Mind Games

Chapter 28

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews…

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CIA operative Mike Tate slipped into a set of green scrubs in the locker room, and pushed out through the door into the hospital corridor as if he belonged there. He had already reconnoitered; he knew that Charles Eppes was in surgery on the third floor, but he needed the greens to give him more access to the floor, to places where records were kept. He'd just gotten to his apartment after completing his stint as a fake security guard at the FBI building when the call had come from Louisiana, directing him to go to the hospital to be sure that Charles Eppes was dead. Twenty minutes later, he was there, wandering the halls.

Even though he was disguised by the scrubs, the guards outside the door of the operating room made him nervous – they were too watchful. He finally decided the best place to wait for information was in or near the ER waiting area, where the FBI agents were waiting. He had to be careful – the woman agent with the curly hair had seen him come up to the bullpen with Dr. Eppes, and he couldn't have her recognize him. Fortunately, he had been blessed with bland, nondescript features – so average as to be invisible. He grabbed a clipboard and parked himself in a corner just out of her line of sight, and was there when Brian Rogan came down and told the agents that Charles Eppes had died on the operating table.

Tate had immediately left the area and had gone up to the surgical floor, in time to see a sheet-covered figure being wheeled out on a gurney from the ER bay where they'd been working on Charlie Eppes. He followed the orderly at a discreet distance as he wheeled the gurney down to the morgue, and as he walked past them he heard him tell the morgue attendant, "Stabbing victim, last name Eppes. Here's his file." Then Tate had gone to a quiet spot on the first floor, and reported in.

He'd completed the call, and per direction, stayed, awaiting any further instructions. He whiled away a half hour in the staff lounge, and then, bored, wandered back to the ER floor, and peeked in the waiting room. To his surprise, the FBI agents were still there – and they'd been joined by two other men. One, an African American, looked like an agent, and Tate, with his years of operating in the L.A area, recognized the other – he was Lieutenant Walker, from LAPD. Something was going on, and he drifted past the central station in the ER area to look for information, glancing at charts, listening, trying to figure out what had happened.

As he stood there, an intern pushed out of an exam room, and met a doctor in the hallway, just a few yards from Tate. "They say he just passed out," the intern said, as he and the doctor turned to go into the exam room. "He was in custody – you know the stabbing victim who was brought in earlier - well, this is the guy who stabbed him. They say he just wigged out…"

The rest of the conversation was lost as the doors swung shut behind them. They could only be talking about Don Eppes. Tate stepped across the hallway and took a quick look through the small windows in the doors to be sure. He caught only a glimpse, but it was definitely Don Eppes, lying motionless, apparently unconscious. Tate checked his watch, and then he made his way down the hall again for another phone call.

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J. Scott Marsh landed in Pensacola and headed west immediately, with only a quick stop at the condominium he had rented in Perdido Key, to establish an alibi. It was a high-rise building with a check-in desk, and he flirted with the woman at the counter outrageously, to ensure that she remembered him. Perdido Key was a tiny coastal island three hours away from New Orleans, and he wanted to establish his presence in Florida – he needed to appear to be well away from New Orleans, where the murders would take place. He'd slipped out a side door immediately after bringing some of his luggage to his room, and had gotten on the road. He was over halfway there, two hours into the drive, when he got the call from Dr. Allman. "Yeah," he answered tersely.

Allman was brief and to the point. "The target has been taken care of. I just received a call from Los Angeles. Don Eppes carried out the assassination as planned, in the FBI offices. Dr. Eppes was alive when he left there, but died on the operating table at Cedars-Sinai, moments ago. There is a problem, however. I have been told by the operative on the scene that Don Eppes apparently passed out at LAPD headquarters, and was taken to the hospital. If they do an X-ray, they'll find the hardware in his head."

J. Scott Marsh swore to himself, thinking rapidly. He now was going to have to take Allman out along with Joe Bishop – he had no choice – and he was going to have to do it tonight. "Okay, look. You, of course, will deny knowledge of this, but I am going to have to work quickly to contain the situation. Eppes' mind control hardware is still operational, I take it?"

"Of course. The jacket with the signal boosters is still in the area – the CIA operative at the hospital has it in a safe place."

"Okay, give me the operative's name and contact number, and code." Marsh fished for a slip of paper, came up with a receipt, and jotted down the information. "Now, I believe there is a portable control center, which can be carried, correct?"

"Yes – that's what we use in overseas operations – you probably remember that from the Abdul Rahman assassination – you worked that one. We usually assign one man as the controller – he does the voice and electrical controls from a portable unit. It's not hard to learn to use the equipment, but it is fairly tricky for one man to control all the inputs. It's best to have someone experienced. I can assign someone -,"

"That won't be necessary." Marsh cut him off. "I'm in the area on another assignment. I'll need you to meet me tonight and show me how to use it. I'll take care of finding someone to manage it – the fewer people from your facility involved the better, in case they come looking for you. If anyone contacts you prior to your meeting with me, put them off. I am going to contact command of this mission, and we'll decide what your story should be if they find the wiring."

"All right. What time?"

"Figure about two hours. I'll give you a call when I get a better idea of the time. Joe Bishop is in the area – I'm going to include him in the meeting. I may even have him take this one."

Allman agreed, and Marsh disconnected the call, his eyes only half-seeing the dark expanse of I-10 in front of him. He thought for a moment, then punched in the number that Allman had given him for Mike Tate, the CIA operative at the hospital. A voice came on the line.

"Yes."

"Code Stork Hannah Five Zero Dog Niner."

"Yes – this is Tate. Stork Five Seven Seven."

"Is your line secure?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Tate, my name is Joe Bishop," lied Marsh. "I am the senior agent who commanded the operation directed by Dr. Allman. I understand the legwork for him was done by Agent Ziegler."

"Yes, sir. I've been receiving orders from Agent Ziegler."

"The operation was successful, but there is a complication, which you have reported – namely that Don Eppes is at the hospital. I need you to stay on top of that situation, and determine what kind of treatment they are giving him – most notably, head X-rays or scans. If they do them, he will undoubtedly be assigned to a doctor, probably a neurologist or neurosurgeon. Get a bug in that doctor's office as soon as you know who that is, and report back to me immediately on any developments."

"Yes, sir. Is that all?"

"Save this number on your cell phone. You will report directly to me on this matter – no one, not even the Director himself, will get this information – it is for his, and the Agency's protection. Plausible deniability. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is all." Marsh disconnected, his mind still churning furiously. There was a chance that the doctor would just perform an exam of Don Eppes, and not request an X-ray. If that was the case, it was possible that Eppes could be released from the hospital with no one the wiser. Marsh would then need to get him out of custody – to stage an escape, and for that, very likely, he would need control of Eppes – which was why he had asked Allman for the portable controller. Once Don Eppes was out of prison and in Marsh's hands, he would disappear – for good.

There was also a chance that the doctor would decide to do an MRI instead of an X-ray on Don Eppes. If that happened, Marsh wouldn't have to worry about eliminating the agent – the MRI would do it for him – the powerful magnets would rip the metal parts through his brain. Unfortunately, they would also certainly then discover that Eppes was wired. Again, Marsh would have no choice but to eliminate both Bishop and Allman, the only two men who knew of his involvement. He would ultimately pin the blame for the scheme on Joe Bishop, and by giving Mike Tate Bishop's name, he had taken a step toward that goal.

Now, it was time for the next step. He picked up his cell phone again, and punched in the number for Joe Bishop. "Joe. How was your flight? I'm en route. We have a meeting with our contact later this evening, in roughly two hours. I'll call within the hour with the location and time. You should have time to check into your hotel and get something to eat. Yeah – yeah, I've been there, the food's good. Okay – I'll check with you later."

He hung up, hoping Bishop enjoyed his meal. It was going to be his last one.

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Charlie's brow knitted in pain, and his eyes flickered open. Consciousness was returning slowly, and it took a few seconds for him to realize that he was in what appeared to be a hospital room. He was dimly aware of a nurse by his side, adjusting something near his bed. He felt heavy, weak, and his chest was burning – the pain increasing as he became more alert - throbbing, stabbing…

With an abrupt flood of recollection, he realized why he was there; he saw Don's face, twisted with rage, saw the knife descending with ugly, vivid clarity. Suddenly all of it – the shock, the fear, the despair, coalesced into one huge mass of anguish, and a stifled sob broke from his throat. He turned his head away from the nurse, trying to hide the tears that were spilling from his eyes, uncontrollably. The void, the sense of loss was even more painful than the physical wounds; he was overwhelmed with pain, mental and physical – wallowing in it, helplessly, drowning…

The nurse moved around the bed and patted his hand. "I know it hurts," she said, her face filled with sympathy. "Now that you're conscious, we can give you something for the pain – the doctor ordered it to be given as soon as you were awake. I just inserted it into your IV – you should be feeling it any second now."

Charlie only half-heard the words; an odd floating feeling was beginning to consume him, fogging his consciousness. It was true, the medication took away the physical pain, but even as he drifted off to sleep again, he knew that nothing would ever be able to soothe the ache in his heart. That, he could not escape; it would be waiting for him, when he woke.

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The nurse stepped out to report to the five men in the hallway. "He's conscious," she said. "Or he was – I gave him his pain medication, and he dropped off again."

"Good," said his doctor, and looked at the four agents as the nurse slipped back into the room. "I'm sorry, but we can't move him just yet. He really should still be in recovery, but we obviously couldn't keep him there, we had to get him out of sight. He's still getting transfusions. We need a few hours to be sure he's stable, then we can fly him out."

Masters scowled with annoyance; he didn't like the situation, but the whole point of this was keeping Dr. Eppes alive – he couldn't risk losing him because they'd moved him too soon. "All right," he growled, as his cell phone vibrated. He grabbed it and flipped it open, well aware that the hospital forbade cell phone use, well aware that the doctor was looking at him disapprovingly. "Yeah," he barked into the phone. The other men, Brian Rogan and Agents Thorn and Cooperman, stared at him, as a look of consternation crossed Masters' face. "What!" he exclaimed. "They brought him to this hospital? Okay, okay – I'll be down."

He flipped the phone shut, and looked at the doctor. "All right, thank you," he said curtly, dismissively. "I'm putting a couple of men on this room in the meantime. If you can have someone get us a set of scrubs, I'd appreciate it."

The doctor, a bit tightlipped at being ordered around so presumptively, nodded and moved off, and Masters looked at the others and spoke quietly. "That was A.D Wright. Don Eppes passed out at LAPD headquarters, and they brought him here, of all places." He looked at Rogan. "You and I need to get down there and talk to his doctor – I want a chance to question him myself, as soon as he comes to." He shifted his gaze to Thorn and Cooperman. "I want one of you in the room, and the other outside. The man outside the room needs to put on a set of scrubs and to try to blend in with the staff. I don't want it to be obvious that we have a guard on this room. Don't screw up again."

Thorn and Cooperman nodded, with chastised expressions. Masters jerked his head at Rogan. "Let's go."

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The ER doctor, Ballister, looked up as Rogan and Masters pushed into the exam room, and opened his mouth to protest, but cut it short as they flipped out their badges. He'd already heard rumors about a fight between two brothers, and that one of them had been admitted earlier, and had died in the OR. Now he was attending the other brother, reportedly an FBI agent, who had been brought in unconscious, and was still out. He shut his mouth and looked at the men – and the one whose badge read 'Masters' said, "We would like to speak with you privately."

"One moment," said Ballister, as he held up a hand. He turned to his staff. "As I was saying, get that blood work processed, and I want some X-rays."

An intern, a skinny young man with a bad case of acne, said, "Wouldn't a CT scan or an MRI show us more?"

"Yes, but an X-ray may show you enough," replied Ballister. "It's faster and cheaper – don't put your patients through more expensive tests when you might be able to find out something with less. We'll start with X-rays, and go from there."

Two LAPD officers were standing by, and one of them said, "We need to stay with him at all times. If he wakes, he may be violent."

Ballister inclined his head. "Be my guest. Under the circumstances, we'll leave him here, and bring in a portable X-ray unit." He looked at Rogan and Masters. "Come with me."

They stepped out of the exam room and down the hall to small office, and once inside, Rogan spoke. "This man is part of a confidential case. When Don Eppes comes to, we'd like to question him, but we also need to be the first to know what you find when you examine him – do not give any reports to the police or FBI without talking to us. We're going to put a man with him, but if he wakes and starts talking before we can do that, we need to know. One of us needs to be there to hear what he has to say."

Ballister nodded. "Easy enough. What about the officers with him?"

"We'll take their places while we're waiting for our people to get here."

"All right," replied Ballister. "Before you do that, I'm going to head down to Radiology to view his results in a few minutes – you may want to come with me if you want a report."

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After speaking to Joe Bishop, Mike Tate returned to the ER, checking the hallway outside the exam room that held Don Eppes. As he looked down the hall, he saw Rogan and Masters approaching, and he immediately turned, trying to make his movements look casual, and headed the other way. He had spent too much time already outside the operating room where they'd tried in vain to save Charlie Eppes, and although he didn't think he'd been noticed, he wanted to keep it that way – especially since he'd actually spoken to Masters at the Craftsman, when he'd come to install the cameras. So it was that when the portable X-ray machine was rolled into the exam room, Tate had hidden himself around the corner where he stood pretending to look at a patient's chart, and missed it.

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The ER doctor stuck his head out of the viewing room with an odd look on his face, and spoke to Rogan and Masters, who were pacing the hallway outside. "I think you guys should see this."

He ushered them into the room and shut the door behind them, indicating a series of films, which had been hung on an illuminated board. He waved a hand at them, and Rogan and Masters stared. Even to their untrained eyes, the wires and the device inside Don Eppes' head looked alien. They looked at each other, and they could see the realization and suspicion dawning in each other's face – this was far deeper than a simple attempt at murder.

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End Chapter 28