Mind Games

Chapter 2

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FBI Assistant Director Wright eyed the group through the glass wall of the conference room at the L.A. FBI headquarters. It was hard to tell that it was bulletproof, he thought to himself, absently. After a shooting in the office over a year ago, the glass walls had been replaced with a resin-reinforced shatterproof glass, which appeared to be clear and created no distortion. No distortion of the view of the two men in the room, the two dark heads deep in discussion with the L.A. FBI team on a federal case. Wright watched the brothers through the glass for a moment; waiting until the meeting ended and the group began to emerge. Don noticed him immediately upon exiting, and made his way across the bullpen.

A visit to the office by Wright was significant, and Don, as usual, was direct. "What's up?" he asked quietly.

"I need you to come to a meeting this afternoon," Wright said. "Keep it quiet – tell your staff that you have an appointment, if anyone asks. Your brother needs to be there, too – same restriction – he can tell no one." He saw Don's eyes dart unconsciously sideways as he mentioned Charlie, but the agent showed his usual self-restraint, and didn't actually turn to look at his brother. His brow furrowed slightly, however.

"What's this about?"

Wright grimaced, ruefully. "I don't know, they wouldn't tell me. I'm just the messenger, here. The guy in charge had Pentagon credentials. I repeat, you're not to tell anyone, and neither is Charlie. No communications by phone, either. I recommend you catch him on his way out so you can speak to him in person."

Don's frown grew deeper, but he kept his voice to a murmur. "Where and when?"

"Stilton Medical Building on Vineland, in Burbank. It's a large office complex, and only some of the offices are occupied – you're meeting in Suite 2-12 – second floor, suite twelve, at 2:00 p.m. If anyone asks, you have been scheduled for a dentist appointment with Dr. Reagan – so is Charlie. Dr. Reagan has the office across the hall."

Don's frown began to take on an incredulous aspect. "What in the hell is this?" Although his voice was still a murmur, it had risen slightly, and Wright shot him a warning look, then nodded and turned. "Okay," he said loudly, indicating their conversation was at an end. "Thanks for the update, agent."

Don took his cue and nodded. "You're welcome, sir." He watched Wright depart, with a definite sense of unease.

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He pulled into the lot of the three-story brick medical building at 2:00 p.m., and saw that Charlie was already there, sitting in his blue Prius, waiting. Charlie was out of his car before Don had thrown his SUV into park, and his younger brother fell into step beside him as they headed toward the building, nearly vibrating with tension.

"What do you think this is?" asked Charlie, anxiously. "You don't think it's related to my clearance, do you?" His clearance had been re-instated for weeks, but the revocation and the following struggle to get it re-instated had left him feeling a bit insecure.

Don glanced around without appearing to, making sure there was no one near enough to hear them. "I have no idea, Charlie," he said quietly. "Although I would think if there was a problem, they would have yanked you off the case that you're on now."

"True," conceded Charlie, looking slightly mollified. He mercifully fell silent as they approached the building, and remained that way until they found themselves standing in front of Suite 12. He looked up at Don at the door, and they exchanged a wordless glance, then Don turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

Inside, a woman in a suit jacket and skirt sat at a desk, from all appearances, a receptionist. She rose as soon as they entered, revealing shapely legs, enhanced by a pair of Italian heels. The legs did not distract Don from the fact that she wore a holster under her jacket, which flashed briefly into view as she opened the door to an inner room, revealing the low profile handle of a sleek nine millimeter. Two other people were sitting the waiting area, both men, both pretending to be waiting to be seen; both, from Don's estimation, armed agents. He fought down a rising sense of apprehension, walked past the bodyguards, and entered the second room indicated by the receptionist, which held two occupants. He moved through the doorway after Charlie with an impassive face, taking in the two men seated inside over the top of Charlie's curly head. The receptionist closed the door behind them.

One of them rose and extended a hand to Charlie, then to Don. "Have a seat. My name is Bill Masters, Chief Security Advisor, and this is Brian Rogan, U.S. Security Expert. We're here on behalf of Dave Maxwell, and James Conaghan."

"Charles Eppes," said Charlie as he took their hands. Don could see his brother's eyes widen at the mention of Maxwell and Conaghan. He examined the men; both of them were around his age, in their late thirties, well-groomed, muscular, utility men, if he had to make a guess. He shook their hands, but didn't bother to introduce himself. The men already knew well who they were.

Masters handed Charlie a folder with a paper on top of it, and a pen. "Before we begin, I need you both to sign a simple statement, which basically states that you will not divulge any of the subject matter of this conversation."

Charlie's eyes had widened a bit further, and Don reached over and took the folder from him, skepticism on his face. He read the paper; it contained a simple statement to that effect, with the penalty being prosecution if they didn't comply. There didn't appear to be any hidden legalese, so he signed it, and passed it back to Charlie with a nod. He noticed that both men's eyes were on Charlie, seeming to study him as he signed.

As Charlie handed the folder and the paper back, Masters thanked him. "I'm sure you're both wondering what this is about, so I'll get right to it. Your government has need of your services." As he outlined the situation with Montreaux, his as yet unproven illegal ventures, and his request for an expert, Don knew what was coming, but still, when the man looked at Charlie and said, "We would like you to go undercover as the expert -," Don cut him off.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Don," cautioned Charlie.

Don ignored him, his jaw set. "Are you nuts? He's not an agent – what is this, the U.S. government's way of getting back at him for the Pakistan thing?"

"Don," said Charlie again, uncomfortably.

Don rose from his seat. "This is ridiculous, Charlie."

Charlie stayed where he was. "Let's hear the man out," he said. "He came all the way from Washington. And it might be – interesting."

Don glared at him. "Charlie, you cannot possibly be considering this."

Charlie was beginning to get irritated by Don's presumptive statements, and his eyes flashed stubbornly. "I haven't considered anything, yet. I want to hear the rest of it."

Don realized that all of them were staring at him, and he took a deep breath and inclined his head with exaggerated politeness. "Okay." He sat, again silently adding to himself, 'Go ahead and listen, get it out of your system - but there's no way you're doing this. I can't believe they'd even ask.'

Rogan and Masters had been watching the exchange with interest, and Masters cleared his throat. "What I'd been about to say, is that the offer would be extended to both of you. We realize that Dr. Eppes is inexperienced with this kind of thing, and so we intended to send you with him, agent. You would be given new identities, but your relationship as brothers would be part of that."

Don caught Charlie's sidelong glance, the excitement in his eyes, and realized that his brother was well on his way toward buying the idea. Don knew that Charlie was enthralled with Don's past work in Fugitive Recovery, and had asked questions on more than one occasion that Don had refused to answer. He could almost hear the wheels turning in Charlie's head – his brother was bowled over by the excitement, the glamour of going undercover. The only problem was; Charlie had no idea that undercover work wasn't exciting or glamorous – it was primarily tedious and frustrating, and when it wasn't, it was usually as scary as hell.

"It's way too risky," Don said flatly, and at the same time, Charlie said, "I'm listening."

Don pursed his lips tightly, and looked at Rogan and Masters. "Can we have a minute?"

They hesitated; then Masters nodded. "Certainly."

Don waited until they stood and left the room, and then said, "What in the hell are you thinking?"

Charlie's jaw jutted stubbornly. "Maybe that I have an opportunity to help my country, and finally erase any questions around my clearance."

"Charlie, don't bullshit me. Your clearance obviously isn't an issue anymore, because otherwise, these guys wouldn't even be here. Trust me, I've done this stuff before, and you aren't cut out for it."

It was the wrong thing to say. Charlie's eyes grew black, and his jaw set even more tightly. "Everyone that works undercover has to go through a first time – you did. This will be mine."

Don backed off. "Charlie, please, just think about this for a minute. This is dangerous work – any undercover work is, and if they're right about Montreaux's involvement, the stakes are unbelievably high."

"Don, you can't sit there and tell me not to do this, when you know you've done it yourself – and you were probably younger than I am when you did it."

"And I was more experienced then than you'll ever be," Don shot back. "You need a certainly personality for this work, Charlie."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Charlie snapped back.

Don paused, fumbling for words. He was making Charlie angry, and losing ground in the process. "Just that – well, face it - number one, you're not exactly a 'people' person, and number two, people can read you like a book." He held a hand up as Charlie started to protest, and tried to head him off. "That's not necessarily a bad thing – you're an open and honest person. It's just not ideal for something like this."

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "You're fishing for reasons, and not doing a very good job of it. How do you know how I would behave in an undercover situation? It's not like you've seen me do it before." The anger faded from his eyes, and he sighed, disappointment flashing across his face. "Look, I'll admit, I would like this much better if we could work together on it. And it does sound a little nerve-wracking. But even if you don't want to do it, I may take it."

Don shook his head. "Charlie, you don't even know all the details yet. You don't know how long it will take – what about your classes? You haven't even asked them about the risks -,"

"How risky could it be?" Charlie countered. "They have two other agents in there, according to Masters – one of them has been in for two years. I go in, do some programming, find out what I can, and get out. Look, if it makes you feel better, I'll ask them those questions when they come back in. I'll even take some time to consider it, if they give it to me. But right now, I'm thinking seriously about doing this." He looked at Don directly, his eyes steady. "Why did you do it, when you were in Fugitive Recovery?"

"Fugitive Recovery was not undercover work." Don replied steadfastly, trying to dodge the question.

"But you worked undercover," Charlie replied calmly. "You said it yourself. Maybe it was part of your FR work, or maybe it wasn't – but you just admitted it a few minutes ago. So why'd you do it?"

"Charlie, I was a government agent – I was then, and I still am. They can tell me what to work on. You have a choice."

"You didn't have to take an undercover assignment, but you didn't consider saying no, did you?" Charlie pressed, his voice soft, but laced with stubbornness. "If you can't tell me why you did it; then I shouldn't have to tell you why I want to try this. And you have no right to tell me whether I should or not." He stood, walked over to the door and opened it, ending the conversation; then returned and sat, waiting while Rogan and Masters came back into the room. "I'd like a day to think about this," he told them, as they looked at him expectantly. "If I do this, I need to figure out how to arrange for an absence."

"That won't be a problem," said Masters, confidently. He flicked a glance at Don. "Actually, if your brother came with you, we were going to spin the story that you were both pulled out to Virginia to set up a training program at Quantico. We're hoping that this will take only a few weeks, once you're inside."

Don spoke up. "Look, I'll be upfront here." The expressions on Rogan and Masters' faces said that they were wishing he wouldn't be, but Don continued, knowing he was going to hate himself for what he was about to say. "I'm not convinced that Charlie should do this, but if he decides to sign up, I'm in." He caught the look of gratitude on Charlie's face, and a flash of triumph in Masters' eyes.

"Very well," he said. "We can afford one day for you to think it over, but no more." Masters went on, providing more information, including some preliminary details on their assignments, contacts, and payment, among other things. At the end of his talk, he looked at Charlie, becoming suddenly sober. "I need to tell you, Professor Eppes, if you don't do this, we really don't have another good candidate. I hope you factor that into your decision."

As Charlie nodded, looking a bit flattered and equally grave, Don could see that Masters had an expression on his face that said he already knew the outcome, and tasted victory. 'Don't celebrate too soon, mister,' Don thought to himself. 'By this time tomorrow, I'm going to make sure that Charlie will have changed his mind."

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Rogan and Masters remained standing while the Eppes brothers exited the room, and were silent for a moment more after the door shut behind them. Rogan spoke first. "So what did you think?"

Masters eyed the closed door thoughtfully. "It could work. They're the best option we have, anyway. I can see what Tompkins meant about Charlie not being street-smart, though. It wasn't hard to read him – or push his buttons."

Rogan snorted softly. "Yeah, I saw that. Although apparently, he can push some buttons of his own - his brother's."

Masters shook his head. "Yeah, they did have a tendency to argue, didn't they? I don't think Don Eppes would let it be a problem, though. He strikes me as a pro. And I'm not worried about signing him up - he'll do what he's directed to do – Charlie's the one who needs to make a decision."

"The only question is; what will he decide?"

Masters grinned. "I think I already know the answer to that one," he said softly. They both glanced down at the dossier open on the desk next to them at the same time, and the photos of Don and Charlie Eppes stared back at them.

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End Chapter 2