Author's ramblings: Thank you so, so much for your continuing reviews (which I read and re-read over and over again!). You inspire me, make me smile, and imbue me with the desire to make this story the best that I possibly can. I literally couldn't do it without you. Thanks to CerealKillerZero for making the suggestion about including the reactions of other recurring characters – what would have been a throwaway line or two to tie up a loose plot end is now a fun little brush with Gary Walker.
Chapter 16
WAR ROOM, FBI OFFICE, 25 DAYS AFTER THE ARREST
"I think I may have found what we're looking for." Charlie opened his laptop on one of the desks, fumbling in his hurry to connect the display to the large presentation screen at the head of the room. Line after line of computer code scrolled across the screen, and Charlie looked around the room in triumph.
"Uhhh – what are we looking at here, Charlie?" asked David.
"What you're looking at is the motive for framing Don," said Charlie. "I – think."
Colby scratched his head. "You know, maybe it's just me, but when I see a bunch of computer code, I tend to get a headache, not an uncontrollable urge to frame an FBI agent."
"Ah, but see, the code is irrelevant. What's interesting here is the advanced mathematical equations the code is designed to handle. This application was developed by a grad student at MIT who was adapting saber metrics to predict the success of motion pictures based on an enormous number of variables."
"Aren't there already programs that do that? Tell you where you need a chase scene, and that sort of thing?" asked Liz.
"Yeah, like goofball with his CinePal racket." said Colby.
"Yes. But those are crude implements, mainly focused on plot development. The success of a major, big-budget film depends on so many variables that it's literally impossible for a human being to account for them all. That's the reason you have huge movies that flop, costing studios millions of dollars, and surprise hits that nobody anticipated would find a large audience."
"It doesn't seem so hard to me," said Colby. "Those big-budget flops fail because they suck, it doesn't seem like it should take a genius or a bunch of math to figure that out."
"Well – it's easy for a member of the audience, viewing a finished version of the film, to decide if they think a movie is good or not. But what the audience can't know, and what the investors backing the production have been unable to predict, are the influences which lead to the finished project becoming a commercial success or to it failing miserably."
"You see, making a movie is such a complex creative and commercial endeavor that it's very difficult to control the end result. Thousands of people can have an integral role in the production. Writing, casting, directing, acting, scoring, photography, set design, editing, scheduling, budgets, filming locations, personnel issues, current events, celebrity reputations, publicity – all of these things work together to determine the outcome of your film and how it's received by your audience."
Charlie clicked through screens on the software. "This allows a filmmaker to connect to hundreds of databases and test the probable impact of various decisions on the commercial viability of a movie."
"And where do you come in to all of this?" asked David.
"Well – the thing is, the program doesn't work. My colleague at MIT sent it to me in the hopes that I could discover where the flaw in the math was."
"I think I see where this is going," said David. "Any studio that managed to get its hands on this and make it work before anyone else would have a huge advantage over its competitors."
"Right," said Charlie. "And it would make sense that they would want to delay the general release of this application to maintain their advantage for as long as possible."
"I don't know about you guys, but this is starting to look a lot like a lead to me," observed Colby.
"Me too," agreed Liz. "I like the money side of it. We're talking huge financial motive here, and a big player in the film industry could afford to hire whoever they needed for the setup."
"And it's quite possibly the people they hired would think the work was legitimate, right?" asked David. "I mean, they could conceivably do this with relatively few people even knowing anything illegal was taking place."
"It's possible," said Liz.
"Okay, let's start working it," said David.
US DOJ METROPOLITAN DETENTION CENTER, 26 DAYS AFTER THE ARREST
Charlie gulped. There was large bruise on Don's forehead, and a cut taped together with butterfly bandages. His mind added to it the memory of his brother sitting on the bumper of an ambulance bleeding from a gunshot wound to the arm. I couldn't predict it. Didn't predict it, but I acted like – I thought like I could.
Don sat with an air of enduring the inevitable, wincing as he eased himself into the chair. Charlie remembered his face screwed up in pain as he positioned himself on the couch that first day back from the hospital. I was distracted, and full of myself.
He folded his hands on the table, ugly purple and yellow bruises entirely circling his wrists. I was born. An ability I never asked for makes me someone who turned his life upside down. Because I'm gifted at math, he's sitting here in a jail going through who only knows what kind of hell. No wonder he hated me when we were kids.
"Don, I'm so sorry." Charlie sat and closed his eyes, losing the courage to tell him what they suspected.
You're here because of me.
"Easy, buddy." Don resisted the urge to reach across the table and give Charlie's hands a reassuring squeeze. "I know how it looks, but I'm fine."
"Of course." Charlie gulped. "You look – if by fine you mean like a walking torture victim!"
"Nah, nothing of the sort. Some contractor had insecurity issues that didn't work out so well for me. They're taking good care of me, buddy, I promise. I don't want you to feel bad, all right?"
Charlie remained silent, staring in confusion at the marks on his brother's body and the calm in his eyes. What variables would have to come into play in order for such abuse to take place, and for Don to respond with a complete lack of hurt or anger?
For his part, Don was returning the exploration. Talking to Charlie about his work could be problematic, but their years working together had given him a better understanding of the world Don inhabited. The shock and the hurt he'd expected were certainly there, but his brother wasn't retreating into blind trauma. He was calm, and willing to try to understand.
"You know – when I first started out, I was so terrified that some day I'd send an innocent person to jail. Then it was what if I shoot the wrong guy. Then it was – what if I screw up and thousands of people die. Now – I just don't even know which way is up."
Charlie frowned. "I'm guessing that wasn't you asking me for a refresher course on spatial dimension theory."
"Ha ha. I never thought the system was perfect, hell, I don't think anyone does. I've always just figured it's the best we've got, and as we continue to evolve as human beings, maybe we'll be able to make it better. Thought maybe I could make it better, by doing the job right."
"Well – you are are doing that," said Charlie. "Surely you haven't convinced yourself you belong in here."
Don shrugged. "Up here, in that cell – I'm at peace a lot of the time." He gave Charlie a calm look that asked for his contemplation and understanding, not a denial.
Charlie looked back, understanding the odd look in his brother's eyes the last couple of times he had visited. It was peace.
They sat for what seemed like a long time in silence, simply content to have reached some level of comprehension. Neither knew exactly what to think or feel, but they were content to let the barriers of childhood and pride and misunderstanding step aside for the moment.
Don's expression was sober and troubled when he finally spoke again. "Look – I sent an innocent guy away for murder, and he was in prison for more than a year before I figured it out. I've always dreaded the day maybe I hear I did it again, or maybe I shoot the wrong guy. Maybe – maybe it's just my time to pay for the times I went wrong, you know?"
"You don't deserve this, Don. You know you don't. You've done so much for people – people you didn't even know."
"I've hurt a lot of people, too," said Don softly. "Some didn't leave me any choice, but some of them just got in my way, or I didn't care enough to watch what I said or did to an innocent person because I was too busy hunting down a bad guy."
He leaned back in the metal chair, relaxed and meeting Charlie's eyes with an unguarded frankness. "Don't worry, I'm not wallowing in it. Just thinking – maybe it's not such a bad thing, to know what it feels like being on this side of the table."
Charlie studied his older brother. He looked tired, a day's stubble on his chin and hair un-brushed. He couldn't decide if the slouch was relaxation or deep depression, and finally he gave up. "Don't start thinking you belong here, okay?"
"You know –" Don twiddled his thumbs for a moment, staring at his hands. "Kinda scary how well I fit in. What if I'm just another guy who kills people? Turns his back while one of my agents tortures a teenage boy? I had my reasons and I stand by 'em, but maybe I'm justifying it like the others in here. I can't look at what's happening to me and say it's all that unfair, or I don't deserve it."
"Don – I know how much these things haunt you. But isn't that just the thing, that people who justify their amoral actions think they don't deserve to be in prison?"
Don looked sad. "Yeah. But moral people sometimes belong in prison too. I've arrested a few pretty decent guys, you know."
"You know – when we were kids, you could be really, really mean." A look of concern grew on Don's face, and Charlie stopped him with a raised hand.
"But you were always protecting people, too. It was as though you had this beautiful ideal of compassion, and you just didn't know how to respond when people were cruel so you lashed out. You had an innate drive to right wrongs, and you didn't know how. It made you nuts."
Don gave him a small smile. "Wanna know a secret? It still does."
"I know," said Charlie with a soft look at his brother. "It seems like you've got such an integral desire for things to be fair that you're willing to make being jailed and beaten something you deserve instead of the complete and total injustice that it really is."
"Thing is – what happens when I commit a wrong in the process of trying to right one? I mean – I've never believed in all that 'the ends justify the means' crap, but it's what I do. Don't like revenge either, and I spend all my time collecting people for punishment. I've killed more people than most of the murderers I arrest, and I probably feel less guilt about it than they do. I believe in what I do, it's just – confusing."
"Okay," said Charlie. "I won't say you're wrong, and I won't say it isn't disturbing to think about or that I could ever, ever kill someone. But you aren't motivated by a desire to punish people, you're motivated by a desire to protect the people they try to hurt, right?"
Don nodded. "Yeah." He groaned and leaned his elbows on the table. "You know, I found out that one case was bad, I looked into the statistics for false convictions – it's horrifying. And those are just the ones we actually find out about. But for all those, we've got ten more guilty people out walking around free, and that just seems like salt in the wounds."
"Well – not to discount the problem, which, I'll grant you is terrible to think about – this isn't an accident of the system. Framing you was a criminal act, and one that was done very deliberately. I don't think you can hold your profession any more responsible for this than you can for murder, or fraud."
"Do you think I'm losing it in here?" asked Don.
Charlie thought about it, and looking at Don's expression, something in him melted. "I think there's a certain beauty in any human impulse that meets injustice and cruelty with something better."
Don closed his eyes and lowered his head for a minute, touched. "Wow – buddy. I could call this a lot of things, I'm not sure beautiful is one of them."
"You know how when we're kids, we've got answers for everything and we're going to make the world a better place?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, maybe you don't have all the answers any more, but you're still trying to make the world a better place. I'd call that beautiful."
BULL PEN, FBI OFFICE, 27 DAYS AFTER THE ARREST
"That was a mighty tasty bone you boys threw us," said a dry drawl from behind David. He turned to see LAPD's Gary Walker, sipping a cup of coffee. He raised it in a salute.
"We just found Kitty Lobell's body, and it didn't take the whiz kids in forensics long to tie the murder to Traxler Lobell."
"Well," said David, smiling. "About time I heard some good news around here. He in custody?"
Walker leaned against the partition. "Sure thing, Sinclair. If we're lucky, might even catch a break on some of his other activities."
"Nice," said David, glancing around his desk and raising a cup of pens and pencils in a return toast. "Congratulations."
"Nice to see you folks still know how to play nice with the LAPD without your boss around."
"Yeah." David drew the word out, looking away and hunting for a file folder. Unfortunately for David, Walker didn't have any qualms about ignoring his not so subtle cues.
"He guilty, Sinclair?"
David sighed. "No."
"You gonna be able to prove that?"
"We're working on it."
Walker sipped his coffee. "You know, that man has his own unique style of law enforcement."
David remained silent. Tell me something about my boss I don't know. Better yet, don't talk to me about unique styles of law enforcement there, okay?
"Not much out there that shocks me any more."
David stood. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"
"Eppes committing online fraud, now that would about do it. I'm not here to interfere in family matters, Sinclair. Just wanted you to know if you boys need help from our direction, all you gotta do is ask."
David nodded. "Okay."
"Okay." Walker turned around and headed for the elevators. On impulse, David called out to him.
"One thing." He caught up with Walker and handed him the folder with the case overview. "We don't really think Traxler Lobell is involved in the setup. But I'd like to know for sure."
Walker took the folder with a sly smile. "Well, I'll just see what we can find."