Camouflage

Author's note: thank you all, it's good to be back. A little more setting the stage, but rest assured, there is lots of action ahead...

Chapter Two

Megan Reeves leaned back in her chair, and regarded the two agents across the conference room table. Green eyes flicked over their shoulders as she caught sight of Don Eppes entering the bullpen through the window of the conference room. "Here comes the boss now," she said. She watched as Don detoured into the coffee room, and decided she had a minute or two. "So, I take it Don has an issue with team members trying to call the shots." She raised an eyebrow and regarded the other two expectantly.

"Don't look at me," said Colby Granger. "I haven't been around here long enough to know, either." They both looked at David Sinclair.

The agent shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say that," he said. "He's always been pretty open to input."

Megan smiled, her eyebrows still elevated. "Then he has an issue with his brother trying to call the shots."

David grimaced, ruefully. "Yeah, that wasn't a good scene, was it?" He rubbed his clean-shaven head, uncomfortably. "Yeah – I get a little sense of – I don't know – competition – between the two of them. I don't know if that's the right term." He looked at Megan. "You're the profiler. You tell us."

Megan shrugged, still smiling. "I'm reserving judgment pending further observation. I have to admit, our boss is a bit hard to read."

"I think Charlie was a little over the line," muttered Granger, quietly, because Don was approaching the conference room.

"I don't think he meant to be," said David, just as quietly. "He just gets really into his – theories."

"I'll say," said Colby. "He left me in the dust on that last analysis. I think I'm gonna have to go back to college if I'm gonna keep working here." The door opened, and Colby raised his voice. "Mornin' boss."

Don Eppes stepped in, closed the door and sat. "Morning." He took a sip of his coffee and eyed his team. As SAC, he supervised several agents in the L.A. office, but he also took on the higher profile cases with his own team. Of the three of them, only David had been there for any length of time – for a year now. Colby Granger was a new junior agent, and Megan Reeves was their new profiler. Her addition was taking the most time for Don to assimilate; he missed Terri, his former profiler, and he was still trying to get a feel for Reeves. She was sharp; he'd figured that out already – but he also got the uncomfortable feeling that she'd figured him out too. He was sure those green eyes didn't miss much.

At the moment, his team didn't have an assignment of its own; instead they were assisting with several investigations being run by the other agents in the office. Most of the cases that Don reserved for those other agents fell into one of three categories – one, they were not true cases but simple requests for information or initial probes, two, they were long-term grind-through-the-paperwork exercises like investigations for tax fraud, or thirdly, they were cases that were being run by another agency, like the DEA, and Don was loaning out an agent to help. He reserved the tougher, higher profile cases for his own team, but at the moment, there were none. It was a slow period, and during those times, Don usually held a two or three-hour meeting in the morning with his team to go over all of the activities being pursued by the other agents, to see if they could make suggestions or otherwise help move things along. He wasn't crazy about that part of the job, but took it seriously, just like he did any other aspect of his assignment. David was a trooper; he participated in the sometimes mind-numbing reviews without complaint, and so did the other two, for that matter, although reviewing progress reports was not really what they had hired Megan for, and Don knew the meetings drove Colby crazy – the young agent preferred action to paperwork. They hadn't even started yet that morning, and Colby was already restlessly shifting his muscular frame in his chair, and running a hand through his sandy hair. Megan had picked up on it; she was watching Colby fidget with an amused smile. It had only been a couple of working days since they had closed their last case, and they were all ready for the next one.

It came sooner than Don thought. A few minutes into the review, the conference room phone rang, and Don picked up the receiver.

"Don." His boss, Assistant Director Merrick, was on the line. "I tried your desk phone and it transferred to Marcy. She said you were in the conference room with your team. I'd like you all to come upstairs to my office."

"Sure," murmured Don. "What's this about?"

"I have some gentlemen here from the football commissioner's office. They have a need for a discreet investigation. Please limit this to your immediate team – we'll fill you in when you get up here."

"Be right up." Don hung up the phone, and looked at his team. "We need to go up to A.D. Merrick's office. It looks like we have ourselves a case."

Colby shot to his feet, eagerly. "Okay."

Don caught Megan's amused glance and looked blandly at his junior agent, and decided to bait him a little. Instead of rising, he leaned back in his chair. "Colby, would you rather stay here and start on the case reviews?"

"Nope, let's go," said Colby emphatically and just a little too quickly, and the rest of them snorted with laughter.

...

Larry Fleinhardt leaned back in his chair and watched his friend and colleague's frantic scribbles with a perplexed expression. The soft morning light outside didn't stream directly through the windows of Charlie's Cal Sci campus office; the sun was currently on the other side of the building and the office lights were off, so the room wasn't as bright as it could be, but Charlie seemed oblivious to the relative dimness. He gyrated between frenetic jabs with the chalk on his chalkboard and quick scribbles in a notebook on his desk. "Charles," Larry said, "where is the proverbial fire?"

"Wait," said Charlie. "Just wait."

Larry sighed, but waited patiently, eyes narrowed as he tried to follow the progression of equations streaming from his friend's hand. They had known each other for several years; from the day that Charlie had entered Princeton at the ripe age of 13, a young prodigy ready to pursue his first degree in mathematics, and Larry, his teacher, had taken him under his wing. He had become a mentor to the boy, who was socially rather backward despite his brilliance – and they had been friends ever since. Charlie was more than a friend, really, he was a now a colleague, who in spite of his youth – and because of his brilliance – had become a tenured professor of mathematics at Cal Sci, where Larry currently taught physics, and so technically was now a fellow professor, no longer a protégé. That didn't mean that Charlie still didn't seek advice from time to time, nor did it mean that Larry didn't offer it. He suspected now that his role as a sounding-board might be taken advantage of once again; Charlie had been preoccupied and moody since last week, and had thrown himself completely into his current mathematical analysis. A retreat into a mathematical problem for Charlie could mean anything, however, Larry reminded himself. It could mean that Charlie was stressed over something and looking for escape; or it could simply mean he'd had another flash of insight and was eager to capture it on paper. Or both.

At length Charlie took a deep breath and stood back, examining what was on the chalkboard, and then, satisfied, turned and jotted down a few final notes. He wiped his brow and sat down with a sigh across the desk. "I'm really behind," he admitted. "I worked that case for Don the last couple of weeks, I've got tests to prepare and papers to grade, and I've got a presentation to get ready for the grant commission's visit next week." His shoulders slumped and his gaze wandered away, out the window.

Larry studied him for a moment; his friend was young, to be sure, but he looked younger than his years that morning, his slight form clad in jeans and a T-shirt, with a tweed jacket thrown over the outfit in an effort to dress it up. Charlie, with his dark curly hair worn a little on the long side and his boyish features, looked younger than some of his graduate students; in fact, he was younger than some of his graduate students. The pensive uncertain look on his face only exaggerated that impression, and Larry was more certain than ever that something was on his friend's mind. "Do you care to expound?"

Charlie looked at him. "Expound on what?" he asked, trying to sound clueless, and failing utterly. Charlie was a horrible liar. He took in the knowing look on Larry's face and capitulated without much of a fight. "Aw, it was just that case last week… Don and I had a little disagreement."

Larry tented his fingers and pursed his lips. "Apparently more than little – you've been brooding since it happened."

Charlie made a face, but he didn't argue. "Yeah, well, I guess it might have seemed worse than it was." He reddened slightly. "We kind of had a – shouting match – in front of a bunch of Don's agents."

"Charles, it is his team. He calls the shots – he's responsible. If he disagrees with you, you have to acquiesce."

"I know," sighed Charlie, with resignation. "I know that – it just – he was ignoring some plain facts. How can you argue with data?"

"Did he end up making the right call?"

"Yes," muttered Charlie, a bit grudgingly. "But in my defense, he didn't make his game plan clear to me."

"He doesn't have to answer to you, Charles, as much as you want to feel involved," chided Larry gently.

"I know that, too."

"Then what is the issue? Is he still angry?"

Charlie paused and thought about that. "That's the thing. I'm not sure. He came over for the game yesterday, and he seemed fine – but he's so doggone hard to read. He can be so – distant – laid back – cool," he stopped and gestured, looking for another word, and gave up and went on, "you'd never know what he was really thinking."

Larry cocked his head. "And you are afraid that what he really is thinking is…." He paused, waiting for Charlie to complete the sentence.

"I don't know," said Charlie a bit crossly. "But my temporary contract to consult expires in a couple of weeks, and he hasn't said anything about renewing it." His voice dropped. "I'm afraid he's thinking he might not ask me back, after that."

Larry raised his eyebrows. "Well, you do have a lot to do here, you said so yourself. And you seemed perfectly happy in your work before he started asking you to consult. In fact, you've complained more than once about being stretched too thin when you were working some of his cases. This might be a good opportunity to get back to normal."

"Yeah," said Charlie, without enthusiasm.

"You don't sound convinced."

"It's just - ," Charlie paused, sounding wistful. "We've never really gotten along well. When we were younger I just figured it was the five-year age difference, but now – I thought that working together – well, it was a chance to change that. And if we are going to quit working together, for it to end this way, with an argument..."

"You're afraid it will set you back, on a personal level."

Charlie nodded, dejectedly. "Yes. Although it's hard to get set back when you don't even know where you stand to begin with. But, yes."

"I highly doubt either of you would allow that to happen," said Larry firmly. "And you don't even know the outcome of this yet, so you have no reason to stew over it."

Charlie sighed. "You're right." His face brightened, and Larry felt a warm sense of satisfaction. He'd offered some good advice, managed to bolster his friend's mood... he stopped congratulating himself as he saw Charlie's eyes track over his head, and heard a cheerful female voice behind him.

"Hi Charlie," chirped Amita Ramanujan, and Larry sighed. "Hi, Larry." Amita was the reason Charlie had perked up, not because of the profoundness of his advice. Larry had no doubt that the pretty young graduate student and Charlie were becoming good friends – although as professor and student, being friends was all that was allowed, by school policy. Sometimes Larry wondered, though, if there was something more there…

"Hi Amita," Charlie said, flashing a grin. "How's the combinatorics queen?"

She flushed prettily, smiling. "Good, thanks." Her eyes tracked toward the chalk board, with interest. "What are you working on?"

"I'm glad you asked," Charlie said, rising and indicating the board with a flourish. "You know the data synthesis project that we're proposing to the grant commission next week? " Amita stepped forward, eyes bright with interest, and Larry rose quietly and made for the door, completely unnoticed by the other two, who were already immersed in Charlie's analysis.

"Ah, the thankless life of a mentor," Larry sighed and shook his head, as he stepped out into the hallway.

...

Don stepped into A.D. Merrick's office followed by his team members, who slipped in behind him and shut the door. Two men in suits rose from the chairs in front of Merrick's desk, and Don extended a hand. "Don Eppes," he said simply as they shook, and Merrick qualified the introduction.

"Don is SAC of the L.A. office," said Merrick, "and these are members of his team – Agents Sinclair, Granger, and Reeves."

One of the men nodded. "Mike Pierce; and this is Corey Reardon. We're from the NFL Commissioner's office. " He indicated a chair near him in front of Merrick's desk, and Don sat. Pierce and Reardon took chairs on either side of him, and Megan, David and Colby clustered around a side table with two chairs, Colby leaning on the edge of the table. The two men looked uncomfortable and stiff, and Don raised his eyebrows and looked at Merrick, who gave a nearly imperceptible shrug.

The one named Pierce cleared his throat. "This is a very sensitive matter. We need to have your assurances that you will keep this investigation confidential and not speak to the press until the commissioner gives permission to do so."

Don looked at Merrick, who shook his head and sighed. "I've already told you, gentlemen, that this team will be discreet. You are dealing with the FBI – and one of the top offices in the country, at that."

Pierce nodded, and waved a hand. "I know." He looked at Don. "Of course, you will see the need to keep this from the press, but the investigation will be completely transparent to the subjects. I realize that is a little bit of a twist on your usual method of operating."

The man's overly circuitous route to the point was starting to irritate Don, and he leaned back in his chair and said coolly, "Not necessarily. How about we start with what you want investigated?" He looked at Reardon, encouragingly, but Reardon hadn't said a word yet, and apparently wasn't about to start.

"Yes, well," sighed Pierce, with a pained expression. "We need you to investigate the L.A. Warriors. Specifically, we suspect members of the team are using banned substances. It would be similar to the Bureau's recent investigation of certain major league baseball players."

Don stared at him and thought of Charlie; and his statements about the Warriors the day before. 'They shouldn't be here… a statistical anomaly….' Aloud, he said, "They've been tested, right? Isn't that routine?"

"Yes," said Pierce, "and the tests have all come back negative. However, there are signs that members of the team could be using steroids. Aggressive behavior, weight gain – excessive muscle mass generated in a relatively short period of time –,"

"They are football players," interjected Colby. "They weight train, and they're paid to be aggressive." Skepticism was plain on his face.

"Yes," said Pierce. "It is possible – especially in light of the clean tests – that they are legitimately performing at that level. To have so many record-holders on a given team, however – superstars who suddenly came out of relative obscurity – well, there are a lot of rumors swirling and we need to look into it, but that is precisely why we need to keep this low-profile. We don't want to falsely accuse innocent men, and taint the reputation of the league if there is no reason to. We have spoken to the team owner and manager, and they have promised that the team will give us their full cooperation."

Colby couldn't help himself. "By that you mean they're going to hand over their 'roids if we ask them nicely." He delivered that with as straight a face as he could.

Pierce looked at him as if suddenly discovering something foul in his coffee mug. "If you are insinuating that the subjects of the investigation would know they are being investigated, then, yes. There's really no way around that. These things have a way of surfacing once you start digging into their acquaintances and activities outside of the game. It makes no sense to try to hide the investigation from them." He sniffed and turned to Don. "We would have oversight as to how the investigative findings would be used, of course."

Don raised his eyebrows. "Of course. You have contacts for us?"

Pierce nodded. "Yes, and some other information, including a complete list of players and staff." He tapped a thick file on A.D. Merrick's desk. "It's all in here. There is also a need for expediency – playoffs are about to start and we are just weeks away from the Superbowl. If there are players who should be disqualified and suspended – well, it would be best to find out as early as possible, before the big game is played. It wouldn't be good for the sport to have to vacate a Superbowl win."

Don nodded. "We understand."

Pierce and Reardon rose from their chairs, as a unit. "Very well, then," said Pierce. "We appreciate you taking the case, and we'll be in touch." Reardon nodded – looked about to finally say something, and then thought better of it, and followed Pierce out of the room.

Megan watched Reardon go. "I thought he'd never shut up."

Colby snorted a laugh, and Merrick looked at him disapprovingly. "I could say the same for you, Granger. You appear to have a soft spot in your heart for football players. Is there a reason I should pull you from this case?"

Colby reddened, and looked at Don, then back at Merrick. "No, sir," he muttered, chastened. "Not at all."

"Good," said Merrick. He looked at Don, who had risen and picked up the file. "You all know the need to be discreet – if you need a conference room where you can meet in confidence you can come up here and use mine. Agent Eppes – anything else?"

"Yeah," said Don. "I'd like to include one more team member – I'd like to call my brother in on this one."

Merrick nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I was going to suggest that, myself. We should probably have brought that up while they were here. Let me clear it with Pierce, first."

Don nodded and filed out of the room after his team. It was an obvious move, really, to call in Charlie – he'd already pegged some of the players' performances as statistically significant and could probably tell them which ones to consider first. Why then, was Don so reluctant to do it? He'd gone back and forth on the idea the whole time Pierce was talking and finally, half-heartedly, had made his request to add Charlie at the very end of the meeting – after Pierce, the man who had to approve it, was already gone. It was almost as if he was wishing Pierce would say no – and by not asking him face-to -face, he was making it easier for Pierce to do just that when Merrick made the request. Don looked at the back of Megan's head as he walked down the hall, and wondered what the profiler would have to say about that one.

...

End, Chapter 2