Manipulation part 2

By Ecri

Assistant Director Glenn Kraft stared at the report. "Are you sure about this?"

The man nodded, his ghost of a smile more intimidating than reassuring. "It's all in there. I just wish I'd have finished the profile sooner. I don't know how this slipped past the NSA and the FBI. There's no way it should have gone this far."

Kraft nodded. It was a shame. Don Eppes was a good agent. This might end his career. Kraft scrubbed a hand across his cheek. He'd met Charlie Eppes. It was hard to believe this of the mild, unassuming man who'd helped solve several big cases. "I don't see how any of this is possible. What does Washington want to do?" Kraft asked.

The man shrugged. "With the evidence we have, now that we know Mr. Eppes was intentionally delaying coming up with an answer, we can make an arrest and try to get a confession. His is the type that cracks easy under pressure. We want this handled quickly, because quietly is too much to hope for." He paused for a moment. "It's easy to understand now why Dr. Eppes took his time coming up with an answer for this case.

Kraft nodded as he got to his feet. "I'll handle it today."

The other man stood and shook the A.D.'s hand. "I'm sure you will. Do whatever you feel necessary about Special Agent Eppes. The Bureau trusts your judgement."

Kraft watched the man leave, apprehension sinking into his stomach like a lead ball. He knew how Agent Eppes was going to react, and was grateful that he had been given the chance to handle it on his own. He was going to give Don as much leeway as was humanly possible. Even then, he wasn't sure he wasn't going to see the end of Eppes' career, and perhaps of Lake's as well.

Larry wandered into Charlie's office certain he'd find the young genius huddled over some equation or other, or perhaps struggling to grade some of his students papers. It was with great surprise that he realized the office was dark and empty. He frowned. He hadn't seen his young friend in some time, and usually, when that was the case, he would find the prodigy here. He tried to recall the last conversation they'd had in the hopes that it would allow him to determine where Charlie might be.

He recalled something about another new case for the FBI and he sighed. He didn't really like how intertwined Charlie's life had become with his brother's in recent weeks. Mathematicians, especially those of Charlie's caliber, were often asked to consult with law enforcement or government agencies, but there was a personal note to this involvement that such consultations rarely encountered. Charlie had been consulting for a lot of agencies for quite a number of years. Larry was certain he had many reasons for agreeing to consult for the FBI at all, but those that topped the list had to do with his brother.

Don's approval still meant a lot to the twenty-something prodigy. Though Larry doubted Charlie would ever admit it, the young man undoubtedly hoped that he and his brother could achieve a closeness that Charlie's genius and the separation they'd endured because of it–and because of Don's decision to attend Quantico–had robbed them of in the past.

He knew Charlie's childhood had been a lonely one. He was probably one of the few who knew Charlie so well. Unable to complain about what he'd endured to the parents who had sacrificed everything in order to educate a genius, or to the brother who often times resented his kid brother's brilliance, Charlie had turned to Larry–his professor, his confidant, his friend.

Larry had been no prodigy, but he understood the one thing that Charlie knew better than anything else–better than anyone else–on the planet: mathematics. The two had bonded over unsolvable equations. Larry, seeing in Charlie a grasp of mathematics that he found enticing and a teenager in need of human contact, had gone out of his way to make himself available to the young man. When they had met, Charlie had been in his early teens, but his mind! Ah, what a grasp of integers, of sequences, of the truly ungraspable!

He'd been there for Charlie when, during his mother's illness, he had finally hit a wall in his P versus NP obsession. He'd held a distraught Charlie in his arms as the young man finally realized that his mother was gone, and, worse, that he'd wasted the last months of her life scribbling numbers on a blackboard and playing minesweeper. Charlie had told him that he'd never had the nerve to speak to Don about that. He'd been convinced that Don was angry about it all and he didn't want to disturb what he saw as a precarious new balance in their relationship.

Rarely had Larry seen anyone so alone. He had taken it upon himself to ensure, when he could, that Charlie had some sort of social life at CalSci, and it had, for the most part worked. Charlie was a respected professor, liked by staff and students alike.

Charlie missing from his office on the heels of saying something to Larry about the FBI meant that Don's brother had called on his expertise. Charlie had to be one of two places: his empty classroom to utilize the huge chalkboards or his brother's FBI office to utilize the white boards.

He turned on his heel and headed down the hall.

He knew Charlie was there before he even reached the room. The sound of chalk on a chalkboard echoed down the empty corridor from the open door, taking on a frantic tone as the click clacks came closer together and were peppered with a stream of words sometimes too soft to hear.

Charlie was in there, and he wasn't having an easy time of it.

Larry stood in the doorway, his eyes wide at what he beheld. Charlie had written on every available surface. Every chalkboard, the walls, the floor, all were covered in his familiar scrawl as, rather than interrupt his thought processes, he had, quite literally, just kept going.

When Charlie finally paused and was about to begin writing on another patch of floor, Larry called to him. "Charles?"

Charlie didn't respond.

Carefully, trying not to smudge any of the chalk markings that covered the floor lest the sight of his work being damaged set Charlie off, Larry stepped closer to Charlie and called out a bit louder.

"Charles?"

The sight of Charlie's face when he finally looked up at his friend made Larry gasp. Crouching down before the younger man, Larry placed a tentative hand on Charlie's shoulder. "What is it?"

Charlie looked both confused and distraught. Chalk dust covered his face and his hair as well as his clothes, and his eyes looked haunted. No equation could cause this, could it?

Charlie looked up at Larry. "It's notadding up, not mathematically, but logicallythe equation isn't workingor maybe I'm crazyfinally fried one too many brain cells" He threw the chalk across the room in disgust.

"You need to give me more data." Keeping it technical, Larry knew from experience, might help Charlie snap back to reality long enough for him to explain himself.

"Don needs thisit's for a case. I found a patternLarry," Charlie exhaled and fastened his eyes on Larry's. "It doesn't make sense. Statistically, it's impossible. I can't even begin to compute" He trailed off and absently rubbed some chalk dust off his hands.

Larry didn't speak, giving the younger man time to work through it in his head.

After a moment, Charlie continued, and, Larry was pleased to note, his voice was slightly calmer. "The pattern of the victims in this particular equationI wish I could tell you everythingthe pattern of victims is not at all random. It's a serial killer with a specific pattern, but the killingsLarry, they're peopleremarkably and astoundingly like people I know."

Larry blinked. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what you're saying. You know the victims?"

Charlie shook his head. "Not at all. The victims' backgrounds and experiences, personal information–like age, weight, height, hair color–all closely match people I know well, as well as my family. My father, my brother, my mother, and me"

Larry's eyes widened. "That's not possible, unless the killer knows you or your family. Walk me through it."

Charlie opened his mouth to do just that, but then he shook his head. "I can't. I've told you too much already. I" He stood suddenly. "I need to talk to Don." He looked at the walls and the floors and his eyes widened. "As soon as I clean up this mess."

Larry smiled. "You go. I'll take care of it."

Charlie smiled back. "Thanks, Larry."

Larry watched him go and wished there were a way to make Charlie give up consulting with law enforcement. He believed it was too hard on the younger man, but he knew Charlie would keep doing it in the hopes that he and his brother would grow closer from it.

He shook his head as he looked around the room. He'd need Amita, and maybe a few of Charlie's students to help him with the cleanup.

Charlie was just leaving his building on the CalSci campus when a police car and two dark sedans screeched to a stop in front of it. The sedans seemed official somehow, and, accompanied by the police car as they were, made him stop in his tracks. He wondered if something had happened on the case and looked frantically for Don's familiar face. He didn't see it. Confusion settled in when he also failed to recognize David or Terry. These were men he didn't know.

He flashed back to something his brother had told him, something his mother and father couldn't quite get him to understand when he was a child. Mom and Dad had appealed to Don, knowing that Charlie had, as most young children did, a case of hero worship for his older brother. Don, nearly twelve years old at the time, had sat him down and had told him that this was a serious conversation. He wouldn't let Charlie even hold a pen or a piece of chalk, and, to keep the precocious six-year-old still, Don had held both Charlie's hands by the wrists and had looked him in the eye.

Charlie remembered being scared. Don had never had a serious talk with him before and he wondered if he'd done something wrong. It was when he saw the fear in Don's eyes that his mouth had gone dry and he'd stared in wide-eyed attention at his older brother.

"You're special, Charlie," Don said.

Charlie almost looked away. He was tired of hearing that, but Don shook his wrists and stared him intently in the eye. "You're special, Charlie. A lot of people know it now."

It had been in the news that he was what they called a prodigy and a lot of strangers had taken to hanging out nearby. Charlie wasn't allowed out alone anymore, not even to play in the front yard.

He nodded solemnly and stared at his brother.

Don didn't keep him waiting. "Because people know it, there's always a chance that some of them, the bad ones, might try to take you."

Charlie had struggled then. He didn't want to hear this. It was scary.

Don wasn't having any of it, though. "Hey, Charlie, listen to me. You need to hear this." When he had Charlie's full attention, he continued. "You need to be aware of your surroundings. You need to take notice of things like cars or people who don't belong, and how many strangers there are around you, and if they're paying any special attention to you. Can you do that?"

Again Charlie nodded, and, hoping this was over, tried to pull away.

Don didn't loosen his hold. "Charlie, if there are people you don't recognize or feel you don't trust, make sure you stay with the people you do trust. Stay in crowded areas, and, if someone grabs you, scream and yell, but don't just scream and yell. Tell people to call the police. Someone will help you."

Charlie didn't reply for awhile until Don, worried no doubt that his genius brother didn't understand the dangers he might face, shook Charlie slightly. "Charlie? Do you understand?"

Charlie nodded, but Don, unsatisfied, made him repeat that he would always retreat to crowded, populated areas if he felt the slightest bit threatened by a stranger, or even a friend who was acting peculiarly.

Now, seeing these cars, instinct–born from that conversation of a six-year-old Charlie and his nearly twelve-year-old brother–Charlie turned around and headed back toward the math building.

That was when he heard one of the men call his name.

"Dr. Charles Eppes?"

Charlie hesitated but kept walking, talking over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm busy right now. You can make an appointment"

"Federal agents, Dr. Eppes."

That stopped Charlie, and reluctantly he turned around to face the men moving rapidly in his direction. "ID?" He called out still feeling skittish to say the least. He'd seen too much, heard too much, since consulting with Don to accept a stranger's word blindly.

One of the men half smirked and stepped closer to Charlie, who held out an arm effectively stopping the man in his tracks even as Charlie reached for the proffered badge.

He studied it carefully, noting that it was authentic. He'd seen enough of them to know this. He read the name on the ID. "Special Agent Jonathan Pierce." He folded the ID wallet and handed it back summoning a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"

Pierce smirked and Charlie felt a swift return of the fear that had only just dissipated.

"Dr. Eppes, please assume the position." He gestured to the wall.

Charlie just stared, but Pierce sighed and explained with exaggerated slowness as though he were sure that Charlie was mentally handicapped rather than being a prodigy and a genius. "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent"

Pierce reached for Charlie spinning him around so that he faced the wall. Charlie, confused and not expecting the action, dropped the books and papers he'd been carrying.

"Wait" Charlie was trying desperately to form a question. He grasped feebly at the thought that this must be a joke, even though he was sure no one he'd ever worked with at the Bureau would be so cruel–nor would they risk Don's wrath.

The bite of the cold steel handcuffs around his wrists did something to Charlie. He panicked. Whether because he remembered Don telling him to be careful as a child, or because some piece of him couldn't believe this was real, Charlie began to struggle and to call out for help.

Remembering that his own classroom was nearby, he called loudly for Larry even as he continued to buck and stiffen his body determined that these men, of which there were now six clustered around him, would not have an easy time getting him to a car.

He saw Larry coming out of the door and, seeing Charlie's struggles, came running toward him. Relief flooded through Charlie, and in that moment when his struggles became less frantic, Pierce twisted Charlie's arm so fiercely that the pain caused Charlie to cry out.

Larry approached wearing his no-nonsense professor's scowl, and on his way toward Charlie, grabbed a passing student by the arm and whispered something. The student, taking in that something was going on, nodded and pulled out a cell phone, dialing as he walked away.

Larry bore down on Pierce who held a no longer struggling Charlie. "What's going on?"

Pierce held out his badge. "I'm arresting Mr. Eppes."

Larry waved away the badge as though it were of no consequence. He looked Charlie in the eye, but he saw only fear there. "Charles," he asked softly. "Are you okay."

"Call Don." Charlie whispered, suddenly very still and pale.

Larry nodded and turned to Pierce, gesturing over his shoulder to the student who was still on his cell phone and peering out at the action through the glass doors with a half dozen other students. "I've already called campus security and Special Agent Don Eppes, Dr. Eppes' brother"

Pierce nodded. "We know who he is, but his presence isn't necessary. I have an arrest warrant, and this man is wanted for questioning."

"Well that may be," Larry admitted knowing he knew little about FBI procedure. "But surely you can wait until Agent Eppes"

Pierce shook his head. "I don't even have to wait for Campus Security." With that, he began to drag a handcuffed and non-combative Charlie to his car.

Larry, worried about the sudden change in his friend, called out encouragement. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Charles!"

Charlie nodded, and Larry was grateful to get that much of a response. Suddenly, Charlie stopped walking and half-turned toward Larry. "My books, Larry"

Larry reached for the things Charlie had dropped, but another agent scooped them up. "Sorry, sir. We need those."

Charlie called out again. "Larry, I have a class at 4:00don't forget, Larry! Four!"

Larry raced over to Pierce suddenly unwilling to let Charlie out of his sight. "I insist you take me with you."

Pierce shook his head. "Sorry, sir. We can't do that."

Larry reluctantly watched as Charlie was bustled into the car. He continued to stare after it, hoping Charlie would turn and face him so he could give him an encouraging smile, but all he saw was a mop of curls diminishing in the distance.

Campus Security had just arrived, so Larry filled them in, then raced to his own car. He would find Don Eppes himself. He would find out just what was going on.

Larry stood before the receptionist's desk and demanded, for the fifth time–and he was counting–to know where Agent Don Eppes was. It infuriated the professor that the young woman merely gestured to the chairs lining the walls once more.

"If you'll have a seat, sir"

"I've been waiting to speak to him for almost an hour!" Larry looked at his watch. He'd have to cancel his next class. No need to call. Every college student knew precisely how long they were required to wait for a professor before walking out.

Frustration over this interminable wait and worry for his friend prompted the usually mild mannered professor to lean menacingly close to the woman, invading her personal space. "Look, I need to speak to him now. I'm not going to wait forever and either you tell me where he is or I will find him myself"

Realization interrupted his sentence and his thoughts. Larry reached for his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts list. Sure enough, the last number on the list was Don's cell. He recalled Charlie giving it to him. It had been Larry's idea. He'd hated Charlie's involvement with the FBI, and had demanded to know Don's number in casehe shook his head. In case what? In case Charlie was arrested on campus and dragged away in handcuffs?

Not caring precisely why he had the number, he only prayed it wasn't an old one long ago replaced. He hit the speed dial and waited.

Don was tired of waiting. He'd been sitting in Kraft's outer office for just over an hour, and the AD was still on the phone. He stood and began pacing, going over his options in his head once more. He wanted to get back to work, but he couldn't leave without finding out just why someone was looking into Charlie's files.

He was about to ask Terry once more to go back without him and see if there had been any new developments when his cell phone rang.

"Eppes."

"Agent Eppes, this is LarryLarry Fleinhardt."

Don's heart skipped a beat and he stopped pacing. Something was wrong. "What's going on? Did something happen to Charlie?"

"Oh, I'd say so! I'm standing by your receptionist's desk, but she won't tell me where you are. I want to know what the hell is going on, and why Charles was dragged off campus in handcuffs!"

"He what?"

Larry repeated himself, and Don found himself staggering back at the mental image his mind was building based on the professor's description.

"Okay, wait right there. I'll be right down to talk to you."

He slipped the phone into his pocket and grabbed Terry by the arm dragging her out of the office.

"What?" Terry asked, concern written across her face.

"Charlie's been arrested."

He ignored her disbelief and told him what little he knew. He was going to get to the bottom of this. From the look on Terry's face as he explained everything, he could see that she had the same thought in her mind.

Don stood outside the interrogation area, fury oozing from his every pore. He had called everyone he could think to call. He had tried going through channels, but when Larry, who had attached himself to Terry and Don, had pulled Don aside and told him how frightened Charlie had seemed, how quiet and still he had gone, Don had decided to take the direct approach. Larry had given him the arresting agent's name, and Don had found out where Jonathan Pierce was interrogating his latest suspect.

As he waited, AD Kraft finally made an appearance. Don turned to the man not waiting for an explanation. "How is it that Agent Pierce makes an arrest on my case without consulting me and it just happens to be my brother?"

Kraft seemed to hesitate for a moment, but steeled himself for the confrontation. "Calm down, Agent. We have evidence"

"That I should have been shown! It's my case! He's my brother! He has clearance from the NSA"

"Your relationship is why you weren't shown anything." Kraft grabbed Don's arm and pulled him down the hall away from Terry and other agents standing nearby. "You should understand that this has to be above board. If we clear your brother and you're involved in the procedures, it would cast suspicion on the entire Bureau! I want this done quickly. If he's innocent"

Don's eyes widened. "If he's innocentyou've met my brother! You don't really think he's a serial killer!"

Kraft continued as though Don hadn't spoken. "If he's innocent, he's got nothing to worry about, and neither have you."

Don nodded, though he wasn't happy. "I want to see him."

"Agent"

"I want to see him now! I know him. He's not cooperating with you, is he?"

Kraft shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no, he keeps asking for you, and"

Don nodded knowingly. "And scribbling equations or talking mathematics"

Kraft nodded. "Can you get him to cooperate?"

Don considered this. He really wasn't sure. There was a time when he was certain that Charlie would do anything he asked simply because he asked. They'd grown apart when he'd left for Quantico, though Don had sensed a willingness on both sides to rectify that.

"Yes." Don said hoping Charlie was feeling cooperative. "Let me see him."

Kraft gestured to one of his agents and whispered something to him. The man nodded and disappeared inside an interrogation room, leaving the door ajar.

Don was sure Charlie was on the other side of that door and it took all of his will power to remain where he was. If he jumped the gun and moved inside before the AD gave him permission, he could jeopardize this already unorthodox situation. He had to see Charlie, and if that meant being impossibly patient for a few more minutes, he would do it.

At first there was no sound from the room, then an angry voice and the slam of a hand against a desk preceded more angry words. In another moment, Special Agent Pierce stepped out of the room and glared at Don before locking on Kraft.

"Sir?"

"Agent Eppes is going to speak to the prisoner."

Don flinched at the suggestion that Charlie was a prisoner, but otherwise didn't dare move or speak lest this opportunity be taken from him.

"Sir," Agent Pierce began, "I'm handling this. I believe I'm making progress."

Kraft crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Based on what?"

Pierce looked away then back to Kraft. "Based onintuition."

Kraft nodded. "I see. Well, my own intuition is telling me to grant Agent Eppes' request." He turned to Don. "You have five minutes." He glared at Terry as she tried to go with him. "Just Agent Eppes."

Terry nodded and stepped back, though she managed to squeeze Don's arm in silent support.

To Be Continued