Perception Deception

A tale composed by the Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: Please refer to Chapter One


Chapter 28: Trust Issues

Robin Brooks glanced at the phone in her office, and her forehead puckered slightly as she read the display. A.D. Wright – why would he be calling her at a little after three in the afternoon – and at her office, no less? She took a breath and picked up the phone. "Phillip. What a nice surprise."

Wright's voice sounded tight. "Robin. I have a matter that I need to discuss with you. Is your phone secure?"

She lowered her voice. "Yes. Your man came this morning as usual and swept my entire office. I've been in it since he left. What's up?"

"I just got a phone call from Amita. Charlie confirmed it – Mark Vincent's accounts are the ones that have been receiving fund transfers from Illusion, Corp., and those accounts have been regularly sending deposits to an offshore account, also in Vincent's name. It's the link we've been looking for. It's time to reel this in – take Tuttle and the Montagues into custody while we work out the details. I'm having warrants drawn up now. Is Audrey Montague in the office today?"

"I think so. I saw her by the coffee machine when I came in – I imagine she's still here."

"Okay, look, do us a favor and check to be sure, and if she is, keep an eye on her. Call me if she leaves her office. It'll take a little while to get the warrants – especially the papers for the Montagues. We'll need to go through a federal judge, and he's going to want a good explanation before he issues warrants for the Regional Director of the FBI and a prosecutor at the DOJ. I know it's getting toward the end of the day – do you know when she usually leaves?"

"Ordinarily, she works late when she's working a case, and I think she has one now. Look, Phillip, I'm running some checks on birth records for Audrey. I pulled up her marriage certificate from the Clerk of Courts – she and Jim Montague were married right here in L.A. Her maiden name isn't listed as Vincent, it's Paris, but it doesn't mean she isn't related to Mark. I'm still checking."

"That's good. If you get something, call my cell phone – that would be a good piece of information to have when we go to the judge for the warrants."

"All right. I'll go check on her now. I'll call you right back if she's not still here." Robin set the phone down with a click, a little jolt of excitement running through her. She always got that feeling when a case was coming together, and it was magnified by the fact that this particular case just happened to involve her significant other. She smiled, and opened her desk drawer for a brief glimpse of Don's picture, tucked out of sight, but always right there. She didn't like to advertise the fact that they were dating – sometimes they had to work together. There were those in her office who knew, including her own superiors, but she figured for the rest of her co-workers, her private life was on a need-to-know basis, and they didn't need to know. It wasn't as if she and Don were married, after all…

Don's dark eyes looked out of the picture at her, smiling, crinkling at the corners in a way that always set her heart singing, and she firmly shut the drawer and stood. Time to check on Audrey Montague, and put her, her husband, and Tuttle away for good. Time to bring her man home, where he belonged, so she could look into those warm dark eyes in person. She had a slight smile on her face as she strode down the hallway, toward Audrey Montague's office.


"Remember that check you asked me to do?" said Nardek over his shoulder, frowning at his computer. "The check on who was pinging Audrey's records?"

Tuttle's cell phone vibrated and he reach for it. "Oh yes, that. Whining bitch wouldn't let it alone – I told her it was probably nothing."

"Yeah, well, she may have been right. The search was initiated right out of the DOJ. I just got an email from a contact who can get past the firewall. He looked it up for me – the hits were coming from Robin Brooks' computer."

Tuttle had flipped his phone open, and was about to speak into it when he stopped himself. "Hold on," he said, into the receiver. He stared Nardek. "How sure is he?"

"Oh, he's sure. It's her all right."

"Damn," Tuttle swore softly. He spoke into the phone. "Yeah, Jackie, I'm here." There was a brief pause, and Nardek watched as an elated smile came over Tuttle's face. "Good. You're taking him to Mace? Tell Mace his first priority is to get the professor to tell us how much he knows, and more importantly, how much the law knows. Did you get his computer?" Tuttle's face fell, and he glanced at Nardek and shook his head. "Never mind – he'll talk – the little bastard. Make him tell you. That's the first priority – the second is to get him to tell you where his brother is. Okay. Have Mace call me as soon as he gets anything."

He disconnected. "Our men have Charlie Eppes. They haven't found Don yet, but they can get his whereabouts from the professor." He stood still for a moment, thinking, and Nardek could almost see the tension radiating from his body in waves. "This is too close," said Tuttle. "Too close. Don Eppes must have Robin Brooks working the case from this end – makes sense now that I think about it – he'd want a contact back here." He pursed his lips. "We have another one to take care of, that's all." He hit speed dial on his cell phone. "Audrey. Audrey, listen to me – you were right, babe, about the hits on your computer. It was Brooks – she's in on it." He glanced at Nardek, stepped out of the computer room into the hallway, and Ralph Nardek could hear no more.


Don Eppes glanced sideways down the alley as he passed it, but not quickly enough. He caught a glimpse of movement, then a powerful arm grabbed the back of his collar, and suddenly he was being yanked off the street into the alley. He struggled, but his assailant had the advantage and his struggles only caused him to lose his feet, and he was dragged bodily into the alley out of sight. He reached over his head and grasped at the man's arm, wishing mightily that he had his service weapon on him, but as part of the kitchen staff of the diner where he worked, he wore nothing but T-shirts and jeans, and there was nowhere to hide a piece. He had it stashed his gun at the warehouse, out of sight – a fat lot of good it was doing him now. The man stopped dragging him, and Don managed to scissor his feet underneath him and use his crossed legs to twist his body – hard. It worked; the man lost his grip, and Don landed solidly on his side with a grunt of pain. He ignored it, immediately scrambling to his feet to face his attacker, and got a good look.

"Sorry, Don," said Colby, managing to look both wary and apologetic. "I needed to get you off the street. The guys who are looking for you are in the neighborhood."

Don gaped at him, temporarily rendered speechless, then scowled and glanced over his shoulder, checking the street; or what he could see of it from the alley. His first reaction was relief – it felt good to see the face of a friend, but he squelched the feeling immediately. He still didn't know who was friend and who was foe – and the fact that Colby Granger was here, in Chicago, was innately suspicious. Not to mention that Colby had already given Don cause to have trust issues, when it came to the junior agent. Colby's little stint as a double agent had taken care of that. "How did you find us?"

Colby shrugged, his eyes on Don, studying him. "It wasn't too hard. Amita gave us Charlie's prepaid cell phone number."

Don's heart dropped. He couldn't imagine Amita giving them up, unless it was under duress – and Colby had said 'us.' Who was he working for? Sudden fury surged through Don and he lunged forward and grabbed Colby's shirt at the neck. "What did you do to her? Who's 'us'?"

It was Colby's turn to gape at him, and he involuntarily stepped back, trying to loosen the grip at his neck. "Nothing – 'us' is me and Wright – that's it – no one else. When you and Charlie disappeared, our team picked up the case, but Montague made us drop it. Wright and I have been working it ourselves, under the radar. Wright's okay, Don, honest, and we didn't do anything to Amita – you can call her right now, if you want to check."

His hands were up, his expression earnest, and Don reluctantly released his grip, but his eyes were still wary. "Why did she tell you? Why are you here?"

"Wright talked her into it," said Colby, swallowing and adjusting his collar. "He wanted me out here to help."

Don's face darkened like a thundercloud. "Let me get this straight. You mean she voluntarily told you, after Charlie specifically asked her not to?"

Colby looked uncomfortable, and he shot a nervous glance toward the street that made Don look over his shoulder again. He wanted to trust Colby, but they had to be careful – and Colby had lied to him before....

Colby shook his head and spoke urgently. "Look, Don, we can talk about all that later – we have an issue to deal with here. They have Charlie."

Don felt the blood drain from his face. "Who? What – who has Charlie?"

Colby had a look of true concern in his eyes – either he was telling the truth, or he was one hell of an actor. "When I got here, I saw two cars parked outside the warehouse, and neither one of them was a Crown Vic. I wasn't sure if you'd ditched it for another vehicle, and if so, who the other car might belong to. I sat for a few minutes and just watched – if you were meeting with someone I didn't want to mess anything up. I was parked about a block away, and I had just decided to go check things out when two men came out of the warehouse with Charlie – they forced him into one of the vehicles – a dark green 300M. I was too far away to get to them in time on foot, and just then I saw you coming – wait, Don, wait a minute, hold up! Where are you going?"

"To find Charlie." Don had turned away, and was starting to head down the alley, his heart pounding in his chest. The fear was so overwhelming, he could scarcely think straight. They had Charlie, they had Charlie…

Colby's hand was on his arm now, pulling at him, turning him around. "Wait, Don. I thought this over. There are still at least a couple of guys in that warehouse, obviously waiting for you. We only have one way to find Charlie – we need to wait them out, and when they leave, follow them – they should take us to where he is."

Don shook his vehemently. "No way. We're going in there and making them talk."

Colby shook his head. "You need to think this through. As long as you're out on the street, there's a chance they'll keep him alive – use him to get to you. We don't know how many are in there. If you went in there and got yourself killed or captured, they'd kill him for sure. And even if we overpowered them, what guarantee do we have that they'd talk, or that we'd even be able to take them alive? We need to wait."

Don's shoulders slumped. Colby was right – waiting and following the men was the best option, and the fact that he was taking this stand proved that he was probably on their side. If he weren't, he would have allowed Don to enter the warehouse; walk unsuspecting right into the hands of Tuttle's men. The thought of waiting, though, when Charlie was in danger, was unbearable. "I don't know if I can," he said quietly, but there was miserable acceptance in his voice, and he saw Colby relax a bit.

"I know," said Colby quietly. "I don't like it either, but it's our only choice. C'mon – we'll go sit in my car. They pulled their car around the corner. I need to move mine to a spot around the block, so we can see them when they leave."

Don swallowed and nodded, just once, and followed Colby out of the alley, his footsteps leaden, with a heart to match.


Audrey clutched the phone to her ear, her knuckles white. "I told you we should just pull the plug, and leave."

"Settle down," came Tuttle's voice. "We can handle this. I've had my contact checking – there is still no official investigation on this. We'll just need to take care of Brooks along with the Eppes boys, that's all. I need you to find a reason to keep her there late tonight. I'll send a couple of men over after hours and take care of it."

Audrey's voice was doubtful. "We'll need to get them in past security – everyone has to enter through the main lobby after hours, and there are security cameras everywhere."

Tuttle spoke impatiently. "We'll figure it out. Just relax – we've got the professor, and soon we'll have Don Eppes. By the end of tonight, this will be over. You just concentrate on keeping her there."

The line disconnected, and Audrey slowly set down her cell phone, just in time to see the object of their call, Robin Brooks, pass by the doorway of her office, with a brief glance through the window set into Audrey's office door. Brooks was headed toward the coffee area, and Audrey rose from her desk, grabbed her coffee mug, and followed her.

She strolled casually over to the coffee pot, yawning. "Hey, Robin. Wow, I need some java. This is going to be a long night. How about you – working late?"

Robin gave her a curious glance, and then her face turned expressionless as she dipped a tea bag into the hot water in her cup. "Yeah, I'm working late myself."

"I might order some Thai later," said Audrey. "Let me know if you want anything."

Robin smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Sure, Audrey, thanks, I will." She picked up her cup and walked back toward her office, and Audrey's gaze followed her until she was out of sight.


Charlie was unceremoniously shoved facedown into the floorboards in the backseat of the 300M, covered with a dark blanket, and held there by a foot on his neck and a pistol in his ribs for the duration of the ride. It was cramped and uncomfortable; he couldn't breathe, and the claustrophobia generated by the pressure on his neck, the blanket, and the rise of the floorboards pushing into his gut mingled with panic, to the point that he nearly hyperventilated. Finally, the car slowed and stopped, idling for a moment. Charlie, trying to modulate his breathing under the blanket, could hear the sound of a mechanical door rising, and then the car moved forward again and stopped. The engine shut off and car doors opened, and with a sinking heart, Charlie knew they had arrived at their destination.

The pressure on his neck eased, and then the blanket was whipped off and hands pulled on his arms bound behind him, making his shoulder joints protest. He was dragged out of the car and to his feet, and found himself facing one of the largest men he had ever seen. He was easily six-four, with a broad muscular frame, a shaved head, and sharp gray eyes.

He stepped forward, smiling, and gave Charlie a pat on the cheek, a condescending gesture. "Dr. Eppes," he said, waving his hand grandly at their surroundings. "Welcome."

Charlie followed his hand and caught a glimpse of a small plant, filled with vats and tubing – some kind of chemical manufacturing concern, from the looks of it. A nearby label on a crate read, 'Midwest Industrial Solvents,' and the name jogged Charlie's memory – the small company was a holding of Illusion, Corp's. The big man turned and walked toward the center of the plant, and the men named Lew and Fitz grabbed Charlie's arms and marched him forward, following the big man. "Where do you want him, Derek?" asked the man named Lew.

'Derek,' Charlie thought to himself, 'Derek.' He remembered the name from a previous case involving Tuttle; he was certain the big man was one of Tuttle's right hand men. That's right, Derek Mace…

The big man waved a hand. "Over here." He stopped near a table and chair, which sat near the center of the plant between a metal support beam for the plant roof and large oblong metal vat, one of several in the room. The vat was roughly rectangular with rounded corners, about three feet high and about eight feet long, and a large metal lid had been unlatched and lifted from it, and propped against the side. Charlie could see that it was lined with what looked like ceramic, and was filled with fluid. A reddish mist was rising from the liquid inside. Mace waved his hand again, languidly. "Do you know what that is, Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie looked at the liquid – highly corrosive acids gave off mist at certain temperatures and concentrations, he knew, and in that state they were said to be fuming. The container radiated coolness, and Charlie could see the condensing equipment attached to the vat – part of the system that normally kept it refrigerated; in fact, he could hear the hum of the compressor now, trying to keep the liquid cold now that the lid was off. The fumes were reddish-brown, and he thought for a moment, trying to remember his chemistry. He knew the fact that the acid was fuming meant it was highly concentrated, but he didn't bother to relay that – Mace knew that as well as he did. "Nitric acid."

Derek Mace smiled again, broadly. "Very good, professor. And do you know what would happen to someone who was immersed in highly concentrated nitric acid?"

Charlie looked back at the vat, and his throat seized.

"Exactly," purred Mace. He pointed to the chair. "Have a seat." Charlie's captors pushed him toward the chair, and he lowered himself slowly, sitting forward slightly because of his bound hands. Mace leaned forward, putting his face inches from Charlie's. "We need to know a few things, professor. Cooperate, and you won't be hurt."

With difficulty, Charlie kept from snorting in the man's face. Mace was lying – Charlie knew well they would kill him as soon as they had what they wanted. His only chance was to hold out as long as possible – and besides, if they thought he would give his brother up, they were dreaming. Mace eyed him for a moment, then straightened. "We'd like to know, first of all, how much you have discovered, and how much the law knows. But before we get into that, let me ask you something simpler – where is your brother?"

"He left town."

The big man leaned forward again. "Where to?"

Charlie shook his head, and tried to lie convincingly. "I don't know."

Mace straightened, his face expressionless, and gave Lew a curt nod. Lew stepped forward and turned to face Charlie, and then suddenly drove a fist into his gut. Charlie's body jerked from the force of the blow, and he doubled over on the chair, gasping for breath through clenched teeth, his eyes watering from the pain.

"Oh, you know," said Mace calmly. "Don't lie – you're bad at it." Charlie was still gasping for breath when Mace nodded again, and Lew sent another blow into his rib cage, then gave him a jab to his face. Charlie grunted in pain, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, from a cut on the inside of his cheek. Mace surveyed him impassively. "Where is your brother?"

"Don't know," grunted Charlie, and then, "unng!" as another blow caught his rib cage.

Lew stepped back, wiggling and flexing his hand. "Damn," he muttered.

Mace sneered at him. "What's the matter, Spisak, hurt your little hand? Step back, asshole. I'm sure Fitz here would like to show you how it's done."

A drop of sweat rolled down Charlie's face – or maybe it was a tear, he wasn't sure which, as the white-haired man, Fitz, stepped in front of him. Charlie wasn't sure how things could get worse, but he was afraid, looking at the cold gleam in the albino's eyes, that the interrogation was about to go downhill.


Jackie Carotta paced the small warehouse office, with an annoyed glance at Cal. Cal was a big man, heavy, going to seed, and sat stolidly in the chair. Lazy, fat pig, thought Jackie contemptuously. What kind of rejects does Tuttle have working for him out here? A pig; and an albino freak. He resolved to bring the issue up to Tuttle when they got back to L.A. Tuttle could use another guy in charge like Mace, out here in Chicago. Maybe if Jackie worked it right, he could be that guy. He'd whip these rejects into shape.

Part of his frustration came from being left out of the interrogation of Dr. Eppes. Jackie got off on pain – he liked killing; he liked hurting. He never got enough of it in his job – the chances to get in on action like that were rarer than he would like, and the albino freak and that wimpy Lew Spisak were having all the fun, while he was stuck here with oink-boy. He scowled in annoyance, and pulled out his cell phone. Nine p.m. already. He hit dial. "Yeah, Derek? Jackie. Nothin' here yet – you get anything out of the professor?"

Mace's voice sounded tight, and as frustrated as Jackie felt. 'No – hold on a minute." Jackie could hear footsteps, and he knew that Mace was walking away from the others so he wouldn't be overheard. "He says his brother went back to L.A., and I'm starting to believe him. He says Don wouldn't tell him why he went back – just that the professor should keep working here until Don contacted him. Why don't you come on back here with us? I don't think the agent is gonna show where you are. We're gonna change our line of questioning – start working on how much the professor knows about the operations."

Thank God, thought Jackie. Aloud, he said, "Yeah, okay. See you in a few minutes." He disconnected the call and jerked his head. "Come on, Cal. Mace wants us back at the factory."

He hadn't really bothered to search the office, and he made a half-hearted attempt to do so now. He dismissed the computer completely – it was obviously a lost cause. He'd already looked for papers or notes; there were none. Cal lumbered out of the room and Jackie paused and gave it a cursory sweep with his eyes before he turned and shut the door behind him. If he'd looked harder, he might have found the cell phone, which had been kicked under a desk, and if he'd torn apart the room, he might have found the flash drive that Charlie had hidden under the baseboard. As it was, all he could think about was getting back in time to inflict some pain of his own. He turned out the light and shut the door with a smile, unconsciously making a fist as he strode for the car. Things were about to look up.


End Chapter 28