Thirteen Hours
Glass Crucible #2

by maven

Notes on the Notes: They only *seem* longer than the story.

Standard Disclaimer: Characters owned by CBS Television, Jerry Bruckheimer and a few other production and distribution companies.

Spoiler Notes: For the season finale, of course. Any CSI episode I've seen is fair game to be alluded to.

Rating Notes: PG-13 for language. Maybe AA. I think I'm mixing my Canadian and American rating system. No sex, no nudity and less blood/gore than the episode had. Language will be stronger but gore less.

Blame Notes: After Jolie's challenge was dealt with the other five CSIs started whining for equal billing.

Transcription Notes: Thanks to Television Without Pity and their recapper Sobell for the excellent recaps (including quotes) and snarky commentary, which makes the recaps almost as (or more) entertaining as the show itself.

Geography and Google Notes: After determining that Koval and Flamingo was a real intersection I did some more googling and threw it into the story. I tried the other addresses. Apparently at some time they bodily moved the labs because the address changed from 2974 Westfall to 3657. The street that Brass huffs and puffs exists but the warehouse doesn't seem to.

Grammar Notes: Third person past tense. It's been a while so please forgive all the tense errors. I'm sure helpful people (yeah, you Warped) will point them out. Just like the loose/loss/lose and the breath/breathe. The dessert/desert was a fluke, honest.

Timing Notes: Grave Danger took around 24 hours while Twelve Hours took, well, 12 hours. To which I say; tough, it's my story. I reduced the time limit to get the money together to stay in my new timeframe. Man, even the illusion of sticking to canon is hard sometimes.

Why/How The Story is Different Notes: While the central character changed the basic events did not. This story focuses on the investigation and I tried to keep it as close to the show as possible factoring in the change in the principle and some factors from the other story. This story also totally ignores the stupid-sick murder in the opening that has Gil acting totally out of character and the local rain shower that apparently only affected one city block, indeed, one parking spot. Plus, all those bits that I fast forward through (you know the ones; the slice up a q-tip and watch the centrifuge machine go round and round) I pretty much skip. If you think they're boring to watch you should try writing them (and I'm convinced the script writers just say "lab busy work stock shots here").

+++++

Hour One
With a satisfied sigh Catherine Willows placed the last file onto the neat stack sitting in her "out" tray and stretched. A half hour to go until shift end, paperwork finished and an actual chance at seeing Lindsey for an entire weekend.

"Catherine. " Grissom yelled from the cross corridor. "Who'd you send on the dump run?"

"Sara," Catherine said, coming from her office. It was unlike Grissom to yell, especially in the labs. "She came in early and…"

"Let's go," Grissom said, moving toward the parking lot at a near run.

"What's wrong?"

"She's missing."

+++++

The scene was garishly lit in white, red and blue strobes as Grissom parked the Denali beside a row of LVMPD cruisers. Grissom spared a single quick glance at the abandoned SUV before joining Catherine.

"Think! Did you see anyone else?" Brass said, voice loud and harsh, to the sheriff's officer.

"I didn't see anything, sir. I only took my eyes off her for a couple of seconds."

"Damnit, you shouldn't have taken them off her at all!"

"Jim?" Catherine said.

Brass turned. "She's been gone maybe 25 minutes. Helen Keller here," Brass says, jerking his thumb at the pale deputy, "pointed out the guts and then lost his. He says he could see her for a couple of minutes as she moved into the scene but then she just disappeared. He called it in as soon as she didn't answer his shout. The only thing," he said loudly, shooting a look over his shoulder, "he's done right all night. He and the first responders did a quick check in the area but nothing. We're widening the search. I kept everyone out of the original scene."

"Thanks, Jim. Let's follow Sara's lead," Grissom said, picking up his kit and moving to the first evidence marker. After staring at it for a few seconds he motioned for Catherine to take a picture. "We don't often have a crime scene that's a crime scene."

Catherine didn't answer, shining her flashlight in a circle and pausing as it hit another white evidence marker. Stopping she took several pictures of it and the cigarette butt before again searching for the next sign. Finding a marker by a smudged footprint she took several pictures. Grissom walked past her, leap frogging her to the next marker. After a few more shots Catherine followed.

"This is too…" Catherine muttered, looking down at the evidence marker and an evidence bag containing a white Styrofoam cup. Grissom crouched down, shining his light on Sara's abandoned vest.

"Staged. The evidence all leads here, in a straight line."

"Like bread crumbs," Catherine said, holding an envelope open to receive the fibres that Grissom had just pulled from the vest.

"I was going to say bait."

Catherine stood, looking around the scene. "This whole thing is a trap."

Hour Two
"What have we got?"

"We found where a vehicle was parked about 25 yards from where the cup was planted," Warrick said. "Dogs went straight for the spot. We got a tread mark and a turn radius; looks like he tried to do a U turn and clipped the curb. Archie's still running traffic surveillance tapes but we found a likely. White Ford Expedition that was booking it out of town."

"So, assuming Sara was even in the Ford, she could be anywhere from Green Valley to Arizona," Greg muttered, expression dark.

"The fibres pulled off the vest were cotton soaked with ether," Nick commented quickly.

"Ether?" Grissom said.

"Yeah," Nick continued. "They stopped using it as an anaesthetic years ago. Meth cooks use it just before they blow themselves up. Stuff is very volaltile. Anyway, the cup came back clean. No prints, trace or DNA. The evidence tape is the type we stopped using in 2003 but you can buy it online. I have Hodge trying to narrow down the suppliers and then query them about unusual orders."

"The guys works clean. We're not going to catch any breaks," Grissom commented. He shifted to look at Greg.

"I've pulled all of Sara's cases for the last year, looking for someone who might have a grudge. Couple of people maybe would want to take a swing at her but nobody who'd go to this much trouble," Greg said. "So I was thinking maybe it was random."

Catherine nodded. "Whoever staged the crime scene couldn't have known that Sara was going to respond." Her expression darkened. "She just made the mistake of coming in an hour early."

"The remains?" Grissom prompted when Catherine fell silent. "The body parts?"

"Oh. Not human. Doc Robbins thinks dog based on the size of the entrails as well as the cecum. He also, um, he asked about notifying Sara's folks."

"I'll handle that," Grissom said.

"If you want I ca…"

"No," Grissom said shortly, cutting Catherine off before the offer could be made. "She's been gone two hours and we might have a possible vehicle? That's it?" The frustration was evident around the table. "Right, Warrick start running rentals on the Explorer. Recent purchases. See if Archie can get even a partial plate. Then…"

From the corridor came the sound of yelling and Grissom's named being called. Before anyone could react Hodge ran into the room, a brown envelope held carefully along the edges. Behind him two uniforms were wrestling someone to the ground.

"What are you doing, Hodges?" Grissom asked in amazement.

"He was pawing the envelope, I thought maybe there'd be prints. Trace. I didn't want…"

"Hodges!"

Carefully Hodges set the envelope onto the table. Hand written in block printing was the lab's address with 're: Sidle' underneath.

+++++

"ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN 6 HOURS," flashed the computer monitor.

~you can try to please me
but it wont be easy~

"OR THE CSI DIES."

~stone walls surround me
surprised if you ever find me~

"DROP-OFF INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW."

~and you don't stand an outside chance
don't stand an outside chance~

"AND NOW FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE. YOU CAN ONLY WATCH."

~and you don't stand an outside chance
but you can try…~

At some point the song ended unnoticed by occupants of the room. Nick left first, his fist slamming into the door jam as he passed, muttering that he'd be in trace. Warrick followed next, dragging Hodge bodily out.

"Grissom?" Greg asked, sounding very young and very unsure.

"We'll find her," Grissom said. "We will find her," he repeated, more firmly, turning to look at Catherine until she focused on him instead of the image on the screen.

"He's playing with us," Catherine said as her attention turned back to the monitor.

Hour Three
"Any change?" Warrick asked from the doorway.

"The light stays on for two minutes before we have to click it again," Catherine reported from her chair beside Greg. "She seems to have calmed down."

"Calmed?"

"About the fifth time we clicked she got really mad," Greg said. On the monitor Sara lay motionless, the neck of her T-shirt pulled up over her face. "Screamed and yelled. Now she's more… calm. Well, hiding maybe. Should I leave it off?" he asked Catherine, "maybe she wants to sleep?"

"No."

"Catherine?"

"I said 'no'. If the only thing we can do is watch her, we'll watch her. Anything, Warrick?"

"Ford confirms it's a 2005 model. We're checking the rental agencies and the dealers and should have some lists by morning. Any word on the ransom?"

"The department does not negotiate with terrorists," Greg said, voice nearly toneless.

"Then we'll just have to find her," Catherine said.

"You know, that should have been me or Nick," Warrick said softly.

"Yeah, well, that's what you get when you come in early," Greg muttered, leaning forward to click the mouse and re-establish the connection.

"I don't need you to beat me up on this, Greg. I'm managing just fine on my own."

"Sorry, I just feel so useless."

"Take a break, Greg. Warrick, you too. Make sure you both get something to eat."

"What about you?" Warrick asked as Greg stood.

"I'll get something later."

+++++

"Anything new?" the Undersheriff asked, walking into Ecklie's office without bothering to knock. "The Sheriff's cutting short his vacation and will be arriving in three hours."

"No, sir. I've been doing some calculations, though."

The Undersheriff looked puzzled. "Calculations?"

"Preliminary budget review. There are a number of things we can do within the lab itself that can make the ransom."

"We don't negotiate with kidnappers," the Undersheriff said firmly and then sighed. "You understand that not even in a situation like this will sheriff cut back services to our taxpayers."

"We wouldn't have to. I'm proposing we eliminate all overtime on lab work except priority cases, stop hiring based on attrition, reassign existing personnel based on peak staffing needs. In this fiscal year, that should clear at least a million."

"Budget savings don't count until after the fiscal year. Until then they're just phantoms."

"I'll take the heat if the budget doesn't happen," Ecklie said with only a slight hesitation. "For going outside department policy on negotiating with the abductor."

"That'd be your job, Ecklie, on the line," the Undersheriff said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the corridor behind him was clear. "Why? I read your reports. You don't like the girl. Tried to get her fired a number of times."

Ecklie paused. "I have a cousin. Charlie but he likes to be called Charles. Always a quick money scheme in his pocket. Investments in sure fire companies. We have to have someone always next to him at Thanksgiving or Christmas to make sure he doesn't get my parents investing in his scheme. But black sheep that he is, he always gets invited because he's family."

"Your point?"

"I don't like Sidle. She's the black sheep of this lab. But until I fire her ass she's one of mine."

The Undersheriff shook his head. "I appreciate you wanting to look after your people, but, bottom line, Ecklie? Even if you had the money already saved it's still public money and the department does not negotiate with terrorists. You want her back? Find her. Or get your people ready for a funeral."

Hour Four
"She's thinking."

"What?" Catherine asked Grissom.

"She's thinking. Working on a problem."

"Did you contact her family yet?"

"No."

"Why the hell…"

"Her father's dead. Sara wouldn't want her mother contacted."

"You know this?"

"Yes. What's she doing?"

"Looks like an evidence tape spool. What do you mean she wouldn't want her mother contacted?

"Sara and her mother … they're not close."

"Jesus, Grissom, if it wasn't for Lindsey I wouldn't be close to my parents. I'd still want them to know."

"Would you want Sam Braun to know?"

"What?"

"Biology doesn't make family, Catherine," Grissom said firmly, automatically clicking the connection back on. "Sara wouldn't… Sara doesn't want her mother involved."

"Grissom…"

"Catherine, drop it."

"There's no one else?" Catherine said after a few moments.

"No. She asked me if she could list me in lieu of next to kin."

"She really is alone," Catherine said softly.

Grissom glanced sideways, face neutral before reaching across to briefly squeeze her shoulder. Silently they continued to watch.

"She's pissed," Catherine commented after a few more clicks.

"What?"

"If you can recognized the 'Sara thinking' look I can recognize the 'Sara pissed' expression. It's been directed at me often enough."

"What's that? Zoom in on that, in the corner," Grissom ordered.

"We're about to lose the light."

"Leave it off for a three count, then turn it on."

"Three, two, one."

"There see it?"

"Oh, my God."

"She made a wind streamer," Grissom said, when the floodlight went off and a green chemical light appeared. "The light cuts out the fan. And she has alternative light."

"I told them to keep the light on. I told them…"

"Be quiet."

Shocked Catherine turned from the monitor to stare at Grissom. Who in turn, was staring intently at the screen, silently mouthing words. After a few moments he nodded.

"We didn't know," he said, returning to the previous conversation as if nothing had happened. "Now, leave the light off until I get back."

"Where're you going?" Catherine asked Grissom's rapidly receding back.

"To get someone who reads lips better than I do."

Hour Five
"Someone grabbed me from behind and gassed me with something. Smelled sweet but unpleasant, can't explain how though. Reminded me of that meth lab we processed last month. It was on what felt like a gauze pad. Rode around in the back of something like a Delani for a while and then got gassed again. You could access the back from the front cab. Guy was big. Solid like Nicky but bigger."

The lip reading expert spoke in a near monotone into a tape recorder as Sara continued to detail the dimensions of the box and the supplies down to the serial number on the tape recorder.

"This was on the tape. He says, Hi, CSI guy," the lip reader continued. "You're wondering why you're here? Because you followed the evidence. Because that's what CSIs do. So breathe quick, breathe slow, put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Any way you like, you're going to die here. Okay?"

For the first time the composure of the translator broke. "Sorry, it's just… I'm use to working in schools and…"

"It's hard, Anna. You're doing great," Grissom assured her.

"It's just, why would he say that to her?" Anna continued. "I mean, he asked you for a ransom, right? So when you pay that he'll let her out. Why tell her she's going to die?"

Grissom met Catherine's eyes over the translator's head.

"I have to go out," Catherine said.

"Now?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah."

+++++

The maitre d' knew enough to indicate the back room. The goons stationed to maintain privacy knew enough to let her past.

"Sam, I need to talk to you."

"He's already got someone to talk to," Sam's companion commented.

"Sam, I need to talk to you," Catherine repeated, ignoring the other occupants of the table.

"I'd like you to meet my daughter. Catherine," Sam said to the table, attention focused completely on Catherine. Over polite murmurs Sam excused himself, leading Catherine to a quiet corner.

"One of my people has been kidnapped. I need a million dollars in cash, in large bills, and I need it now."

"Let me guess, Mugs. The department won't pay the ransom."

"The city of Las Vegas doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

"Then why should I?"

"Considering the problems you've had with the law," Catherine said coldly, "you could use some good publicity."

"Do I look like a man who needs publicity?" Sam protested, gesturing at his Hollywood friends and the crowded lobby in the background. "If you're coming to me like a cop with a tin cup in your hand, the answer is no."

"I'm not here as a cop," Catherine said, grabbing Sam's elbow as he turned as if to leave.

"Then ask me like you were my daughter."

Catherine hesitated, looked down and then back up. "Sam, I need a million dollars to pay the ransom on my friend. She's got maybe three hours left."

"She? I thought you had Stokes and Brown?"

"You know who my investigators are?" Catherine asked in amazement.

"Mugs, you may deny it but you're my kid. I know everything I need to know about you to keep you safe."

"But…"

"You can look after yourself. You don't need me," Sam said coldly. "Except, today, you do."

"I need your help. Please."

Sam regarded her carefully for several seconds, Catherine holding his gaze firmly. "Twenty minutes. It'll take twenty minutes."

"Thank you," Catherine said.

Sam shrugged. "Family, Catherine. One day you'll see that's all it is."

Hour Six
"Wake! For the Sun behind yon Eastern height
Has chased the Session of the Stars from Night;
And to the field of Heav`n ascending, strikes
The Sultan`s Turret with a Shaft of Light."

Grissom reached across the desk and clicked on the light.

"She's laughing," Anna said. "She says, 'was that a joke? Turn the light back on if that was a joke'."

Grissom waited until the light turned off before clicking again.

"Grissom, you have one weird sense of humour," Anna said. "Don't bother answering that."

"All right. You rest," Grissom said to the monitor as Sara pillowed her head in her arms and closed her eyes.

"You care about her," Anna said softly.

"Very much," Grissom said just as quietly. "I care about all my people," Grissom elaborated.

"Grissom, can I see you in your office?" Catherine asked from the doorway.

+++++

"I got the money."

"From where?"

"Where do you think?"

"Catherine, if the press finds out about this, it'll look like Sam Braun bribed the lab."

"He's a casino owner, a leader of industry, never convicted of a crime and right now, I don't care about the integrity of the lab at the moment. I care about Sara."

"And I don't?"

"You're sitting here staring at your coffee cup surrounded with deep thoughts and bugs and if you've got a better plan, I'm all ears."

"All right. But I make the drop. You're hands-off."

"Screw that."

"You can't be seen anywhere near this money. It was given to the lab anonymously."

"No. Gil, it's my fault she's there. I have Nicky and Warrick thinking it should have been their assignment and Greg so mad he can barely look at me. I went to Sam Braun for this money and he gave it to me."

"Catherine, you didn't put her into that box."

"No. Some sick bastard put a CSI into a box. I just arranged for it to be Sara," Catherine said. She paused and took a deep breathe. "Listen. In every way that counts Las Vegas is still a small town. The fact that I asked him for the money will come out. Our relationship will come out. The cases I've recused myself from will come out. I'll document the money. I'll take the heat. And if someone gets fired over this it'll be me, not you. The team needs you."

Hour Seven
"What's she doing?" Catherine asked.

"Sleeping," Warrick said as he stood to offer Catherine his chair.

"'Bout an hour now. Restless sleeper," Nick said from beside Anna at a second monitor that Archie had slaved to the video stream.

"Lifesaver," Anna said, voice puzzled. "I'm sorry. I don't know if I should translate this. I think she's having a nightmare."

"That way when I wake up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, you can tell me it's nothing, it's just empathy," Grissom said softly. "She said that to me once," he explained when he became aware of the curious looks.

"I can't make out what she's saying. She's not… something about a monster and a…"

"Gun!" yelled Greg as he moved forward, hand smacking the monitor as if to physically grab the weapon.

Grissom reached over Catherine's shoulder, hitting the mouse button. On the monitor Sara jerked upright, head hitting the top of the coffin. Her right hand, holding the gun, finger inside the guard, reached out toward the camera and she stiffened suddenly.

"Thanks guys. Just a nightmare. But you can come get me anytime," Anna said. "What's she doing?"

"Emptying her clip," Greg said, voice hoarse. "So she can't ki… hurt herself."

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank," Anna said as Sara began to speak again. She glanced around and, at Grissom's nod, she continued, "and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had …

Suddenly the monitors went black. "4672 CARNEY LANE -- BOULDER HWY. BE THERE IN 20 MINUTES, OR DON'T BOTHER COMING."

"That's my cue," Catherine said.

Hour Eight
"This is the Las Vegas crime lab."

"Through the door."

The warehouse was dimly lit, the only light coming from dusted over plastic windows set near the roof. Catherine glanced around, surveying the scene automatically. White Ford stood parked just inside the large doors. Body of a dog, half covered with a tarp. Table covered in electronics. Several large sheets of Plexiglas stood propped against the wall.

"Pretty quiet outside," called a voice from the office built into one corner of the warehouse. "Almost sounds like you came alone."

"I have your money," Catherine said as she walked to the doorway. A bright light was angled to dazzle whoever came in, leaving the occupant in shadows.

"Slide it over."

Catherine complied, shielding her eyes and trying to get as much detail as possible. A computer, nearly identical to the set up in the lab, displayed Sara.

"You're telling me there's a million dollars in here?" the figure asked.

"Yeah. In hundreds."

"Anything else?" the figured asked, poking and prodding the bag. "No cute little booby traps? Which is it? A tracer? Dye pack?"

"Normally. But this time it's just the money. We want Sara back. No tricks."

"This looks real."

"It's real. Where is she?"

"I was under the impression that it was against departmental policy to negotiate with terrorists."

"Where is she!"

"Because you sound terrified," the man said, standing and looking to the monitor. "And she hides it but she's terrified."

Catherine paused, trying to gather her anger. "You said…"

"Are you two close?" the man interrupted.

"What does that…?

"What does Sara Sidle mean to you? How do you feel when you see her in that box? Does your soul die every time you look at the monitor? How do you feel, knowing that there's nothing you can do to get her out of that hell? Not love. Not the rules. Not money."

"We've done what you asked."

"How do you feel when you see her? Helpless? Impotent? Useless?" he asked, stepping into the light enough for Catherine to see his triumphant smile. See him open his jacket to reveal the suicide belt. "Good. Welcome to my world."

"No."

"Four more hours," he said, hand holding the detonator, thumb poised over the red trigger. "Better run now."

Catherine made it to the office door before the explosion.

Hour Nine
"They're back from the warehouse," said Grissom from the doorway of Catherine's office. She'd ignored the paramedics advice to go to the hospital and returned to the labs to change clothes.

"Did they find anything?"

"Lots. Too much, really. Nicky found a thumb but prints came up empty in AFIS. Mia's running DNA while we expand the search to civilian data bases. Greg and Warrick found a prototype of the box with another dead dog inside."

"God."

"We also found an electronics workshop. Video, computer, demolitions. Seems our mystery man was a jack of all trades."

"Where do you want me?" tying her still damp hair back into a ponytail.

"Give Nick a hand with the electronics?"

"Sure, I'll just be a minute."

Standing wearily Catherine leaned onto her desk. Clear wood only broken by a telephone, picture of Lindsay and a stack of files.

"God…" the phone hit the wall, plastic casing shattering.

"Damn…" the files scattered, an avalanche of papers and pictures.

"It." And only the picture remained.

Not caring what she walked on, she left her office.

+++++

"What'chya got?" Catherine asked as she entered the lab.

"So far?" Nick asked. "So far I have the fixings for dead man switches, pressure detonators and timers. An open case of marine batteries, one missing and one we found with the prototype box. About a half dozen disposable cellphones and button video cameras. Pretty much everything we know he used to snatch Sara and do the broadcast thing but it's all generic stuff. Nothing we can trace to a buyer."

"The explosives he used?"

"Still at trace."

"Okay. Let's look at it again. We know he used old fashioned ether despite its drawbacks. Let's see if there's anything else he used when there would be something easier, safer, more modern. See if it points to something.

+++++

"You know," Warrick said to Greg as he disconnected the electrical devices from the prototype. "Gotta chill down my back when Catherine told me the address, told me to meet her there."

"What? Where Sara was taken?" Greg asked, handing some trace to Hodge.

"Yeah. Flamingo at Koval," Warrick said. Looking up he saw Greg's blank look. "Where Tupac was shot."

"1996," Hodge said.

"Before my time," Greg said absently. "I mean, I remember it of course. But I was still in L.A. then. You didn't catch the guy, right?"

Warrick snorted. "No. Some say we didn't try too hard. There were only a couple of cops and one CSI assigned officially. Lot of us pulled some unofficial overtime though."

"You think it's connected?" Greg asked, sliding under the prototype.

"Sara and Tupac?" Hodge asked in surprise.

"No. Sara being taken at the same site as one of the departments more public failures," Greg elaborated as he took a sample from some small dimples in the bottom of the prototype.

"Yeah," Warrick said after considering it for a few moments. "Bastard's saying we won't solve this one either," Warrick said, connecting a fresh battery to the light and fan circuit.

"But we will."

"Yeah, Greg," Warrick said, "we will."

+++++

"You'd like it in here, Grissom," Anna said in what Grissom had started to mentally call her 'Sara-voice'. "Like being on the inside of an ant farm. The soil, by the way, looks like dirt, not sand or that clay shit we have to dig through in the desert. Anyway, there's some little tunnels and I can see earthworms and beetles and other creepy crawlies. There are some seriously pissed off ants here. As I know you love the little guys, Grissom, I'll tell you that, once you factor in my green light source, they're kinda coppery-brown with darker abdomens. Ants with a sense of style. The biggest ones seem to be about half a centimetre or so. There're little ones, too. Hey, Grissom? Do ants have take your kid to work day? Don't answer."

Anna turned to Grissom. "You like ants?"

"I'm a forensic entomologist."

"You study dead bugs?" Anna asked.

"I study bugs in the dead."

"Oh," Anna said. "That's pretty gross," she said after a few moments.

Grissom grinned briefly before schooling his face into a more neutral expression. "While it can be unpleasant it provides invaluable clues into time and even cause of death."

"Does what she told you help?"

"I don't know," Grissom said. "Can I take the tape with the description?"

"Sure," Anna said, handing Grissom the tape and putting a fresh one in.

Hour Ten
Anna rubbed her eyes wearily and took the opportunity to sneak a glance at Catherine, wishing she could translate Catherine's expression as easily as she could Sara's words.

"Did I miss anything?"

Anna shook her head. "She recites something, like Alice in Wonderland or Dickens, I think. Poetry sometimes. And then she goes quiet for a while and then she'll recite something else. I guess it's her way of praying."

Catherine took her attention from the monitor long enough to glance at Anna. "I always assumed science was Sara's religion, not literature."

"I don't know what it usually is but right now that's what seems to be getting her through."

As they watched Sara began to look wildly around the coffin before finally turning to the camera.

"Guys? Grissom?" Anna said softly. "You are looking for me, right?"

Catherine grabbed the mouse, it nearly skittering from her hand as she punched the button.

"I'm a bit rusty but praying seems like a good idea," Catherine said as Sara covered her eyes with her arm. An act that didn't hide her crying.

"I've been praying since I sat down in this chair," Anna replied.

+++++

"How you doing?" Grissom asked, pulling up a chair to watch over Catherine's shoulder.

Catherine shrugged. "She's doing better. She had a crisis of faith a little while ago, worried we'd given up on her."

"I asked how you were doing."

"I'm not the one buried alive, Grissom."

"Call me Ishmael," Anna said. "She's gone back to Moby Dick again."

"Have you ever read it?" Grissom asked Catherine quietly, careful not to interfere with Anna's transcription.

"No."

"How old is Lindsey? Eleven, now? Fifth grade?"

"Sixth grade," Catherine said bewildered.

"Sara read Moby Dick when she was in the fifth grade. Around the same age as Lindsey."

"And I'm turning cartwheels when Lindsey reads the newest Harry Potter book on her own," Catherine half laughed. "How do you know this?"

"We were working a case a couple of weeks ago and it came up. Did you know it was a failure when first published? It wasn't until nearly a half century after it was written that it came to be considered a masterpiece. When they realized that it wasn't a literal story but rather a myth told in the narrative style."

"You've added literature to your obsessions?"

"It was in the forward of the copy I read."

Catherine shifted in her chair to face Grissom. "You just read it, didn't you? After she told you she read it at age 10. Is this some kind of geek pissing contest? Seeing who's read the most unreadable and obscure books in the original Latin?"

"Babylonian," Grissom mock corrected. "And yes. I wanted to see…" he paused, as if searching for words.

"What?"

"If I could see what she was like at ten to make her read a book like that," he said finally.

"Did you?"

"No."

Hour Eleven
"Don't turn on the light, okay? And could I have a little privacy? Just one of the night shift crew. I'll give the thumbs up when you can bring the peanut gallery back in," Anna said as she stood to leave. "Oh, I guess that's me."

"No, you're part of this now," Catherine said. "Stay. Let me know what she says."

"But…"

"If she gets mad she can be mad at me. I've had a lot of practice."

"Hey, guys. It's me, Sara," Anna said, "If you don't find this yourself I hope you give the delivery guy a good tip. I don't really have much to say. Woke up in this glass coffin with no sign of any dwarves let alone Prince Charming."

Catherine half laughed and rubbed her hand across her face as on the monitor Sara grimaced.

"Sorry. Anyway, I figure I've been missing about ten or twelve hours and hell, if you guys can't find me in that amount of time I must be hid really well. So, no hard feelings, okay?

"I don't really have anyone to say good bye to other than you guys. Grissom, if you could let my mother know. I'm afraid I didn't come to any epiphanies in here about all that. I wish I had but I guess if I can't in over twenty years a few hours isn't going to do it.

"Greg, you're going to turn into a great investigator. I haven't taught you everything I know yet and I'm sorry. But Nicky and Warrick, they have a different style so maybe this is a good thing. So you don't turn into a clone of me.

"Nick, Warrick. Look after my trainee, okay? Don't let this discourage him or you. You did your best to solve this and I know you didn't give up.

"I never said thank you or sorry or anything to you, Grissom, so thanks for the chance. Chances, really. I'm sorry for all the crap I've dumped on you and thanks for going up to bat for me with the brass.

"Catherine. Listen. No hard feelings about this, okay? I took the slip. You didn't put me here; some sick fuck did. Just, look after Lindsay, okay? Just…" Anna paused, and risked a quick look at Catherine before concentrating on the monitor. "Can you give her a message? Tell her that she's smart and beautiful like her mom and clever and ambitious like her dad and that there's nothing that she can't do. Kids need to hear that, you know? I love you guys. My only regret was not telling you when I had a chance. Okay, watcher. Send in the lip reading clowns."

Anna glanced at Catherine again. "Who's Lindsay?" she asked quietly.

"My daughter. Sara's always asking after her. 'Say hi to Lindsay.' And I usually forget to give Lindsay the message. I didn't realize that she…"

"We'll find her, Cat," came Greg's voice from the doorway. Nick and Warrick stood behind him.

"You heard?"

"Pretty much all of it," Warrick said.

"Did you get anything from the daughter?"

"Nah," Nick said. "Not much. He stopped visiting her after about six months. She said it was too hard on him. He came about two weeks ago but she refuses to talk about it. We've got a picture from DMV and we're checking employment records. He worked in aerospace, lotta government contracts so there's likely a print somewhere to confirm ID."

"That's what he meant," Catherine said, almost to herself before turning her focus to the guys. "She knows what he's done to Sara? That Sara is…"

"She's pretty bitter, Catherine," Warrick said slowly. "I don't think she has much sympathy for Sara's position."

"She said she hopes Sara dies," Greg said, voice breaking between pity and revulsion. "She was just a kid, going to take landscape architecture at UNLV, got mixed up with the wrong guy and her life was just gone. I mean…" he shrugged and turned as Grissom approached.

"I have something," Grissom announced.

+++++

The layout room contained a large map of the greater Las Vegas area. Two bright red intersecting circles representing travel radius of the Explorer and the webcam location. Also decorating the map were several black squares representing addresses from Kelly Gordon's file. Blue squares were being added as facts about Walter Gordon came to light.

"Sara described some ants. Light coloured heads and darker abdomens. They were of various sizes. I'm positive it's Solenopsis invicta."

"English, Gil," Catherine said.

"Red imported fire ants. Native to South America but introduced to the US in the early 1920s. Mobile, Alabama to be precise. They're rare around here; they don't like the sandy soil. It was the differing size of the workers, really, that was key. Worker ants have a more uniform size in most species but Solenopsis invicta can range from 2mm to 5mm…"

"Grissom," came a torrent of protest.

"Mr. Grissom, I have your overlay."

"Thank you, Hodges," Grissom said, helping Hodges to unroll the large sheet of clear acetate and line the corner markers up. Neatly numbered green squares now appeared on the master map.

"The green squares are places that have reported fire ants to Nevada Natural Resources. They track invasive species," Hodge said.

"What's that one?" Catherine asked, pointing to a green square in relative close vicinity to Kelly Gordon's former high school and home.

"Biglow's Nurseries," Hodge reported.

"Landscaping," Greg said, hope colouring his voice. "Kelly Gordon'd walk by it from home to school.'

"Call the owner. Tell him to expect us," Grissom said as he hit speed dial on his cell phone. "Brass, we got her."

Hour Twelve
The train of Las Vegas emergency vehicles roared into Biglow's Nurseries, lights still visible in the bright sun. A bewildered looking man stood in the middle of the yard.

"Jason Biglow?"

"Yeah, you said on the phone…" He broke off and made gestures at the fire trucks, ambulances and police cars. "Is this about the missing cop they've been talking about on CNN?"

"We hope so. Do you recognize this woman?" Grissom asked, holding out a Polaroid taken of Kelly Gordon earlier in the day.

"No."

"Try this one," Brass suggested, pulling out the initial booking photo taken three years ago.

"Sure. That's Kelly. Worked summers for three years. Didn't come back, what, 2002? Figured she got a better offer or started college so when her dad called me…"

"You've been in contact with Walter Gordon?" Grissom said sharply.

"Sure. Rented him this building last fall for his space station plant experiments. He's in aerospace."

"We heard. You have a key for that padlock?" Brass asked.

"In the office…"

"I got it," Greg said, grabbing a fire axe from the nearest truck. Swinging it in a sharp circle he brought the axe crashing into the hasp of the lock.

"Greg, it might be wired," Grissom said.

"Then stand back," Greg shouted, swinging the axe again. The door swung open as Greg casually handed the axe to a wide-eyed firefighter.

"There lights?" Brass asked looking into the large shed.

"Nah. Fire ants got into the fuse box. I need to rewire the whole thing so when Walter said he'd rent it as is…"

"Get the Kliegs," Brass ordered, referring to the large floodlights. The skylights, covered in dirt and dust, emitted only enough light to show the hulking silhouette of a dump loader.

And two pipes on either side of a grave sized mound of dirt.

+++++

"Willows," Catherine snapped into her cell phone.

"It's Anna. Look I don't know what it means but it means something. That little air streamer that Sara made? It's gone. She tore it down."

"Was it an accident?"

"Well, I got Archie to rewind the video and it looks like an accident but…oh my god."

"What!"

"She just checked the inside of her gun. And she has this look and she just hid her light and the spotlight doesn't work. I can't see her! What's happening?"

Catherine looked around the site. Warrick and Nick were busy digging. "We've got her," Catherine said, taking two quick strides to the nearest pipe. "Sara! We're here!" she shouted before turning to the others. "She's out of air and has a round in the chamber."

With a muttered curse Greg grabbed a third shovel and jumped into the hole. Eager hands worked to move the discards away, making more room for the three diggers.

"I've hit something!" Warrick called out, turning his shovel sideways and making long scrapes along the edge. "Okay guys, get off the lid. Sara?" he called, sliding the edge of his shovel in order to lever up the lid.

"Nobody move!" yelled Grissom. From the foot of the grave Catherine looked up to Grissom standing at the head. "Hodge," he said, snapping his cell phone shut. "Everyone out but Sara."

Looking down at Sara Catherine hesitated, waiting until Warrick had jammed his cell phone to prop open the lid before joining the team.

"That was Hodge. The dimples on the bottom of the prototype had traces of Semtex."

"He never intended us to save her. Even if we found her," Catherine said.

"Man, it could be anything. Pressure plates, timer, mercury if we bring in the back hoe," Nick said.

"No. He works with what he knows. We didn't find any mercury switches at the other scene," Catherine said, glancing at her watch. "He told me we had four more hours."

"Until what?" Greg asked.

"Timers," Nick said. "He had a whole bunch of timers on his worktable."

"So," Greg said slowly, "we pull Sara out and it blows up and if we wait too long it blows up?"

"Sounds like he was a real belts and suspenders," Brass said from the side. "Suggestions?"

Grissom looked around at the assembled people and equipment. "Tie a rope around Sara's waist and yank her out while we dump a couple of hundred pounds of dirt into the coffin."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"That's your idea, MacGyver?" Warrick finally asked.

Grissom shrugged helplessly. "Yeah."

"Okay, Brass, find someone to drive that thing," Catherine ordered. "Warrick, get me a rescue harness and some rope from the firemen."

Grissom nodded agreement. "Greg, Nick, get a couple of those railroad ties from outside to make me a platform. We were jumping all over the thing earlier but I don't want to take any more chances if there's pressure triggers."

"Good idea except for one thing," Catherine said as everyone rushed off.

"What's that?"

"I'm going onto the platform."

"No, you…"

"Gil, I'm doing it so could we skip the argument?"

Grissom sighed and then nodded. "Agreed."

+++++

"It's not over yet, is it?" Sara asked as Catherine crouched low on the makeshift platform.

Catherine shook her head. "Can you stay here a bit longer? Trace on a prototype that we found came back as Semtex. So we're pretty sure there's a bomb. "

"Of course there's a bomb. There's always a bomb," Sara muttered as she carefully set the gun down beside her. "You need to get out of here. I'm not worth…"

"Sara, if you knew the crap I -hell, the crap we all- went through to get you back, you'd know my standing on a bomb is the least of it. Now, trust me?"

"Of course. What's the plan?"

"We're positive Gordon used pressure plates in the past," Catherine said as she took the rescue harness from Warrick. "We also found evidence of timers," she added as she bent over to help Sara into the harness. Sara moved slowly, muscles trembling with the slight exertion.

"How much time?"

"Who knows?" Catherine answered, trying to sound cheerful as she buckled the harness. "He left a twelve hour deadline so not much. The plan is to dump a bucket load of dirt into here while yanking you out with a rope."

"Whose plan was that?"

"Mine," Grissom said, handing a rope to Catherine before stepping back.

"Actually," Catherine said, "his idea was to tie a rope around your waist. The climbing harness is my modification. Figured snapping your back was counterproductive. Now, hold onto this," Catherine ordered as she snapped a calliper and rope onto the harness ring. The sound of a diesel engine revving could be heard in the background.

"They're ready," Sara said, shivering.

"They are," Catherine confirmed. "Are you?"

"I really want out of here."

"Then close your eyes and hold on tight," Catherine said, wrapping Sara's hands around the rope, smiling tenderly as Sara closed her eyes. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to Sara's forehead before motioning Greg and Nick to remove the railroad ties.

"One," Grissom called out and the dump loader moved into position, bucket raised over the open grave.

"Two," he called and the group pulled the rope taunt, poised to move.

Three!"

The rope went tight as it took Sara's weight and then the added weight of the falling dirt. With an explosion of sound and dust the rope when slack, Sara's body thrown through the air to land boneless in a heap.

+++++

"Easy. You riding with us?" the paramedic asked.

With a nod Grissom pushed Greg into the ambulance before turning to Catherine, Ecklie and Brass.

"Go," Ecklie said.

"We'll handle this," Catherine said as, Nick and Warrick came forward to join them. Together they watched the ambulance drive slowly down the drive before turning onto the highway.

"I want to be a team again," Catherine said.

Hour Thirteen
Catherine entered the doorway of the hospital waiting room, glancing around until she located Grissom and Greg. Despite the situation she smiled at the near identical poses; slumped forward in their chairs, elbows on their knees, staring at coffee cups held in their hands. Greg looked up first.

"She'll be okay," he said. "Shock. Scrapes and bruises from the dirt and the explosion. They're keeping her overnight for observation."

"You should go home," Catherine said.

"No. She might…" Greg started before his voice trailed off in exhaustion and confusion.

"The vigil isn't over yet," Grissom finished. "We'll stay. For a while at least."

"No, I suppose it's not," Catherine said, taking a seat opposite. She shoved her fists into her jacket pockets and slouched forward until her head rested on the back of the chair.

Greg held up his coffee cup. "Want some? It's cold but still coffee."

Catherine smiled, "Nah, I'm coffeed out. I can't pull a 25-hour day anymore. Especially if they're like today."

"I don't know," Grissom said. "Despite the circumstances today felt like a success."

"It felt good working together," Greg said with a half smile.

"Yeah," Catherine said. "It did."

"Good," said a voice from the doorway. All three looked up to see Ecklie, freshly pressed and shaved. "I'm meeting with the Sheriff in twenty minutes. All policy and procedure is under review because of this."

"Sara's fine, Conrad," Grissom said. "She'll be…"

"She's on seven days leave, starting tomorrow."

"Conrad."

"It's not me. It's department policy. However," Ecklie said, "suggest to her that she might want to re-evaluate her career in light of this traumatic experience." He turned to Catherine. "In my office tomorrow at 9. We have about a million things to discuss. Have Brown and Stokes meet us at 10."

"Yes, sir," Catherine said. She waited until he was clearly out of hearing. "Bastard."

"You going to be okay?" Grissom asked.

"What's he going to do, fire me?"

"Demotion. Reprimand. Censure," suggested Grissom. "Clean all the glassware in the biochem lab?"

Catherine shrugged. "I'll deal."

"Do I know what you're talking about?" Greg asked.

"No," Grissom and Catherine said simultaneously.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No," Grissom and Catherine said simultaneously.

"God, you're like my parents."

Epilogue
Prison visiting rooms were fairly interchangeable, Sara decided. Black phones instead of beige. Vinyl chairs instead of cloth covered. Brown clad guards instead of blue.

"You the one?"

"Yeah. I guess I am," Sara said.

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry?"

"No," Sara said, ignoring the bravado. "You didn't do anything to me. And what your dad did… I guess it's because he loved you so much. And it killed him."

Kelly dropped the phone onto her lap to stare at Sara for a few moments before she buried her head in her hands. Sara waited patiently until Kelly picked the phone up again.

"Your dad didn't understand, did he?" Sara asked.

"Understand what?"

"What it's like inside the box," Sara said. "Looking in, watching from the outside, was killing -- killed him. He didn't understand about the box, that it's a crucible."

"You're saying this," Kelly asked, motioning to the nearest set of bars and guards, "makes me stronger? Harder? Like steel?"

"Not necessarily. But it -makes- you. Sometimes stronger, sometimes not. Sometimes it turns you into your base elements. I'm glad he got me and not one of the others."

"Why?"

"Because I can tell you honestly that you'll survive this. You won't be the Kelly Gordon who walked in here three years ago but you'll be the Kelly Gordon who walked out. And when you walk out…"

"Yeah?"

"Take the things from here that made you strong. And leave the things that made you weak."

"What did my dad do to you?"

"Nothing that hadn't been done before, longer and harder."

Kelly nodded once, regarding Sara for several minutes. Then she stood. "I'm done."

"Me too." Sara said as she stood. "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah, you too. Hey, I am sorry," Kelly said with a shrug, before hanging up the phone and turning to the guard. "Take me back." Sara watched, wincing slightly as each door closed.

"Yeah. Me too."

END

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