11/9/05
This chapter has been revised. There is an extra bit of dialogue between Alan and Charlie and some minor changes at Charlie's office between Larry/David/Charlie
A/NHi all,
Sorry about the wait. My new little one is keeping quite a schedule. He is two weeks old today and he sleep great during the day time ;-) Unfortunately that makes night time a bit of an uphill battle. Boy this is kind of difficult when you are in your forties. Ahh well, I'm sure he will figure out a good sleeping pattern in the coming weeks. (One can hope anyway he he he)
This is the last chapter that Bixie was able to help on and I want to once again thank her for her assistance. She was a wonderful Beta. After this however, I am on my own. Please enjoy and feel free to speculate! Really, speculating helps get the muse into high gear!
Chapter Three
Charlie got up late for school the next morning, and was slightly irritated with his father for not waking him.
Alan, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, set it down and looked at Charlie. "You needed the sleep, Charlie. That was obvious when your alarm went off for nearly forty minutes and you were completely oblivious to it. You're done with classes for the semester anyway, aren't you?"
Alan could see that Charlie was gearing up to argue with him about turning off his alarm clock without waking him when he stopped short with a surprised look on his face. "Forty minutes, really?" Charlie conceded the fact when his father just looked at him with raised eyebrows over the tops of his reading glasses.
Alan folded the paper and stood up, moving over to the stove. "You know, Charlie, I still think that you should step back from this case right now. I didn't call Don last night because you were so upset about that prospect, but I know for a fact that Donnie would not want you to continue with this if he knew how it was affecting you." Alan pulled out a fry pan and the leftover pancake batter from the refrigerator.
Charlie stopped packing up his school satchel and looked up at his father. "Look Dad, I'm a big boy you know. I can decide what is right for me without your permission or Don's for that matter. One of these days you are going to realize that I am not a little kid anymore. I have consulted for the FBI, the NSA and Homeland Security. Don't you think I have been exposed to things far worse than some deranged killer going after federal agents?" Charlie's voice rose as he spoke, venting his frustration over the way this case was going. He was still a little embarrassed about his reaction from the previous night and his father's admonishment brought that into sharp focus.
"I am not saying that you aren't a grown man, Charlie, but what ever consulting you have done in the past hasn't involved dealing with someone who may come after your own family. You know as well as I do how personally you take your work. Remember a few months back, how you felt when you guessed wrong about where that dirty bomb would go off? I'm just saying that if this guy kills another agent before you boys figure out who is doing this, I could easily see you blaming yourself."
Charlie shook his head and sighed. He didn't want to admit that his father made a valid point. All of his life he was used to being right and when his calculations didn't yield a correct answer, he felt affronted by the math. It was little consolation to him that in the case of the bomber, his father knew of specific variables that Charlie didn't and so had chosen the correct location. It only mattered that his numbers had failed him. This time if his math didn't come through, it could very well cost his own brother his life. That was an aspect of this particular case that had disturbed Charlie more than any other consulting job he had ever dealt with. This was too close to home, too personal for him to be wrong.
Alan pulled out a plate and set it on the table for the pancakes he had on the stove. "Have some breakfast before you get going for the day." Charlie picked up a piece of cold toast from the counter and grabbed his school satchel causing his father to frown at him. "Charlie, that's not breakfast!"
Charlie forced a smile on his face through his lingering irritation. "Sorry, no time, Dad, I want to get some work done this morning so that I can go see Don this afternoon."
Alan knew that Charlie needed to see his brother and didn't argue the point with him. No matter how much he may dispute Charlie's decision, he was as stubborn as his older brother and when he had made up his mind about something it was next to impossible to convince him otherwise. Alan was aware that Charlie's reaction to his nightmare had embarrassed him and didn't want Don to know about it. He felt a little guilty about using that to try and convince Charlie to stop working on this case, because the last thing Charlie ever wanted was to let his older brother to see that kind of weakness so overtly in him. What Alan didn't realize was that Charlie did not want to give Don another reason to chew him out about looking at the crime scene photographs. Charlie knew that Don would assume that his dream was prompted by the graphic nature of those images.
The ride to Cal Sci felt good to Charlie even though his muscles were incredibly sore. As he chained up his bike outside the Math building he wondered why he was aching so much. He felt as though he had done a hard workout, or had gone on a long steep hike with Larry. When Charlie entered his office and looked at the blackboard, however, all his thoughts about painful muscles vanished, as he threw himself into the task of interpreting the numbers carved into the dead agent's bodies.
The first agent, Robert Franklin, found three weeks ago, had the numbers 298437 carved into the left side of his chest. The second agent, Daniel Edwards was a friend of Don's. The numbers found on his body were 126984. The third agent, Daryl Bliss, had the numbers 920534. Charlie sat down staring at the strings of numbers, trying to see a pattern to them. He was certain that there was one. This was a message from the killer, if he could only find the key. His mind quickly sifted through the hundreds of different ciphers he was familiar with and none seemed to apply to these cryptic strings. Each number had only six digits and that must be the answer or at least part of the answer, but try as he might he could find no parallels between these numbers.
After nearly two hours of twisting, combining, separating and itemizing the number strings he set that train of thought aside and turned his attention to finding a pattern to the victims. He thumbed through pages of notes that Don had provided him. He had what looked like every possible connection that these agents had with one another in the four boxes of papers on his desk. He took into account the approximate locations of their disappearances, and the locations that they were found. He factored in where they worked and lived, as well as the places that each agent might go during off hours. He had asked Don for any numerical tags associated with each man including dates of birth, social security numbers, badge numbers, case file numbers for the last few years, addresses, account numbers, even graduation dates from the academy. He wanted every number that was ever connected to the victims.
Don had nearly laughed at Charlie when he made this request. "Are you serious, Charlie? Do you have any idea what that would take?"
In a rare and uncharacteristic display, Charlie turned on Don with intense anger in his voice. "Those numbers that that son of a bitch carved into their chests mean something, Don! Those men are connected by those numbers!" Charlie's voice rose in volume and the tone took on an almost frantic pitch. "I need to find out what those numbers are, what they mean! I need to KNOW that they don't have anything to do with you!" Charlie was panting and shaking and Don put both hands on his shoulders.
"Hey, buddy, I get you, okay? I'll get you the information that you need, but you have to promise me that you will take it easy. Charlie, you can't help us if you get yourself worked up like this. Look, you have to try and set those images aside, Charlie. What was done to those men was unimaginably barbaric, but we have to see beyond that so that we can find this guy and stop him."
That was two days ago and Charlie was beginning to think that Don may have been right. He had lost his objectivity when he had seen what the killer had done to his victims. The nightmare last night and his reaction to it were proof of that. Charlie laid out dozens of pages on each of the men, and took a deep calming breath before beginning to write on the blackboard.
Larry entered Charlie's office after a knock on the door, but the young man was oblivious, lost in his train of thought. He stood at the blackboard staring at the complex equations written out before him with an intense look of concentration, his right hand holding a piece of chalk that hovered uncertainly over a string of numbers. After a moment more, Charlie tossed the chalk down on the thin rail at the base of the board and sat down heavily in his chair.
Larry frowned at his friend. "Charles?"
Charlie didn't look at Larry but he had obviously heard him. "There isn't enough data here to make a workable algorithm! Damn it! I have to make this work without more data, Larry."
Charlie rubbed his face in his hands and noticed that they were shaking slightly. He didn't want to think about his hands so he clasped them together lacing his fingers in what he hoped looked like a natural motion and turned to Larry, giving him his full attention. Larry had a concerned look on his face, which further irritated Charlie though he didn't let it show.
"Can I assume that you don't want more data because this is for the FBI..." Larry waved his hand at the board. "…and more data would mean..."
"...more dead agents." Charlie finished wearily.
"I see. Charles, is it possible that there is existing data that you haven't factored into this equation?"
Charlie frowned slightly in thought. Perhaps there was something he was missing. "I suppose that's possible. I need the actual case files on the last victim to be certain I have all the variables. Don said that it should be released today so I'm going to see him this afternoon, but there really shouldn't be anything in there that I haven't already got."
'That file will probably just contain more gruesome details that will make it harder for me to concentrate.' Charlie thought miserably to himself.
Larry perched on the corner of the desk looking at his friend. Charlie looked tired and oddly pale, with a sheen of perspiration across his brow. "Charles, you are assuming that you have been given all of the pertinent facts. You know as well as I do that what appears unimportant will most likely be that one piece of information that will allow your equation to fall into place."
Larry shifted an old and weathered looking box in his hands, drawing Charlie's attention to it. The familiar mahogany case held Larry's chess set, and Charlie found himself staring at that box, its deep color faded from use, yet still so much the same as another box that he had recently seen. He was pulled back to reality by Larry's voice. "Charles. You need to take a break from this. There is a table open under the maple tree on the east quad. Perhaps a game of chess to clear the cobwebs might do you some good."
Charlie glanced down at the case that Larry held; in his dream, they had been playing chess beneath that maple tree. His face grew a little paler, and the perspiration on his forehead shimmered in the late morning sun. Charlie stood up and moved back to the blackboard picking up the discarded chalk. "Ah, gee," he said, in a tight voice that was slightly too high "you know, Larry, I think I'll pass on the whole chess idea for now."
Larry took a few steps to one side and considered how strongly he wanted to push the young man, when Charlie turned toward a sound at the door and his face completely drained of color. Larry turned around abruptly to see what Charlie was looking at and saw Agent David Sinclair standing in the doorway of Charlie's office holding a manila folder.
Charlie suddenly felt himself transported back into the nightmare as the panic that had overwhelmed him last night descended on him like an anvil. His body began shaking and he grabbed his chest, gasping for breath while his legs gave out and he fell to his knees.
David dropped the folder he was holding and moved so quickly to Charlie that Larry stepped back, startled by the agent's sudden movement. David took hold of Charlie's upper arms to steady him as he peered into the young man's eyes, and instantly recognized what he saw there.
"Charlie! It's okay, you have to relax and slow your breathing down." David commanded in a calm but strong and confident voice.
Charlie tried to answer him but his throat had closed up. The feeling of having a tight band around his chest had returned, and Charlie instinctively clutched the front of his shirt until his knuckles went white. Larry picked up the phone to dial 911 fearing that his friend was having a heart attack, but David saw the movement.
"Professor! Get some cold water for him."
Larry stopped dialing with an uncertain look on his face. David's tone was authoritative yet calm and his gut instinct was to obey the agent but Charlie looked as though he were dying. "I… I must call for help!" Larry protested. "He's having a heart attack!"
David shook his head, then moved one of his hands to the back of Charlie's neck and began to massage the twitching muscles. "No, Larry! He is not having a heart attack."
Charlie looked up into David's face at the mention of a heart attack. He felt like he was going to die; as a matter of fact he was almost certain that Larry was right. He couldn't speak, and his chest was painfully tight.
David could see the fear increase in the young mathematician and locked eyes with him. "Charlie, this is an anxiety attack. You are NOT going to die. Do you understand what I am saying?"
Although he still couldn't answer David, some of the fear began to fade from Charlie's eyes as David's calm assurance began to filter through him.
"Now listen to me carefully, Charlie. You are hyperventilating right now. You must slow down your breathing. I want you to take a slow deep breath while you count to four in your head. Then hold it for a count of four."
Charlie had dropped his gaze to the floor and caught sight of the folder that David had dropped. The pages it contained spilled out on the floor along with the crime scene photos. Agent Daryl Bliss had short dark hair and deep brown eyes. He looked very similar to Don and in his state of panic Charlie's mind saw his older brother in those pictures. All thoughts of breathing slowly disappeared and he began gasping again.
"Charlie, look at me!"
Charlie's head snapped up.
"Breathe with me, Charlie..."
Charlie tried to take in a slow breath as David had instructed, but it was difficult. His eyes slid back to the pages scattered next to the folder on the floor. David took Charlie's face in both hands and turned his head so that they were looking at each other. Charlie couldn't hear David speaking over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears but could see that he was telling Charlie to breath. He ended up taking in a quick breath and trying to hold it.
"You're getting there, Charlie. Hold your breath for a count of four… Good, now let it out slowly."
Charlie tried to do as David instructed but his breath exploded out of his body and he sucked in another lungful of air. David continued to walk Charlie through the breathing exercise, keeping one hand holding Charlie's face toward him while the other moved again to his neck massaging the taught muscles. As Charlie began to calm down and follow the breathing instructions a little better David glanced at Larry, who was still holding the telephone receiver in his hand, frozen to the spot watching as the agent successfully calmed his colleague.
"Larry! Water!" he ordered.
Larry looked startled for a second then put the phone down and darted out of the office. David's attention was back on Charlie before Larry even made it to the door.
"Charlie, it's okay. What you are feeling won't hurt you. Just keep breathing."
By the time Larry returned with a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the staff lounge, David had helped Charlie over to the short couch in the far corner of his office. He looked much better now. He was breathing almost normally again and some of the color had returned to his face. Charlie gratefully accepted the water from Larry as he squatted down in front of the younger man.
"Charles, you scared the bageebiz out of me." He turned his gaze on David and said, "Agent Sinclair, how did you know that Charles was having an anxiety attack?"
David smiled slightly. "My sister used to have these attacks regularly, a few years back. I am very familiar with them and the calming exercises used to get an acute attack under control." David turned to Charlie and saw that he was still trembling slightly. "Charlie, how long have these been happening to you?"
Charlie gave the two men an embarrassed look. "This is the second time. The first was last night. I dreamed that you came here to tell me that Don…"
Charlie stopped and looked directly at David and said, "You cannot tell Don about this. David, please promise me that you won't say anything to him."
David shook his head in protest, but before he could say anything Charlie continued.
"I only reacted this way because of a dream I had last night." David looked on interested but did not show signs that he was about to change his mind. "Look, in my dream I was playing chess with Larry, which he was just asking me to do, and you turned up to tell me that Don had been murdered. David, when I turned around as saw you standing there I over-reacted. It wouldn't have happened if the circumstances had been different."
David put a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Don is the agent in charge of this case. He needs to know if there is a problem with one of his consultants. I know why you don't want him to know. Those photos really upset you, Charlie. Hell, they scared the crap out of me, and I'm used to seeing things like that."
David heaved a big sigh and continued, "Charlie, all of that aside, Don is your brother, and he worries about you. Tell me this; if Don had a panic attack like you did just now, would you want to know about it? This is obviously effecting you strongly enough that it is impairing your work." David paused for a moment not really wanting to say what he needed to. "Charlie, I have to tell him. From what I just saw this case is affecting you badly and your results could be unreliable."
The look of hurt that came over Charlie's face at that accusation was difficult for David. He didn't like saying these things to Charlie. "Charlie, look, man, I am not trying to impugn your work. I have complete respect for you; you do realize that, don't you?"
Charlie nodded and looked down at the floor. A part of him that he didn't want to listen to knew that David was right. If he screwed this up and another agent died it would be his fault, but if David didn't tell Don, the agent in charge of the case, then it would be David's fault as well.
Larry was looking from one man to the other. "If I may ask, what are these photos that you are referring to?"
Larry glanced over to the folder that still lay strewn across the floor. One of the photographs was partially visible and drew the physicist's attention. David saw this and got up quickly to retrieve the folder and its contents.
"Dr. Fleinhardt, I can't really discuss this with you. Suffice it to say that the crime scene photographs depicted how brutal these murders have been. We are dealing with a true psychopath here." David placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Charlie, as much as I want your help with this case, maybe you should take a pass on this one."
Charlie shook his head and spoke to the floor. "I can't do that, David. As much as you and Don are worried about this case affecting me, you must understand that I have to help to solve this. Don, or you, or Megan could be next." Charlie looked up at David then, imploring him to understand. "David, it's like I told my father. If there was one case I have to help on, it's this one."
Larry raised his hand to get David's attention. "If I might offer a suggestion? I do not need to know the details of this case or these murders, and frankly I am fairly certain that I do not want to; however, I can help keep Charlie on track. Perhaps if I work with him you will feel more comfortable with his results and whether or not they are skewed by emotion."
David looked at Larry for a moment before answering. "Don is the agent in charge, not me. I'm not sure I have the authority to bring you in on this, Larry. I know that Don has used you in the past to help Charlie…" David stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Charlie, I won't say anything to Don yet about this but you must understand that if circumstances change or if Don asks me out right how you are doing with this, I won't lie to him."
He turned to Larry and said, "Professor Fleinhardt, help Charlie any way you can but I am not giving you clearance to the details of this case. Charlie, is that understood?" he added looking pointedly at Charlie.
"I understand David. Thanks for… well, thanks."
David came back and sat down next to Charlie. "Look, I have some materials at home that I'll drop off for you to look through. Anxiety attacks can be damn frightening and it takes practice to deal with them. It's probably just this case. It's got all of us wound pretty tightly. Just remember, Charlie that no one has ever died from a panic attack. They are pretty unpleasant, but not harmful. You can think your way out of them, and if there is one thing I know you can do better than anyone, its thinking."
