Manipulation part 11
By Ecri
Don's cell phone rang and he flipped it open. "Eppes."
"I understand you've broken your brother out of his holding cell."
Don stood and took a step away from his brother, pointing to his phone for the benefit of the others. The Agents immediately understood. Buchmann was on the phone. As soon as he saw them moving into prearranged positions, checking windows and doors, he returned to Charlie's side.
"Yeah, well, I had to get him away from you." He put as much venom into the reply as he could enjoying the safe feeling from knowing that Charlie wasn't in that maniac's hands. Possessively, Don put a hand on Charlie's shoulder as though to assure himself that Charlie was actually here.
"Too bad. It made me move up my timetable. Your father is now my guest."
Involuntarily, his grip tightened as Buchmann confirmed his brother's guess about their father.
"Let him go, Buchmann!"
Charlie almost leaped out of his seat, but, with one hand, Don held him in place.
"I will let him go when I have you and your brother in my custody. That's the deal. You two for him."
"I can't promise...
Buchmann cut him off. "Do as I say. You and your brother"
"Not Charlie! I'll come myself."
"You and Charlie or I kill your father the moment I see you. I'll call with details."
"Wait!"
It was too late. Don stared at his phone. "He hung up. He's got Dad."
Terry was at his side in a moment. "He wants to set up a trade." It wasn't a question.
Don nodded, but before he could say more, Charlie spoke.
"Donny, what did he say? Is Dad all right?"
Don shrugged. "He didn't let me talk to him." He took a step or two away from Charlie, aware of his brother's worried stare, and of the anxiety rolling off him in waves. He turned and looked at him then, his brother, the terrified genius looking younger by the second. "We'll get him back, Charlie." He looked at Kraft, who'd stood back for all this time, letting the Eppes brother have their less-than-perfect reunion.
"He's going to call back with details...an exchange. Charlie and me for Dad."
Kraft shook his head. "I can't allow that."
Don didn't want to listen. "This isn't official. You can't stop me."
"It won't go down the way you want it to, and we don't have enough agents to keep you safe."
Don bristled at the images that Kraft's words brought to mind. He was reluctant to release what little control he had over the situation. Desperate to make his point, knowing that most agents could be detached about this sort of thing until it was put in a more personal context, Don threw a question at his boss. "What would you do?"
Kraft sighed, and Don could see that the man was having trouble reconciling the answer to that question with regulations, rules, and his own desire to keep the team safe. In the end, he only nodded. "I suppose I'd do what you're planning to do."
Terry took charge then, and started herding the group towards the kitchen. "Okay, you boys need to eat something."
The brothers opened their mouths to protest, but she cut them off with authority. "I don't want to hear it. You both look like you haven't slept or eaten in months." She and Don had made sure the house was well stocked earlier with sandwiches from the local deli. Those, along with various snack foods, were crammed into the refrigerator. Terry had even taken the time to make sure that delivery/take out menus from local restaurants were tacked up by the phone.
Terry spread sandwiches and drinks for them and for Kraft, Pierce, and David as well as for herself across the dining room table. Don smiled at her gratefully, but his eyes never strayed from Charlie for very long. It was like he was drinking in his brother's presence.
Don noted that not only did Charlie's hands still shake as he ate, but also he ate faster than Don had ever seen. His brother seemed ravenous. He exchanged a look with Terry who shrugged, but slipped a second sandwich she'd bought for him over to his side of the table.
Don watched as Charlie reached for it as though not realizing how much he'd eaten. He wasn't stupid enough to think that his brother hadn't been fed while being held in lockup, but he knew Charlie. When stressed or working hard, it was the little things–like eating, drinking, and sleeping–that suffered most. Of course, Buchmann had men on the inside. Charlie, while in solitary confinement, might well have gone without food.
Surreptitiously, he slid an open bag of chips in Charlie's direction amazed, yet pleased, when his brother reached for that as well.
He checked his watch wondering when Buchmann would call, and how he would get the man to leave Charlie out of this. There was no way he was going to put Charlie in harm's way again.
Alan stared at his former employer. Disbelief raced around his mind. "What's going on?"
Mason sat in a chair across from the small cot upon which Alan had been placed when he'd been brought in. "It's a long story, Alan, and I'm sorry you ended up involved in it."
"That's not an answer."
Mason smirked. "No, I suppose it's a prelude to an answer." He sighed. "It wasn't supposed to go this far, Alan."
"Don't make me ask you again, Jeff."
"I had you brought here for your own protection," Mason admitted.
"You're going to have to start at the beginning, because that sounds suspiciously close to the end." Alan waited, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. As Jeff explained, Alan's concern for his children grew.
"Jeff, you're...what do they call it? Deep undercover..."
Jeff offered a humorless smile. "I guess that's a good enough term. Buchmann thinks he owns me. Instead, I keep tabs on his operation. We're trying to amass enough evidence to put him away permanently. He's slippery, though, and he has a loyal bunch working for him."
"So, my boys are involved because Buchmann found out about my involvement..." His eyes widened. "I have to call them. I have to warn..."
Mason shook his head. "They're safe enough."
"No! They don't know what they're dealing with!" His fear for his boys turned to anger at his former friend and supervisor. "Just like I didn't know what I was dealing with when I worked for you. It was supposed to be safe!"
"It was..."
"If it was, we wouldn't be sitting here now!"
"You're here for your own protection. I'm going to try to reach Don's supervisor and let him know, but, frankly, I haven' been able to find him."
Alan stared at the man he'd once known, and he wondered how things had fallen apart so quickly.
While they ate, Terry tried to distract Charlie to keep him from realizing what he was doing–how much he was eating–and getting self-conscious. "So, what's our plan?"
Don shook his head, and glanced at Charlie. "I don't want to give Buchmann what he wants, but I don't see a way around it."
Charlie shook his head just as he was about to take another bite of his sandwich, but then he froze. "Wait a minute..."
Terry watched in confusion. Charlie wasn't moving, his eyes were wide, and then, with a suddenness that startled her, he was bolting from his chair toward the stack of his books and notes. She glanced at Don, but he shrugged, though he was worried enough about Charlie to follow him.
Charlie tore through the books and notes obviously looking for something specific. Triumphantly, he held up the Twain book that Buchmann had sent to him. "He's been teasing us with it all along! Making us call him Buchmann, sending me a book of Twain's workDon't you see? Mark Twain's real name was Samuel Clemens. He's telling us he's using an alias." He looked his brother in the eye. "Don't you remember?" Charlie was exasperated by Don's confused stare. "Buchmann is German for Bookman."
Realization bit Don in the face. Buchmann"That was what the guy's nickname was! The Bookman! He was notorious for settling accounts' as the euphemism went at the time, financially and otherwise. That's why we got nothing on Buchmann as far as priors! He must have set up an alias, or several."
Don looked at Charlie. "I'm blanking on the rest of his name." Charlie's elation diminished and Don clapped him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Charlie. We can run a search on the nickname." He looked to David.
David nodded. "I'm on it." He stepped away and started making calls on his cell phone.
"Sowe know who he is, and that he apparently has a grudge against your father. But why go through all of this? Just for revenge? What could your father have done to him that would justify this kind of revenge?" Kraft asked.
"It was a long time ago. He was going through some records at work, and found somethinga discrepancy I guess. It had something to do with building permits and contracting bids...I was never too clear on what it was. Dad pointed it out and his boss was taking the credit and being called in to testify against someoneDad's old boss was getting the glory and getting to meet a lot of peopleeven taking the stand at the trial"
Don had a firmer grasp of the details having been much older than Charlie at the time. He looked Charlie in the eye. "Dad thought it should have been him getting the attention, meeting the people, but Aunt Irene said he shouldn't be in a business where you meet people like The Bookman."
Terry smirked at Don. "I wonder what she'd think of your job."
Don smiled, but went on. "I remember something weird about that trial."
"What?" Charlie leaned closer to his brother in anticipation.
"Dad got a letter. Mom told me later that it was connected to the case. It shook him up. He wouldn't let us out of the house for a while. He even called the police"
"Oh, yeah!" Charlie nodded in excitement. "I remember that now! He looked so afraid all the time, and he wouldn't even let mom go out of the house without him. We either all went out or we all stayed in. He thought someone"
Don stood up, cutting Charlie off. "Not someone. Buchmann!"
"You remember him?"
"No, but it has to be...and" His brow furrowed in concentration, but he couldn't pull the memory to the surface.
Terry watched, concern in her eyes. "Hey, come on. You were just a kid. You may not have ever heard the whole story"
"Wait," Don stared at Charlie for a moment, and Terry had a definite feeling of déjà vu from just moments ago.
"Dad got a letter...he and Mom were scared. There were some policemen...must have been agents...and there was a book then, too."
"Twain?" Terry asked.
Don shook his head. "No...it was...something old. I remember the book looked ancient, and the name wasn't familiar.
Terry heard Charlie's whisper, even as she stared at Don for confirmation.
"It was The Revenger's Tragedy," Charlie said as the Twain book fell from his hands.
Don nodded. "Yeah, that was it."
"Never heard of it." Terry admitted. She watched the brothers carefully, but she was better able to pick up on Don's mood. He was oddly calm, and she wondered if it could be because he was mulling over the past or because Charlie was here with him instead of separated by distance, the law, and iron bars.
"So this is revenge because he thinks your dad helped put him in prison? Bit over the top." David insisted as he dialed another number on his phone while scribbling something in his notebook.
Terry shook her head. "It doesn't need to make sense to us. If he's crazy enough either to kill or to have someone else kill nine people for him, then the reasoning may not make sense to anyone but him." She looked at Don. "I'd love to know how he planted the physical evidence."
Don shrugged. "Can't be hard. Lots of people are in and out of Charlie's office, so the carpet fibers are easy enough. The hairwell, we lose something like 100 hairs a day. If he got the fibers from the carpet, he could be fairly certain that any dark, curly hairs he picked up in there were Charlie's."
"And the fingerprints?"
"That's a little harder, but Charlie's prints weren't found on things like doorknobs and windowpanes. It was on movable objects like glasses, bottles...besides you can transfer a print from one object to another. All he had to do was find a print on something in Charlie's office and move it to something at the crime scene."
She stared at him incredulously, but he just offered a smile in return.
"Donny?" Charlie's voice sounded small and scared, and it had the immediate effect of bringing Don to his side.
"What? What is it Charlie?"
Mutely, he showed Don where the binding on the spine of the Twain book had torn when he'd dropped it. He saw a small slit had been made to allow several sheets of paper to be hidden there in the spine and the jolt from hitting the floor had apparently jarred them loose. Charlie, pale as a ghost, handed the sheets to his brother and waited.
Don scanned them, and then, not believing what he'd read, slowed down to read them more carefully. "This is aI don't even know what to call ita game plan? An outline?"
Terry took the papers from Don. "It's everything that's happened so far" she inhaled sharply as she got to the last paragraph. "It says here that he will destroy your father's life."
Don nodded. "Not if I can help it.
Hours had passed and Don wasn't sure how much more of this he could handle. What was keeping Buchmann from calling? He sighed, leaned back his head slightly against the back of the sofa and rubbed his left hand across his eyes. His right hand was numb, trapped as it was beneath his sleeping brother's head. They'd been talking, each taking comfort from the other's presence, but Charlie's exhaustion had caught up with him. That, on top of the big meal, and he was ready for a nap. Don had sat down wearily and laid his arm across the back of the sofa, and, in the middle of a sentence, had felt Charlie's head tilt back and hit his arm. Cradled now by his upper arm just at the shoulder, Charlie was in a deep sleep. He'd tried to ease out from underneath his brother in the hopes that he could stretch Charlie out on the sofa, or, better yet, herd him upstairs to use one of the bedrooms. That maneuver had only managed to slide his arm down further trapping it at the elbow. Rather than risk waking Charlie, he'd decided to live with it.
He tried periodically to ease Charlie over a bit and had managed so far only to move his brother's head closer to his own chest almost tucked beneath his chin.
He didn't much care about the numbness or the pain that he knew would come when circulation finally returned to his arm. He wouldn't dare disturb Charlie now if only because the contact assured him that Charlie was alive and well. Both of the Eppes boys were unwilling to be parted from one another at the moment.
David came into the living room flipping his cell phone closed as he did. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but Don just waved him over. Terry, Kraft, and Pierce joined them as Don whispered to David. "What have you got?"
David didn't have to consult the notebook in his hand. "The Bookman's been busy. That initial arrest that your father instigated when he found the discrepancies in the city's ledgers implicated him in a kickback scheme and a rip off of city funds under several phony companies. The Bookman has since served his time, and reclaimed his position as a criminal kingpin. Some say he was still running things from inside.
"There are rumors that he has more federal, state, and local employees on his payroll than anyone else in the world. Trouble is, that one arrest was the only one that ever stuck. No one's ever been able to prove anything since then." David glanced down at his notes, though Don suspected it was only to buy time.
"What is it?"
"I found out that everyone connected with his arrest, everyone except your father, has died within the last year." He looked Don in the eye. "Can't be coincidence."
"No. It can't." Don agreed. He stiffened slightly as Charlie shifted and mumbled something, but relaxed as his brother drifted back to sleep."
Terry almost laughed. "He seems comfortable." She looked at her partner. "You don't."
"I'm not, but I'll take it." His eyes lingered on his brother's still form, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll take it gladly." Reluctantly, Don tore his attention from his brother. "Do we have a location on The Bookman? Does he have offices somewhere?"
David nodded. "He has offices, but there's no reason to believe your father is being held there." He shrugged arresting the gesture half completed and glancing at Terry before continuing. "Of course, even if we had evidence and probable cause, we don't have the Bureau's backing on this."
"We don't have a lot of manpower." Kraft said. "I'd like to have his offices under surveillance, but I don't want to deplete what little we've got. If he calls soon, I'd like us all available to cover the plan."
"The plan is that I do whatever I have to do to get my father back." Don insisted, his voice gaining volume.
"Don, that's not practical" Terry began.
"Practical? He'll kill my father. I can't let that happen."
"He'll want you and Charlie. Will you trade your brother for your father?"
"Of course not!"
"No, of course not." Terry spoke softer having noticed that Charlie had shifted uneasily in his sleep. "But, Don, he's already made it clear that he wants the two of you in exchange for your father. You and I both know that Buchmann has no intention of letting any of you walk away."
Don nodded, his eyes glazed, his attention focused inward. His arm, freed by Charlie's sudden move, shifted, and he dropped an affectionate hand to his brother's head. He looked up at Terry, determination plain. "I won't lose them. I can't. I won't let Buchmann anywhere near Charlie again. You see what Charlie's been through"
"I'd go through it again if it meant protecting you, Donny." Charlie's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He'd gone still, and they'd assumed he'd been asleep, but he'd been pretending.
"How much did you hear?" Don asked, frowning half at what Charlie may have heard, and half because Charlie had been calling him Donny since they'd brought him here.
Charlie ignored the question as he slowly, painfully sat up. "I heard enough. Don, Buchman used me to get to you. He used you and Dad to get to me. I'm involved in this as much as you are."
Don had expected to hear Charlie continue to call him Donny, but to his surprise, Charlie dropped the childhood name. He couldn't help but wonder what that meant.
Charlie swallowed audibly. "You know, I've figured out what he had me working on." He paused, but just as Don opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, Charlie rushed through his explanation as if getting the words out in one long breath might make them easier to say, easier to hear. "It's damage analysis for conventional bombs, nuclear bombs, germ warfare, almost any destructive force you can conceive. I was under a deadline when I was put in solitary. I'm sure I've missed it by now, and I don't know what he's going to do about thatI thinkhe'll take it out on Dad." He shrugged. "Of course, there's every chance that he never expected me to meet the deadline, even that he didn't want me to."
"What do you mean?" Don asked.
"I mean I don't see what use this information is for him. Plus, he had all the data and he obviously has–or had–a high level mathematician working on the project or he couldn't have built a mathematical code out of the evidence in the murders. He never needed me. He just wanted me to think he needed me."
Don nodded. "I was supposed to think this was all about me and you were supposed to think it was all about you. In reality, it was about Dad. Buchmann is keeping us busy. All he wanted was to hurt Dad."
"And what better way to hurt Alan Eppes than to hurt his sons." Terry finished the thought for him.
Don stared his brother in the eye. "Charlie, I'm not going to let him kill Dad. Or you."
Charlie shook his head. "I can't let you face him alone, Don. I can't do that. I can't and I won't" he stopped and swallowed the emotion that had jammed his throat. "I won't let you go alone."
Don stared Charlie in the eye. There was more going on here than just his brother's infamous stubborn streak rearing its ugly head. He saw something in Charlie's eyes that he couldn't identify. Fear? Regret? Desperation? Yes, those were all there, but there was more. He saw determination.
He wanted to argue, but again, Charlie kept speaking. "I have to do this. Don't you see? It'sI need" Words failed him.
Don watched him grope for a way to express himself. He looked like he had back at the jail when he'd told Don that he needed to get the numbers out of his head. Don reached for his brother, one hand going around to cup the back of his brother's head, the other taking hold of the waving hands.
Charlie looked him in the eye, and a communication, silent, instinctual, and heartfelt filled each brother's soul. Charlie smiled a small, tentative smile, and Don even understood that. The joy at finally being understood and understanding was almost overwhelming, even for Don. For Charlie, who'd craved nothing more than that all his isolated life, who'd lost the only person who'd always understood him when their mother had died, it had to be nearly crippling. Don moved forward to hug him and the brothers knew what the others in the room could not. This was their choice, their decision. Not the FBI's.
Alan stared at Mason in utter disbelief. Finally, unable to remain sitting while his life unraveled, he stood and began to pace. He was unsteady at first, but the rapid movement was clearing his head. He could not believe the power necessary to do all of this had focused on him. On his life. He remembered the case. How could he not? His biggest concern at the time had been the safety of his wife and children. Somehow, he'd received a threatening letter from this man all those years ago. Even though his own name had not appeared in any article connected to the case. Even though only very few internal people in his own office had even known of his initial involvement. Somehow this man had known even then, and had threatened his family.
The police had taken the threat seriously, and though he'd tried to keep it from his boys, he knew that they had, at the very least, picked up on something being wrong. They'd never discussed it. They were bright boys, though, and had known. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they had allit was like that story about an elephant being in the room and no one openly acknowledging it. He shook his head. The Emperor's New Clothes had never been his favorite nursery story. Eventually, Buchmann had gone to prison, and the immediacy of the threat had disappeared. As the years had passed, it had become less and less important. Surreal almost, as though it had happened to someone else in another place and time, the memory of it faded and weakened.
"I don't understand why he would bother with me! You said...I was told that my family would be safe! You promised..." He cleared his throat, as he heard his own words in his mind. He sounded like a petulant child demanding equity from an uncaring universe. He inhaled and stopped pacing. He suddenly felt much older than he'd ever felt in his life. "He must be a powerful man to have done all of this. What I did couldn't have hurt him very much. Why would he waste his life, his money, his time, doing these unspeakable things to my family?"
Mason shook his head, and Alan could see the regrets in his old friend's eyes. "You took from him. He wants to take from you."
"What did I take from him?" He shook his head, and not waiting for an answer began to scream at Mason rage overtaking fear. "It wasn't supposed to be this way! You all swore my family would be safe!" Alan could recall what had happened so clearly. Over the years, he'd tried to forget, had even thought he'd succeeded, until he realized that the memories still haunted his dreams. He'd found that information by accident. He'd thought it was an accounting oversight. It wasn't until he'd brought them to Mason's attention that he'd realized precisely what he'd stumbled upon.
Mason had been searching for the trail for months, and it was only dumb luck that had put Alan on the scent first.
He wasn't yet a City Planner. That was several promotions away. He'd been combing through paperwork to check the accuracy before the auditors arrived. He remembered going through the long list of numbers, checking facts against the paper trail in each project's file. Amount of money spent, items purchased, permits filed, dates...the numbers had been getting to him, row after row, column after column. He almost dismissed it as his own tiredness, but something made him double check.
It was then that the numbers stopped making sense. He remembered wondering briefly if his son Charlie, nearly four at the time, might have found the inconsistencies sooner. He rechecked project after project putting aside the ones he found questionable. It was that stack that he'd brought to Mason.
Mason had looked it over and grown both pale and excited, which surprised Alan. He promised to look into it, and Alan returned to his auditing project. It was two days later that Mason had sent for him.
"I was wondering what you think of the things you found."
Alan felt he was being tested but he didn't know why. "I think there's enough of a discrepancy to warrant a closer look." He stopped short of talking about shady deals and breaking the law, but he was thinking it.
He'd cursed himself over it time and again after the death threats. Mason had promised then that his family would be safe, and now, all these years later, it was still all a lie. No one was safe.
"We cost him a few years of his life? Years he used to continue to build an empire"
Mason shook his head. "Try to understand. To Buchmann, this is personal. He wants to take from you what you took from him. It's likely that he's playing your boys. The work he's getting Don to report on, hell, most likely the equations he's set Charlie to work on, they don't mean as much to Buchmann as ruining your family means to him.
"My boys were children when this happened..."
Mason nodded. "That's why they're his targets."
Alan couldn't wrap his mind around what he was being told. As far as he could tell, Buchmann had lost nothing. Not his power, not his money. Realization drained him of strength and he sat down hard before he could fall over.
"Hisdid he lose his family?"
Mason looked up apologetically at Alan even as Alan inhaled deeply to steady himself. Whatever had happened to the man was not his fault. If his family had left him, or died, or been killed, or if half a hundred things had happened because he was in prison, Alan had to remind himself Buchmann had ended up in prison because of his own actions, and not because of anything Alan had done. That, of course, would be a small consolation if, as he suspected, the man was practicing the 'an eye for an eye' system of justice. He steadied his breathing, but almost lost it again as his mind substituted that thought with an entirely different phrase: a son for a son.
To Be Continued