Chapter 3

Charlie looked into the eyes of Robert Tompkins, Assistant Director of the NSA, seated across from him. 'Director,' Charlie corrected himself. Tompkins had been the recipient of a promotion since Charlie had last worked for him. The two NSA agents sat on either side of Charlie, and two more flanked Tompkins. Tompkins' presence was disconcerting; the limousine ride seemed a little cloak-and-dagger, and Charlie's heart was beating just a trifle fast. Before last year's black tie reception, Millie had joked about Charlie assuming his James Bond persona, along with his tux, and Charlie smiled inwardly at the thought, wondering what she would think if she saw him now. "Director," he said, hoping he sounded calm. "What can I do for you?"

Tompkins smiled, but his eyes looked tired. "Professor Eppes. I was hoping you'd ask that. We do need your help." His eyes searched the face in front of him. "Actually, I was hoping I wouldn't have to ask. I heard about your – illness – and I really didn't want to come to you with anything so soon. Unfortunately, we have no choice."

Charlie could feel a knot of tension starting in his stomach. "No choice?"

Tompkins looked down at his hands, then up at Charlie. "We have some information – in code – and we need the code broken. Our experts tell us it's very high level, very sophisticated. We had given it to another person, a mathematician, who, like yourself, excels at code. Regrettably, he passed away yesterday, without making much progress. You may have known him – Harold Staunton."

Charlie's heart took an uncomfortable dip. "Yes, I heard. It was a heart attack?"

"We performed a quiet, but very thorough autopsy. It did actually appear to be bona fide heart failure."

Charlie glanced a bit apprehensively at him. "Appeared," he repeated.

Tompkins leaned forward. "Whatever this is, this information, we think it's something extremely important. We could find no evidence that Dr. Staunton's death was anything other than by natural cause, but we cannot be too careful. If you decide to take this case, as a precaution, I intend to assign these four gentlemen to your security detail. Two of them will cover your daytime movements, and two of them will be assigned to your house at night."

His expression intensified, and his voice softened. "The coded information was recovered from a double agent within the NSA. The agent is being held on treason charges. We have no reason to think anyone else in our agency is involved, but to be sure, I wanted to deliver this to you myself. The men seated around you have been with the agency for years. I'm not trying to scare you, Dr. Eppes; on the contrary, I want you to feel secure." His eyes bored into Charlie's. "We need you to take this case."

The knot tightened in Charlie's stomach, but he spoke steadily. "Of course. Is there a deadline?"

"As soon as possible," replied Tompkins, quietly.

Charlie thought of Millie's reception, and Don's case, and felt suddenly a bit overwhelmed, but he fought it down, and nodded. Tompkins proceeded to introduce the other men. Charlie filed the names away in his head – Dan Caldwell was the man who looked like Don, the big man with him was Joe Sithman… his thoughts were interrupted as Dan pulled out a soft-sided black computer case, much like Charlie's own, only thicker, and handed it to him.

Tompkins spoke. "This case contains a laptop with the information loaded on it. There is some equipment in the case for destroying the hard drive and any jump drives if you feel you are about to be compromised." Charlie swallowed. He was feeling more and more like James Bond, and had decided he liked it less and less.

Tompkins continued. "We will show you how to use the equipment – it's very simple. There is an extra compartment in the briefcase for another laptop – your own – so you do not need to carry two cases."

He handed Charlie a small black cell phone. "You can use this phone to contact me personally. The signal is encrypted, so it is impervious to listening devices. It is imperative that no one know you are working on this. Even if any of your family or coworkers had the appropriate clearances, which they don't, I would ask you not to involve them."

Although Tompkins didn't say it, Charlie knew that his last comment was directed toward Don. He nodded. "My father will be gone for most of the weekend," he said, with a glance at the agents. "I should be able to work uninterrupted."

Tompkins gave a brief nod in return, and continued. "You will communicate any findings directly to me and to me only." Charlie listened to the instructions, including the instructions for the destruction of the hard drive, his thoughts whirling. The vehicle stopped, and he realized with a start he was back at the medical offices.

"When you get into your car, wait a minute or two to let Joe and Dan get situated so they can follow," said Tompkins. He held out his hand and looked at Charlie intently. "Thank you, Dr. Eppes. I'm indebted to you."

Charlie took Tompkins' hand and spoke with a calmness he didn't feel. "My pleasure, Director."

Tompkins smiled. "It's still Bob, to you."

Charlie smiled back. "Then stop calling me 'Dr. Eppes.'"

Tompkins grinned, and for the first time, the worry dropped from his face. "Take care, Charlie. If you need anything, the first number on the phone is me. The next four are your security detail. Good luck. Keep me posted."

Charlie nodded, and climbed from the limo. He headed straight for his blue Prius, clutching the briefcase. He waited two minutes, three, four, then started the car. As he backed out of the parking spot, he saw a black Acadia pull out from the curb, and fall in behind him. James Bond, indeed. He was fairly certain that James Bond wouldn't be caught dead in a Prius; and he certainly wouldn't feel the anxiety that Charlie was feeling now. It reminded him uncomfortably of how he felt after Los Padres, and he straightened himself and set his shoulders firmly, willing the uneasiness back down.

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Don parked in the street in front of Charlie's house, scowling at Amita's car in the driveway. He paused for a moment, looking at the pile of files in the seat next to him. He had his team gather the additional information that Charlie had requested that morning in his phone message, but he still had half a mind to pull his brother off the case. He sighed and rubbed his face in exasperation.

He had to admit, he was actually looking forward to coming over to Charlie's for the first time in a long time, and he knew it was because he had nothing to lose. He wouldn't have to worry about dodging hints and requests to help, because Charlie was already assigned to the case. He could actually sit down and a have a conversation this evening, because he wouldn't feel the need to avoid his brother, and he had been anticipating it. He looked sourly again at Amita's car. Not that he would get the chance for that, with her here. He sighed, picked up the files with resignation, and opened the car door.

The front door was unlocked and he poked his head in; then followed it with the rest of his body. He frowned at the suitcase sitting on the floor, just as Alan came down the stairs with a smaller bag. "Hey, Donnie," said his father, cheerfully.

"Hey, Dad. Going somewhere?"

"I thought I told you. Stan and I are going to an architecture show in Phoenix this weekend." He eyed the folders in Don's arms. "Charlie told me he was working on a case for you. Seemed pretty excited about it. If those are for him, he's in the garage."

Don's eyes flickered toward the kitchen, and he made a face. "What's she doing here?"

Alan set the bag down and turned, his eyebrows raised. "Amita? She came in with an armload of files, much like you. Said something about Charlie missing his one o'clock meeting, and she had some changes from Millie." His face softened with a smile. "It was good to see her again."

He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If you ask me, they're acting like an item again."

"Great," muttered Don.

Alan frowned. "You don't seem pleased."

"Dad, he doesn't need this right now."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't need what? A girlfriend? A social life? I wasn't aware that you'd become his social director."

Don scowled. "He doesn't need a relationship with Miss I-Can't-Make-Up-My-Mind. He's just getting back on his feet."

Alan shot him a slightly sarcastic look, but softened it with a smile. "The last time I checked, he seemed like he was pretty steady on his feet to me." He turned toward the kitchen and said archly, "Of course, it's been awhile since you spent any time over here, maybe you weren't aware."

Don rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe he deserved that, but it didn't change his mind. He shifted the pile of files in his arms – darned things were getting heavy – and headed for the garage.

He pushed the door open without ceremony, and strode in, as if he were delivering a challenge instead of an armload of files. Charlie and Amita jumped and moved away from each other guiltily as the door swung open. Amita recovered first and sent him a smile. "Oh, hi, Don."

"Amita," he returned gruffly, purposely keeping the greeting short. He glowered at Charlie. "I got the data you wanted."

Charlie looked at the pile with a sinking heart. It was nearly as big as the one Amita had just delivered. He had been thinking of actually calling his brother and asking to be taken off the case, but from the look on his brother's face, that might not be an option. "Oh, uh, okay," he stammered. "Put them on the table. I'll look at them as soon as I can."

Don set them down with a thud next to another large pile of files, and leaned against the table, waiting. They looked back at him, and the silence grew suddenly awkward.

"Well, uh, okay then," said Amita, turning to Charlie. "You look really busy; I should get out of here. I'll see you Monday." Charlie murmured a goodbye, and she hurried past Don with an uncertain glance. "Bye."

The door closed behind her, and Charlie looked at Don, a mixture of bewilderment and irritation on his face. "Bad day at the office?"

"My day was just fine," growled Don. "You really think that's a smart idea?"

"What?" asked Charlie defensively, his irritation growing. Whatever his brother was getting at, he really didn't need it right now. The assignment from Tompkins was weighing on his mind, and not being able to start on it was making him crawl inwardly with impatience.

"Her."

Charlie had turned away to the chalkboard, and swung back around, his face a mixture of anger and confusion. "What about her? And why do you care?"

Don's scowled deepened. "After what you just went through, do you really think you should be diving into a relationship with someone who likes to use you as a doormat?"

The fact that his brother was probably right did nothing to lessen Charlie's anger. He snapped. "First of all, our relationship is none of your business. Secondly, why are you suddenly concerned about it? You haven't even been around the last few months, and now you want to lecture me on my love life? I'm doing just fine, thank you." He turned back around to the board, and began to write furiously. "I'm really busy right now, so if you don't mind…"

Don stared back, momentarily disconcerted by the shot his brother had delivered, frustration rising in him. He really couldn't argue with him, and the feeling of guilt made him even angrier. "Whatever, fine." So much for a conversation. He turned and stomped toward the door, snapping, "Let me know when you've got something."

He slammed the door on his way out, and Charlie turned his head. His shoulders slumped in defeat for just a moment; then he shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair, and headed for his computer. He pulled up a chair; and with a sidelong glance at the door, opened the laptop and pulled up the files that Tompkins had given him. Moments later, he was immersed in the data, the fight with his brother an uneasy memory in the back of his mind.

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Don lay on his back staring at the ceiling, as Liz traced a light pattern on his bare chest with a forefinger, her head propped on her hand. He had purposely left the weekend open to do something with Charlie, but after their argument, he had spent Friday night with the better part of a twelve-pack, and Saturday night with Liz. Through it all, he brooded. He imagined that he was not the best company, and wondered if Liz had noticed. Hell, who was he fooling? Even the twelve-pack had to notice.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Liz spoke, "Penny for your thoughts."

He forced a smile, which took on genuineness as he caught her eyes. "What thoughts? You think I have any brains left, after that?"

She smiled back. "You seem a little preoccupied."

He sighed and looked back at the ceiling. "Oh, Charlie's just got me a little worried, that's all."

Liz fought down a small twinge of jealousy. Since Los Padres, Charlie always had him worried. Her voice light, she asked innocently, "What about?"

"I don't know, I just think he's biting off more than he can chew right now. I mean, he seems fine, it's more of a feeling than anything else…"

"I'm sure he is fine," said Liz smoothly. She smiled mischievously. "I know a way to take your mind off of it." She leaned forward and kissed him, a slow lingering kiss that ended in a tantalizing light brush of the lips.

She was right; it did take his mind off of it, for a while. But later that night after the lights were out, the feeling was back, and Don found himself again staring at the ceiling. He decided on the spot that he would head over to Charlie's tomorrow, argument or not; he would eat crow if he had to. Something was not right. He couldn't place it, but he could feel it. Something was just not right…

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End Chapter 3