new president liked them enough to send some help.

"The bureau has been notified. They are investigating through their own means. Your brother Taylor requested that only family be present here, however. There should be a phone call shortly."

So Taylor had time to talk to these guys but not to call back to the cave? Isaac made a mental note to break his arm when he saw him again...but then...

For the first time since his brother Zac's disappearance, Isaac grinned.

"Are you aware of something you're not sharing with us, Mr. Hanson?"

"Nah I'm sorry, agent Gilford. This is just my poker face."

"It's Gilmore," Agent Marcus corrected. Gilmore shot him an angry look, and then shook his head.

"We have to go secure some things..."

"Yeah probably you do," Isaac said. "You probably want me to stay in here and watch the phone. In case they try to contact us. The kidnappers I mean." He gestured meaningfully to the phone, grinning again.

Gilmore nodded, and he and his associate stepped out into the hallway.

"OK I'll wait here in this room alone. In case the kidnappers call!" He paused a few seconds and heard the telltale clicking sounds of them locking him in. He shook his head, and glanced at the phone on the table. They could have at least hooked a cord up to it.

"Where do they find these people?"

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"You might want to think about changing your name to Gilford," Agent Marcus laughed. "You never know. It could be a good name for you. On three-One-two-three..." They heaved a sheet of steel off of the far wall and leaned it against the door.

"Shut up. You think he knows what's going on?" A series of 4x4 timbers were wedged in between the steel and the far hallway wall.

"Well he seemed pretty eager to get us out of there. I don't think it really matters." They stepped back and looked at their handiwork.

The original door had been solid oak. With the bolts it should have been enough to keep anyone stuck in that room. The Hanson kid was probably armed though. He had gone back into his house for something, and the dossier material had him pegged as the sharpshooter. A heavy steel panel, slightly larger than the door itself, was now wedged up against it. Even if he shot the locks out he wouldn't be able to budge the door-a job well done.

"You have to admit though," Marcus sighed. "The music is pretty catchy."

"Shut up. I've heard your idea of 'Catchy Music'. Where's the mail truck?"

"I parked it by the kid."

"He alive?"

"I think so."

"Good. Well good enough. Take the Lincoln and go get the other brother. He should be home by now."

"What about the kid?"

Now it was agent Gilson's turn to grin. "Leave the penguin to me."

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

Zac was now absolutely certain that they were cinderblocks to his left. The reason he was sure is because, with some of his last strength, he had rocked that way and knocked them over. He could now lie on his side-sparing his injured ribs.

It caught him completely by surprise when the rope connecting his hands to his feet were cut, causing his legs to swing forward.

"Keep quiet," whispered a voice. It sounded familiar even through the haze of pain that was surrounding him now but he couldn't quite place it.

If his ankles weren't still taped together he could probably get up and run away. Hands were shoved under his arms and he was dragged backwards across the room into sitting position against a wall. He braced himself as someone grasped the duct tape over his mouth and tore it away.

"Yowwwwwwwwwww! Why duct tape? Don't they MAKE gags for kidnappers to use?" Zac's cries echoed through the warehouse, but there was no answer. Instead he heard retreating footsteps. "Afraid of my voice huh? Well you should be," he added lamely. He had a little more mobility in his arms though, now that they were unbound from his feet. He began to work them against each other and felt the tape beginning to stretch.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

Agent Marcus weaved through the maze of crates that crowded the front door. The warehouse walls were just planks here, nailed up lazily to repair damage caused by some unknown incident years ago. The headlights of traffic passing by caused a strobe of shadows to play across the room.

Marcus was about 30 feet from the door when one particular shadow caught his interest. It was very human shaped, and very just ahead of him and to the left. It was leaning against the wall between two stacks of the massive crates. No one should have been here but he and Gilson, this he knew. He drew his sidearm and turned left, leaping sideways in front of the gap.

"DON'T MOVE!" he shouted triumphantly, brandishing the weapon in what he hoped was a menacing fashion.

Merchant raised his hands up over his head.

"Help. No. Don't shoot."

"Huh? Who are you? What are you doing here? DON'T MOVE!"

Merchant shook his head.

"You should have turned right," Merchant sighed. "You saw my shadow and turned left. If you people were any more predictable there would be stereotypes about you." Marcus sensed that he did not, even armed though he was, have full control of this conversation.

"Stop talking! You're coming with me!" Merchant merely shook his head again. "What? No? Yes you are!" He began advancing.

Merchant raised a wary hand - "Wait one second."

Marcus paused.

"Let me ask you - you've got a gun pointed at me. I'm not armed and you could kill me in a fight. Way to go! I mean top marks for technique!"

Marcus nodded.

"But...and this is the question part...but if I'm here, who was leaning up against the wall between the crates _across from me_?"

"Uh..." the confused agent gripped his gun more tightly and pointed it directly at Merchant's forehead. "No-one?"