Chapter 2: Agent Wheeler

Later that morning, Mahone walked out of his office, files in hand. He glanced over at Jack's desk, situated between Agent Lang's and Agent Wheeler's desks. She looked calmer than she had been earlier that morning. Ever since the other agents began arriving, she had put on a brave face and got right back into her work.

Just then the main door opened, jolting Mahone out of his reverie. Two agents strolled into the room. One of the agents was Agent Lang, an African-American woman in her late-thirties with short, nearly buzzed hair and a determined stride. The other agent was Agent Wheeler, a young man with glasses and a skinny, lanky figure.

Agent Wheeler sat down at a desk diagonal to Jack's desk. Mahone looked on warily as Wheeler began to strike up a conversation with Jack.

"So you're the new agent, huh?" he asked with a friendly smile.

"Yeah, I'm Jack Harper," she replied, extending her hand, "HQ sent me over to assist in the Fox River Eight investigation."

"Well, I'm Wheeler," he said shaking her hand, "And as far as I know, you're doing a little more than assisting in this investigation."

"Oh? Why would you say that?" asked Jack as she felt her pulse quicken.

"Well, HQ sent out an update last night telling us you were number two in this thing and that you and Mahone were going to be working side-by-side."

Jack laid down her pen and looked intently at Wheeler.

"Why would they do that?"

Wheeler shrugged, "I don't know. Guess they just wanted us to be aware of who's in charge. Why? What's wrong with that?"

"It's not protocol," she replied, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

By now, Mahone had heard enough and realized that it was time to intervene before something was said that did not need to be said.

"Forget it," he snapped as he walked up to them, "It's not important," he continued, raising his voice so all the other nearby agents could hear, "Other than me, she's in charge of this thing and I expect you all to listen to her and to do what she says. Is that clear?"

Mahone gave Wheeler a sharp glare, daring him to object. Agent Lang looked away nervously as the two men stared each other down.

"Crystal, sir," replied Wheeler, his voice edged with sarcasm.

"Well, speaking of protocol," interjected Jack before the tension in the room could get any more out of control, "HQ asked me to tell all of you that since Mahone and I are in charge, we are to be told everything first. That means before any other agent in this building. If you get new Intel, you are to report it directly to us."

Wheeler turned his icy stare toward Jack.

"We've never done that before. It doesn't make sense," he said incredulously, "I may want to discuss something with another agent before I tell…"

"Shut up, Wheeler," snapped Mahone, his patience quickly running out, "Just do your job and listen to Agent Harper. Think you can handle that?"

Wheeler's jaw tightened in anger, but he did not reply. He nodded curtly and turned back to his work on his desk. Mahone and Jack shared a knowing look before Mahone returned to his office. The exchange did not escape Lang's notice. She glanced back and forth between Mahone and Jack a few times before she went back to her work.

That evening, Mahone left his office and walked slowly into the main room. Jack had left an hour ago and Wheeler was the only other agent left in the building. He glanced up at Mahone as he walked by his desk to stand in front of the long bulletin board that had pictures of all the Fox River Eight escapees on it.

"About earlier," began Wheeler.

"Don't mention it," replied Mahone quietly, not taking his eyes off the pictures, "You were just doing your job. You had every right to question the new protocol."

Wheeler paused for a moment. He was not used to Mahone being so subdued and even almost kind.

"HQ called," he said, finally.

"Yeah?"

"They want to know why you staged the attempted capture of Abruzzi the way you did. They said that the way it was executed, there was only one outcome. "

Mahone turned to look at Wheeler for a moment.

"If HQ has a problem with the way I do things, they can get a gun and follow me out on the field next time," he snapped, "Scofield knew that the rat, Fibonacci, was the key to Abruzzi and thanks to Scofield's hard drive, we figured that out as well. I put it on the line and Abruzzi bit."

Wheeler nodded absently, "Well, anyway, you were right."

"About what?" asked Mahone as he stared intently at Michael Scofield's picture.

"That car wreck," said Wheeler as he stood up and approached Mahone, "Scofield and his brother staged it. We ran more tests, like you asked, and we found that the blood in the car was actually pig blood."

"Pig blood?" said Mahone as he turned towards Wheeler and took the file from his hands, "Clever kid."

He turned to look back at Michael Scofield's picture, when his suit jacket caught on some files on the desk behind him and fell to the floor. A picture of a man slipped out of one of the files. Above the picture, the name "Oscar Shales" was printed in bold, black ink. Mahone visibly froze at the sight of the photograph.

"But you know," he murmured after awhile, "The problem with being clever, is that he may end up being too clever for his own good."

Mahone stooped down to pick up the papers. As he put the picture back into one of the files, his hand shook slightly.

"Good night, Mahone," said Wheeler as he grabbed his bag and made his way to the door. He turned to give Mahone one more curious glance before he left.

Once Mahone heard the door close, he turned back to look at Scofield's picture. His breath began to quicken and he felt his blood begin to boil with rage. Then, without warning, he ripped Scofield's picture off the wall. It fell, crumpled, to the ground.

Mahone rested his forehead against the bulletin board, closed his eyes, and tried to steady himself. His hands had begun to shake again. He opened his eyes and looked down at the photograph.

"You have no idea what you're in for."