Author's note: Here's the link to Chapter 17: 18

House limped into Charlie's room and looked from Charlie, who was sound asleep, to Don who was playing games on Charlie's computer, to Agent O'Connell, who looked up when he entered. "Agent," he said to O'Connell, "I need your help."

"With what?" O"Connell asked warily.

"I need some strings pulled. Your agency got my patient into this situation, and I need your agency to help get him out of it." He handed Robert Tompkins' card to O'Connell. "I was told I could contact this guy to grease the wheels of the bureaucracy. You work for these bozos. Is he the one I should call, or is there someone else?"

O'Connell's eyes widened as he looked at the card. "He's the one you should call. Charlie has worked for him before. And he's high enough in the organization, he can give you the authorization you need. Who gave you this?" He handed the card back to House.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. See, two can play this top secret game," House turned and started to leave. Almost as an afterthought, he walked to Charlie's side and looked at the monitors. Turning to Don, he said, "He been sleeping long?"

Don glanced at his watch. "Half hour or so. He worked on his computer and talked for a while, but then he said he was tired and sore from the colonoscopy."

House looked around for a thermometer, then shrugged and put his palm against Charlie's forehead. "Crap," he muttered, limping from the room.

"Wait," Don called, "what's wrong?"

"Fever's back," House answered without stopping. "I've got a call to make."

When House was gone, Don said to O'Connell, "Who's he calling?"

"Tompkins."

Don sighed. "First time I knew Charlie had consulted for the NSA, he said that Bob Tompkins had called him. I couldn't believe he was calling Assistant Director Tompkins by his first name."

O'Connell smiled. "I'll bet that freaked you out."

"Yeah, it did. We were trying to stop an epidemic, and Charlie was doing the vector analysis. I couldn't believe he had clearance at the national security level."

"He must be good at what he does. He does some pretty high level stuff for the NSA."

"Yeah. He's incredible. He can look at just about any situation and figure out some mathematical whatchamacallit to solve it."

"Is he always right?"

"Not always. If he doesn't get it the first time, he normally makes adjustments and figures it out the second or third time. But my solve rate has really gone up since he started consulting for us. I wonder what calculations he'd come up with for this case."

"Amita," Alan said as they walked up the front steps of the Peacock Inn, "I didn't realize Charlie managed to get reservations here. He must have booked this months ago."

"Yes, he did. He really wanted to show Larry and me the best of Princeton. I understand there are only seventeen rooms, and they're sometimes booked a year in advance."

"We tried to get reservations for some relatives when Charlie was in school here, but it was booked solid."

They stopped at the front desk, and Amita introduced Alan to Ms. Lindsay. She stood and took his hand. "Mr. Eppes, I was so sorry to hear about Dr. Eppes. How's he doing?"

"Better, and please, call me Alan."

"All right, Alan. And as I told Don, please let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Thank you."

Amita showed Alan to Charlie's room. When he opened the door, Alan smiled. "Very nice. My boy's got good taste." He checked his watch. "What do you think? An hour?"

Amita sighed. "Two?"

"Two it is." He stopped, taking Amita's hand in both of his. "He will be all right. He's a fighter, and everybody keeps telling me he's got a great doctor."

Amita smiled and squeezed Alan's hand. "I know. Thanks, Alan. I'll see you in two hours. My place or yours?"

"Well, since I don't know where your place is, how about we meet here?"

House dropped into his chair, lifted his right leg to rest on the desk and picked up the phone. He was surprised when the man himself answered the phone. "Tompkins."

"Ah, Mr. Tompkins. Greg House here. I assume you know who I am because your agency dropped Charles Eppes and his weapon of mass destruction anthrax in my lap yesterday. And then, surprise, surprise, I learn just today that Dr. Adukakil, who is working on an experimental treatment for anthrax here in Princeton just happens to have your business card in his desk."

"Dr. House. We assumed you would be able to diagnose and treat Dr. Eppes. I didn't know you'd be into conspiracy theories."

"Damn. I figured you wanted to know about the black helicopters I've been seeing. I need Dr. Adukalil's treatment for your man, and it hasn't been approved for human testing. Save us all a lot of time we don't have and tell me you can snap your fingers and get approval so Dr. Adukakil,who seems to have scruples, will give my patient his magic formula."

"Don't you ever stop to breathe?"

House snorted. "Not when I have a patient who thinks antibiotics are doing the trick, but whose temperature is going back up. I am guessing that within the next few hours, Dr. Eppes will start having symptoms again. Once that starts, I'll need to begin treatment immediately. So, can you snap your fingers, Assistant Director Tompkins, or will you forward this call to your boss?"

"Give me half an hour. Can I reach you at this number?"

"Ah, the wonders of caller I.D. Yeah, call me here." House hung up and picked up the giant pink tennis ball from his desk. He looked up to see Cameron standing in the doorway. "Now what?"

"How'd you know Charlie's temperature is going up?" She asked.

"You were eavesdropping, Cameron!" House held up his hand, showing Cameron his palm. "Mom's patented thermometer told me so."

"You visited a patient again? What is this world coming to?"

"Hey, he's a fed. Your tax dollars are being wasted on some guy lying in a hospital bed. Or is it laying? I can never remember."

"So who were you talking to?"

"A fairy godmother who's going to grant my wishes?" House grinned at Cameron's scowl. "A high ranking fed who's going to see if he can give Dr. Adukalil permission to use his bacteriophage on a human guinea pig."

"So what do we do now?"

House pointed at the phone. "We wait for that to ring, and hope it's good news."