Mind Games

Chapter 22

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: A few of you have had some questions. This story does get pretty complicated. Perhaps it's time for a brief recap. They have arrested Jack and Pierre Montreaux and some of the Iranians. The head Iranian, Khalid, has escaped the country. The CIA double agent, J. Scott Marsh, who is the unknown American that Charlie saw in Montreaux's study, is also at large. Because they haven't been able to capture those men, and because Charlie is needed to testify against Montreaux, Conaghan and Maxwell (CIA and FBI directors) have put Charlie and Don under protective custody. It was Marsh who gave the command to Dr. Allman for Don to be brainwashed, and Marsh is the villain the brothers will need to worry about for the rest of the story.

The question is, will the brothers' relationship survive what is about to happen? It's important to remember in the upcoming chapters, that Don isn't really the Don we know and love, he's someone else entirely. Also, you have probably already realized that whenever you see italics in Don's POV, it is not him speaking – it is the 'speaker' at Cypress Institute, talking to him through the auditory module inside Don's head. Don will come back to us, but not yet… and by the way, Don fans, I am not done whumping him, not by a long shot. Right now, though, it's Charlie's turn in the whump seat, and this chapter is only a warm-up.

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Don clenched his fist, then opened it with an exaggerated motion, pretending he was stretching a cramped hand. He was crawling inside – a combination of a tingling sense of anticipation, which he often felt on a mission, and an undercurrent of irritation. He couldn't stand to be in the same house with Charlie, and he was anxious to get on with things, to end this. The source of the emotions never occurred to him; he didn't realize that his brain was under a constant barrage of electricity designed to interrupt his normal thought processes - a fraction of a milliohm down this lead or that was enough to suppress normal feelings of love and empathy, and replace them with feelings of disgust and loathing. He was on a hair trigger, and just a slight increase in amperage could throw him into a rage. Added to that was the voice in his head, which advised, goaded, and calmed by turns – it was whispering to him now. 'Get the agents out of the house – they can't be too close, or they'll get to you before you finish the job.'

Don looked at Bill Masters, and smiled coldly. "And I told you before; we don't need anyone inside with us. You know your men outside will keep anyone from entering, anyway. You don't need more than one man inside with Charlie, and I'm perfectly qualified."

"You're still healing," Masters pointed out.

"I'm well enough for this," countered Don. "Cut us a break, will you, Bill? We're both fresh off undercover; Charlie's got to testify in two weeks. We could both use a chance to relax and rest in privacy."

Masters sighed and looked at Rogan, who shrugged. "All right," conceded Masters. "We'll stick to the outside – on these conditions. We get to set up camp in the garage, and we can come through the kitchen to use the bathroom. Otherwise, we'll stay out of your hair – although I will place my men so that I can have at least two inside and engaged within 5 seconds, in case you need them."

The corner of Don's mouth twitched in annoyance, and he caught it and made it a smile. The voice inside his head was telling him to back off – that he shouldn't push for more, or they might get suspicious. There would be time to revise the agreement later. "Okay, deal," he said.

He glanced sideways. Charlie had been watching the exchange quietly, but as Don looked his way, Charlie grinned. Don knew that Charlie would like the arrangement – just the two of them, alone. 'The little puke will want to talk.' Don's mouth twisted in annoyance once again, and this time, he let it, although he turned his head away so no one could see.

"Don't forget," Rogan said, as they turned to leave, "Colby Granger and David Sinclair are stopping by to visit in less than two hours. You two know the cover story – you were driving your rented Monte Carlo outside of Quantico when you were involved in a minor accident. Don suffered a mild concussion and was hospitalized briefly – you both just got into L.A. yesterday. The class development work was put on hold for a few weeks – you'll go back out and finish it then. We'll use that as your cover when you need to testify."

Charlie nodded. "Got it." He stood there, not moving as the door closed, and then looked at Don, and smiled. "Take off your jacket and stay awhile," he teased.

'Humor him,' said the voice, 'but decline.' Don grunted and shrugged, and headed toward the sofa. "It feels a little chilly in here. I think I'll keep it on."

Charlie turned and made for the dining room. "Dad probably turned down the thermostat while we were gone," he said, but stopped in his tracks as his cell phone beeped, pulled it out, and answered. "Oh, Dad," he said, looking meaningfully at Don. "Hi – we were just talking about you. How's it going? Oh, yeah, your trip to the cabin. Yeah, I told you, I think you ought to go. Hold on a minute." He hit mute, and looked at Don, speaking quickly. "Dad called a couple of weeks back, and said he might extend his trip and go with Stan to a cabin – it belongs to a Juneau businessman who wants them to work on a mall proposal. He said he'll be out in the middle of nowhere for a couple of weeks – I told him he should go. At the time, you weren't here yet, and I was still at the safe house – I thought it would be better if he wasn't around."

Don, leaning back against the sofa cushion, nodded approvingly. "I think he should go, too. We aren't done with this yet." He held out his hand and leaned forward. "Let me talk to him."

Charlie turned 'mute' off, and said into the phone, "Hold on, Dad, Don wants to talk to you," then stepped toward Don and handed him the phone, and watched as his brother's face creased in a familiar grin. It occurred to him it was the first time he'd seen Don smile that way – a real smile that engaged his eyes – since he'd returned.

"Yeah, Dad," Don was saying. "I think that sounds great – you ought to do it. Charlie and I are busy anyway. Yeah, I'm doing okay. When do you leave? Tomorrow? Okay, no, we'll understand if we can't reach you. Enjoy yourself – I'll see you when you get back." His eyes flicked back to Charlie, and the smile faded. "Okay, 'bye Dad."

He held the phone out and Charlie took it and put it to his ear. "Dad?"

"He had to go," said Don, his eyes suddenly dark. 'He didn't want to talk to you, you spoiled brat,' said the voice in his head. 'He hates you, too.'

Charlie stared at him a moment, then shrugged and headed for the thermostat. "I'll turn the heat up. No sense you sitting there in that jacket; you might as well be comfortable."

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Paul Ziegler, the operations leader, sat back and watched the screen over tented fingers. Team B had just come on, and Wilkes, Korb, and Jamison were on duty. Jamison was already in the isolation booth; they could see his lips moving as he spoke to the receiver in Don Eppes' head.

The camera in Don Eppes' jacket was picking up the living room, and Agents Sinclair and Granger, sitting across from him.

Korb frowned at the screen. "I'm still not sure that I get why Charlie Eppes is under protection by other agencies, while we're trying to kill him."

Ziegler replied, without taking his eyes from the screen. "I asked Allman the same question. Apparently, Charlie Eppes works for whoever will pay him – and sometimes that's the U.S. government. According to Allman's source, Charlie and Don Eppes just finished an assignment for the DEA and the FBI that had to do with a New Orleans businessman named Montreaux, and his drug operation. They're supposed to testify against Montreaux, and in the meantime they're under protection. The DEA and FBI don't know that Charlie is a double agent, and we've been instructed to keep it that way."

"Whatever he's involved in, it must be some really dark shit," muttered Korb.

"The protection unit will make it harder to pull this off," said Wilkes.

"Not necessarily," demurred Ziegler. He watched as Granger and Sinclair rose and headed for the door and Don Eppes closed it behind them. The visit by the FBI agents had been brief, uneventful, although Ziegler noted that Charlie seemed as familiar with the agents as Don was. "How does Charlie know them?" he asked. He waved his hand at the screen. "Granger and Sinclair."

Wilkes answered. "Charlie consulted for his brother on several cases over the last few years. From conversations with Don and our sources, he knows the team well – they work together often enough that Charlie's considered part of the team."

"Would they be someone who Charlie would go to if he needed help?" asked Ziegler.

Wilkes shrugged. "Yeah, they might be. What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure yet," admitted Ziegler. "I'm trying to figure out the best place to pull this off."

"Why not right at the house?"

"We might have to. There are a couple of problems with that, though – you've got a crew of agents on alert, ready to stop any kind of altercation; there's a chance they could hear something and get in and pre-empt it. And if Don pulled it off silently, there won't be any witnesses – which our orders call for. Granted, they'd come in and find Charlie afterward, and we could instruct Don to come out and confess to the murder, but I'm guessing there would be some people who wouldn't believe that he did it without actually seeing him do it – and that would make for unwanted questions. We may still have to go that way, but it would be better to flush Charlie out somehow – get him out in public but away from all or most of his protection. I'll have to think about this."

"Well, we can't think too long," said Wilkes. "We've got Don on a tight leash, but we're walking a fine line here – we need to keep the current of negative emotions going to prevent him from reverting to his normal state of mind, but we can't let him get out of control and kill the target before we're ready. It's tough to keep him in that middle zone when he's constantly faced with the target."

Ziegler grunted. "I think you should test him a little – in fact, I want you to get them into a fight – nothing major, but enough to make Charlie uncomfortable. We need to start working on Charlie's head if we want to get him to run. I know one thing; I want to get some cameras installed. Charlie's already questioning Don as to why he won't take the jacket off in the house – if we had cameras, Don could do that; we wouldn't have to rely on the one in his jacket. We know where they are now. I want cameras in every room of that house – you said Don has an apartment – I want them there, too. I also need a guy to scope out the FBI offices, maybe install some there also, depending on what he finds. I'll get Allman to hook up with a couple of our people out in L.A. and get them on that one." He rose as he spoke, lifting his large muscular frame from the chair. "In fact, I think I'll go talk to him now – maybe they can get it done this evening."

Wilkes and Korb kept their eyes on the monitor as Ziegler slipped out the door, but both of them were well aware of the moment he was out, and they simultaneously breathed a soft sigh of relief.

"That guy makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up," said Korb.

"Tell me about it," muttered Wilkes. He eyed the two men on the screen. "He wants a fight, huh? Okay, we'd better clue in Jamison." He flicked on the microphone for Jamison's headphones.

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Colby glanced at David in the dark cab of David's SUV, with his cell phone to his ear. David was at the wheel, his face softly illuminated by the dashboard lights.

"It's ringing," Colby said, then his voice changed. "Hey, Megan. It's Colby. You were right, there's definitely something going on." He put the phone on speaker so that David could hear her response.

On the other end, Megan's brow furrowed, and she began to pace the length of her D.C. hotel room. "Why? What did you see?"

"Well, for one thing, they didn't seem exactly normal – I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, but they both seemed uptight. Charlie was nervous – smiling too much, trying too hard, and Don seemed like he was in a bad mood. The kicker, though, was when we came outside – I caught a quick glimpse of a guy in the bushes. It wasn't a good look, but I could tell from his profile he was geared up – flak jacket and assault rifle."

"Did it look like they'd been in an accident?"

"Charlie looked okay, and Don did too, although he had a few scars almost covered over by hair – one over his left ear, and a couple of small ones on the top of his head – I saw those as he stood up."

"Well, that part jives with their story," said Megan, "but the guy you saw outside blows it out of the water." She paused for a moment, reflecting. "I think I'm going to come out there."

David and Colby exchanged a glance. "I don't know if you need to do that, Megan," said David. "We were gonna talk to Wright – see if he knows what's going on. Our guess is that it's a witness protection set-up of some kind – we think they must have been working on something while they were gone."

"Yeah, you're probably right," said Megan, "but I might come anyway. I took the coming week off to visit a friend in Maryland, and she just went in the hospital for appendicitis. She's going to be laid up – she told me not to come. I already put in for the time, and Larry's tied up in Europe – I was thinking of visiting some friends in L.A. instead."

"You just want to see our smiling faces," grinned Colby.

"That, too," she said, smiling. "Let me know what you find out – I mean, as much as you can tell me – I still have my clearances. I just want to know that they're okay."

"I'm sure they are," responded David. "But we'll let you know."

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Charlie stumped back into the kitchen, after carrying a box of sub sandwiches out to the garage. Masters had asked him to order for all of them that evening, but he told Charlie that going forward, they would provide for themselves. Judging by the number of sandwiches, Charlie figured that in addition to Rogan and Masters, there were at least seven others deployed around the house, although that probably included the two men in the SUV parked at the front curb. He came back into the living room, quietly pushing through the kitchen door. Don seemed to be in a foul mood – maybe he was hungry. "I've got ours out in the kitchen," he said. "Come on and get something to eat."

Don jabbed at the remote and rose, his face impassive. Charlie stayed put as he came toward him, standing just a few feet outside the kitchen door. "Maybe we can talk," he said, as Don approached. He looked at him curiously. "I think it's pretty warm in here now. Why don't you take that jacket off?

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In the control room, hundreds of miles away, Wilkes said into the mike, "Okay, boys, let's try this. We want to shake Charlie up a little – make sure you keep control."

Jamison spoke into the mike. "I don't want to take the goddamned jacket off, Charlie – get off my back."

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Don faced Charlie, eyes filled with contempt. "I don't want to take the goddamned jacket off, Charlie – get off my back."

Charlie gaped at him, then his face flushed with anger. "What's with you, anyway? You've been like a bear since you've come back."

Don's jaw hardened and he took a step towards him. "Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Maybe it's because I just spent the last few weeks of my life on a mission I didn't want to be on in the first place, and I almost got killed, because you had to insist on going. I should have stayed here – and let you go on your own."

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In the control booth, Wilkes listened to Don; then spoke to Jamison over his headset. "That was pretty good."

Jamison held up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "That wasn't me."

Wilkes and Korb exchanged a glance. "He's justifying," Wilkes said. "Don's using some of his own negative thoughts and memories to justify what he's feeling. Better keep a close eye on this, Korb – ramp up the current, but be ready to back him off, this could get out of control."

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Charlie stared at him, a hurt look mingling with the anger on his face. "I told you before we took it that I didn't think you should go. You insisted."

Don took another step forward, and poked a finger into Charlie's chest. He could feel rage beginning to boil inside him, and the voice in his head said. 'Provoke him - you know you want to fight him – make him fight you. Tell him he was selfish.' Don growled, "Bullshit, Charlie. You know you wanted me to go – and you knew I wouldn't let you go alone. You had to sign up anyway – you're selfish, and you've always been selfish."

Don was standing over him now, menacing, too close, and Charlie's head was spinning with hurt and anger. He just wanted out of there, away from him. He pushed at Don's chest, trying almost blindly to move past him toward the general direction of the living room and the stairs.

The contact was like touching a match to tinder. Don felt a surge of rage wash through him, and he grabbed the front of Charlie's shirt with both hands and shoved him roughly into the wall. "You want to fight, you little jerk?" he snarled.

Charlie's hands came up and he grasped Don's wrists, pushing back, his eyes flashing. "Let go of me!" he spat. "I don't know what in the hell's wrong with you, but you need to chill out!"

He'd no sooner gotten the words out when a fist exploded in his gut, and he gasped in pain and shock. He tried to double over, but Don's left hand still gripped the front of his shirt, still forced him up against the wall, and he could see his right drawn back in preparation for another blow. Through the shock and the pain, fury of his own suddenly exploded, and he came down hard on Don's left arm with both fists, twisting away at the same time. Don's left hand came loose, and suddenly free, Charlie let fly with a punch of his own, a glancing blow off Don's shoulder, as he tried to stumble away.

Don dove for him, wrapping his arms around Charlie's middle, and they staggered backwards, hitting the back of the sofa and knocking over a lamp on the table next to it before they dropped to the floor. Charlie was on the bottom as they hit, and the jolt, followed by his brother's heavier body on top of him, knocked the wind out of him – or perhaps it was the look on Don's face. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before – his brother's handsome, usually composed features were a mask of hatred.

Don was grinning maniacally, and he drove another fist into Charlie's torso. It connected with his rib cage, with a nasty crack.

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In the control booth, the three men were watching the monitors, tensely, so absorbed they didn't hear Ziegler step quietly back into room. "Back him off," ordered Wilkes, abruptly.

Jamison spoke into the microphone. "Enough. Don't leave any visible marks. Back off, let him up."

They watched as a fist came down again into Charlie's gut, and his face twisted in pain.

"Back off!" ordered Jamison. "Now, or you'll ruin your chance to finally get rid of him!"

"Take the current down," snapped Wilkes to Korb. "Now!"

"It's already down to nearly zero," protested Korb, but even as he spoke, they saw Don clamber to his feet, and look down at Charlie with an expression of confusion.

Wilkes shot a glance at the monitor, which registered emotional responses in a series of bars on a chart. The negative emotions were fading, and bars indicating positive emotions were flickering to life, beginning to grow. "Back up, back up!" he said sharply, "you're losing him. Get him back to steady state."

"I'm trying," said Korb, through gritted teeth, his hands flying over the knobs. "He's the toughest SOB to control that I've ever handled."

The bars began to morph again, changing back to negative emotions, and the men held their breath, watching.

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Charlie was struggling to regain his breath as he scuttled awkwardly backwards, trying to put distance between himself and his brother. Don was still standing over him; the look of hatred had faded and had been replaced by a look of stunned confusion, but even as Charlie watched, it changed back again to a darker expression, as Don regained composure. At that moment, a man in flak gear burst through the kitchen door, followed by another. "We heard a crash. What's going on in here?" the first man demanded, as Charlie climbed to his feet, painfully.

Don smiled, "Aw, we were screwing around, and Charlie fell." He looked at Charlie, smiling, but his eyes were cold, daring him to disagree.

Charlie stood, still breathing heavily, trying to straighten. Each breath sent a spear of pain through his rib cage. He forced a crooked smile and it came out as a grimace, as Masters appeared in the doorway behind the two men. "I should know better than to wrestle him," Charlie managed, between breaths. "He always wins."

Masters' eyes narrowed as he took in the lamp on the floor, and he looked closely at Charlie. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." Charlie straightened a bit more as if to prove it, fighting the urge to put a hand over his sore ribs.

Masters gave them an odd expression, but turned, shaking his head. "Keep a lid on it, guys. I don't want to take anyone to the hospital." The other men followed him out, with a last glance at the brothers.

Charlie looked at Don, and the cold expression of triumph in his brother's eyes hit him like another blow. His mind was reeling; his body aching, and the turn of events had left him stunned, nauseated, heart-sick. He backed away slowly, and when he was sure Don wasn't following, made his way painfully upstairs. Don watched him go without a word, and then turned, picked up the lamp and set it back on the table, and went into the kitchen.

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Wilkes, Korb and Jamison breathed a collective sigh of relief and sat back in their chairs, only to start when Ziegler spoke behind them. "A close one, but nicely done."

Korb shook his head and ran a hand over his crew cut. "Don's a tough one. He keeps fluctuating – just when I think I have him in steady state, I get breakthrough familial love coming through, and I have to change the settings. To top it off, he's naturally got a bit of a temper, and they've apparently got some history, so if I go too far the other way, it's easy to get him too pissed off to handle."

"It was interesting that Charlie didn't rat him out," said Ziegler. "It might be harder to get him to run than we thought." He changed the subject. "Allman has a man coming out to the Craftsman within the hour – he'll tell Masters, the agent in charge, that he was sent to sweep for bugs, but instead, he'll put in the cameras. We should get a much better view of things going forward."

Wilkes grunted. "After this, I think we're gonna need it."

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End Chapter 22