Hey guys! I finally figured out where this story is going. No more abstract touchy-feely scenes... I promise.
As always, enjoy.
8. False Sense of Security
"Men are so simple and yield so readily to the desires of the moment that he who will trick will always find another who will suffer to be tricked." – Niccolo Machiavelli
Due to the heavily 'decorated' state of the conference room and Charlie's insistence that the janitors leave the equation alone, the war room had been moved to a different conference room, and yet everyone seemed to be settling in quite well. Don sat slumped in an office chair, his injured leg propped up on the table, reclining with his fingers laced behind his head. Against the wall leant Megan, arms crossed. Both of them were staring with unbridled confusion and curiosity at the incredibly lifelike and detailed pair of zebras that the LCD was dutifully displaying.
"This," said Don, "had better be good."
Charlie nodded. "Oh, it is. You guys are always asking for analogies, so I thought some visual aid was in order."
Don shrugged. "Fair enough. What have you got?"
"Well," started Charlie, slipping easily into his element, "I recycled an old equation on herd analysis and behavioral patterning to try to determine a connection between our guy and any of your previous cases, and boy, did I find one. The data corresponded directly with—"
"The Russian mob," finished Don in a displeased tone, tapping the desk nervously with his knuckles. "We know that."
"Exactly," Charlie commended him. "And this is especially good for us, because now we can apply their known pattern of behavior to previous events to determine future ones."
Megan's eyebrows went up. "Okay, tell us about the zebras."
"Well, if we take these two zebras and overlap them—" he hit a button on the remote in his hand, causing one zebra to transpose itself onto the other, "—we can observe the similarities between their stripe patterns, which might lead us to conclude that they are from the same family and, most likely, the same herd. By figuring this out, we can, for example, use recorded migratory routes to predict where these two might be at any given time of the year, because those are governed by the herd, not the individual."
"Okay, sure," agreed Don. "The Russians do things a certain way. What does that give us?"
"Do you remember the backscatter case?"
Don waved towards a file on the desk in front of him. "Yeah, Charlie, I just re-read the file."
"The key to that case was distraction tactics. The Russians used the threats—" he clicked up a picture of the translated text message, "—and the attacks—" he gestured to Don, "—to distract us from the real target, which was the bank. Based on the parallels I observed between that case and this one, we can safely assume…"
"You're not their real target," finished Megan, realization dawning in her eyes.
Don seemed skeptical. "Well, all right, then what is?"
Holding up his hands, Charlie attempted to stem the flow of intellectual bullets, ready to poke a billion holes in his theory. "Relax," he said. "I already ran a target selection algorithm to predict the next attack. David said that two capacitors had been taken from the factory, so I weighted the values to pick out locations attractive to that mode of attack: high population areas with plumbing work scheduled where you—" he pointed to Don, "—are most likely to be this afternoon."
"Right, they would want to keep up the ruse that they're targeting us," Don confirmed. "What did you come up with?"
"Lincoln Park," Charlie replied, and a picture of a fountain-adorned courtyard appeared on the screen. "It's got lots of traffic, the fountain is scheduled to be serviced this week, AND—" he approached the screen and pointed out a sign laden with foreign characters, "—it has your favorite Chinese take-out place right across the way."
Don was nodding approvingly, his eyes scanning the image intensely. "Sounds good," he said. "We're going to need to evacuate the area. Do you know when this is gonna go down?"
Charlie rubbed his chin. "Based on my accident frequency calculations… probably around four o'clock."
"All right, good." Looking down at his watch, Don frowned. "That gives us about two hours. Megan, call local PD and have them block off all roads leading to that location. I'm going to go help handle evacuation; I'll get Colby and David to meet me there."
Gathering his crutches, he made for the door, and Charlie made to follow. Don turned and shot him a look.
"You're staying here," he ordered. "If this really is the mob, you are not getting involved."
"But—" Charlie started to protest.
"No," Don interrupted. "Charlie, you were almost shot less than twelve hours ago. You need to take a break, buddy."
"Look who's talking," said Charlie, his mind riled up for debate. "You were shot less than twelve hours ago. You shouldn't even be out of the hospital yet, let alone in the field. You haven't slept in a day and a half. At this point, I feel I'm more qualified to be out there, risking my ass."
"I don't have time for this, Charlie. I need to know you're safe, and that means you stay here."
Not eliciting an immediate response, he turned to the agents that had been posted outside the door.
"No one comes through this door until I get back. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," came the brisk reply.
The door swung shut behind him, and Charlie slumped back into a chair, watching with quiet anxiety as Don limped away and disappeared behind cold elevator doors.
