Mind Games
Chapter 32
See Chapter 1 for disclaimer
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Brian Rogan walked Alan Eppes through the hallway of the Metropolitan Detention Center, and guided him through the security point to the restricted cellblock. The half dozen cells it contained were empty, except for one. As they stopped at the door, Rogan looked at the hunched figure inside, with pity.
Don Eppes looked like hell. He had dropped weight, and was sporting four days worth of beard. His dark hair was unkempt, and he had circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looked the picture of the deranged killer that he supposedly was, and Rogan felt a pang of alarm at his appearance. 'We've got to tell him,' he thought to himself. 'I need to talk to Conaghan – we can't let this drag out any longer.'
Don had paid no attention to them – had not even looked their direction, but when Alan's quiet, pain-filled voice broke the quiet, his head jerked up, and he slowly rose to his feet. Rogan could see the look in his eyes – tortured guilt, grief, pain, and he took a deep breath, trying to keep his own voice steady.
"Don, your dad is here to see you – we are allowing a cell visit, if you wish." He didn't wait for the reply, just lifted his hand, signaling the camera and the man running the door controls, and the door latching mechanism clicked. Rogan pulled the door open, allowing Alan to enter.
Alan stepped inside; Rogan could see tears in the man's eyes, and for a moment, they faced each other, wordlessly.
"Dad –," Don managed a croak; then stopped, overcome. Alan suddenly stepped forward and embraced him; holding him tightly, and Don seemed to collapse against him, his face contorted with agony. Alan sank onto the cot for support, still holding him, Don's head against his shoulder.
"Donnie." Alan's voice was pain-racked, pleading. "Please tell me it isn't true – what they're saying."
A soft strangled noise came from Don's throat, and words spilled out, ragged with grief and remorse. "It's true, Dad. I did it – I'm sorry – I just – went crazy. There were these voices – in my head -," he broke off, and the last words came out as a whisper. "I think I'm going insane."
Rogan had to step away – he couldn't bear to watch. He moved halfway down the cellblock toward the doorway, and set his jaw grimly. They had a meeting with Conaghan scheduled right after this visit, and Rogan decided on the spot that he was going to push for giving Don Eppes some information. It had been four days, and there had been no sign of anyone trying to contact Eppes since the attack. Even if they couldn't tell Don that his brother was still alive, they should at least let him know what had been done to him – that the attack hadn't been his fault. If they didn't, they might run the risk that he truly would go insane. For the second time, it occurred to him that there might be some way to get to the planners of the assassination through Don, but they were at a loss as to how to do it, if the planners didn't contact him. It was time, he decided; time to ask Conaghan to talk to Don Eppes.
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Don closed his eyes and leaned into the solid arms around him. It had been too much to hope that his father would want to see him; in fact, Don hadn't even taken his single allowed phone call. He couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to see him, to talk to him again. Now here was his father, with his arms around him, offering support and comfort to the maniac who had killed his youngest son. It was inconceivable, and Don hated himself for allowing himself to accept that comfort, that love, especially in the midst of his father's obvious grief. He couldn't help himself; however, he was sinking fast, and his father's presence was a life raft. He leaned against Alan, grabbed one of his strong arms, and hung on.
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Martha Bodman eyed the frail-looking figure as the young man was helped from the helicopter into a waiting wheelchair. The concrete pad had been installed at their remote cabin in the Denver mountains five years ago, when her husband Tom had retired from his position in the Navy. Their home had been used more than once as a safe house, and somewhere along the line, it had occurred to the powers in Washington that her status as a retired doctor made it ideal for government witnesses who also were in need of medical care. So she and Tom had agreed to a little post-retirement business – the most secret bed and breakfast in the Rockies, as they laughingly referred to it.
She eyed the young man with interest as an agent pushed him closer. She and Tom rarely were given the particulars of the cases; they usually had no idea of why their patients were there, although they had the necessary clearances for the information, if the patients needed to talk. All she had was the patient's medical history, including the descriptions of his recent injuries and treatments. He was a stabbing victim, and had broken ribs. Looked a bit undernourished, too, she thought to herself. What drew her attention, however, was his demeanor. He appeared utterly dejected – no, make that deeply depressed; his eyes were focused downward, and he gave no sign that he cared about what was going on around him. He simply sat silently in the chair as they maneuvered it inside the cabin.
Martha followed them in and then stepped around to the front of the chair, and extended her hand. "I'm Martha," she said, and waved a hand at Tom, who had moved to her side, "and this is Tom. I understand that you are Dr. Charles Eppes?"
The young man finally looked up at her, and after a brief hesitation, took her outstretched hand. "Yes," he said quietly. "Everyone calls me Charlie."
Martha was taken aback at the desolate look in his eyes, but she hid her reaction and smiled reassuringly. "Welcome, Charlie." She stepped to the side and opened a door, revealing a first floor bedroom. "If you're tired you can rest – either in your bedroom; or right here in the family room on one of the sofas. Are you hungry?"
Charlie shook his head. "No, thank you. I am tired – I think I would prefer the bedroom, if that's okay." His voice sounded soft, uncertain, and it seemed to Martha that whatever had happened to him, it seemed to have sucked the life out of him. They maneuvered the wheelchair into the room, and he stood, stiffly, and Tom took his arm for support as the young man shakily managed the two steps to the bed, and eased himself slowly onto it. Martha helped pull the soft quilt up over him, and tucked him in with motherly care. "Just let me know if you need anything," she said. "There's an intercom in the room – we'll hear you."
Her patient said nothing, just nodded, and closed his eyes. Martha stood and surveyed him for a second, a frown on her face, and then stepped quietly out and closed the door.
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Bill Masters sat silently in the secure office a floor above the FBI headquarters, listening as Brian Rogan prepared to make his case. The cell phone was set on speaker, and CIA Director James Conaghan and FBI Director Dave Maxwell were on the other end in Conaghan's Langley office. Rogan spoke – his voice and manner far more direct than usual, his jaw set stubbornly. "With all due respect, gentlemen, we have to do something if we still plan to have Don Eppes testify."
"The hearings were moved back one week, to give Dr. Eppes more time to recover. We have time," Conaghan reminded him.
"If we don't do something, one week more or less isn't going to matter. Don Eppes is gonna go off his rocker," responded Rogan with uncharacteristic bluntness. Masters had to stifle a grin. Rogan was starting to sound as gruff as he was. Of course, he agreed with Rogan, completely, which probably meant that he was getting soft. 'Work with someone long enough, and they start to rub off on you,' he thought to himself.
Rogan continued. "We haven't seen any sign that anyone has tried to contact him since the attack. He met with a shrink today for an evaluation, and told him that he hadn't heard the voices since then. I think his programmers are done with him, and I think it's safe to tell him about the apparatus in his head, and that he was brainwashed, at the very least. Doc Janovic has him scheduled for surgery next week – we have to tell him before then anyway."
"I couldn't agree more," came Dave Maxwell's voice. "I think we've waited long enough. If no one has tried to contact him by now, I don't think they're going to."
"I received some news today that we need to consider," replied Conaghan. "I told you at our last meeting that they had located Dr. Allman's body, and three miles from there they found Joe Bishop's cell phone and discharged service weapon. We just got the ballistics report back – the bullet that killed Allman was fired from Bishop's gun. Bishop himself is AWOL - we think he may have gone into hiding."
Masters shook his head. "Man, I have a really hard time believing that Joe was behind this."
"No one knows for sure who was directing Dr. Allman, other than the doctor himself. I agree with you – I wouldn't have thought Bishop capable of this. However, he was the agent who suggested that Don Eppes be brought to Cypress in the first place. On the other hand, we have interviewed Agent Edgerton. He had no idea what was going on with Eppes at Cypress Institute – Edgerton said they put Eppes through what they called therapy sessions, and he seemed certain that Bishop didn't know any more than he did about what was occurring in them. Of course, if Bishop were in on it, he would have simply pretended he didn't know. What concerns me is that Bishop is still out there, somewhere. He may not have tried to contact Eppes yet, but that doesn't mean he won't."
"So we clue Don in, and have him play along if he's contacted."
There was silence, and then Conaghan said, "There are some problems with that – namely, as long as the hardware is in his head, he can still be controlled. However, you're right about one thing – we would like him to be capable of testifying when the time comes. I don't want him to have a mental breakdown. I agree on one condition – we still do not let him know his brother is alive."
Rogan and Masters exchanged a look. "Yes, sir. That goes without saying."
"All right. The two of you can handle it. I sent a man named Jonathan Wilkes out to L.A. He was in charge of the team who brainwashed Eppes at Cypress Institute. He was stunned to hear that the mission wasn't sanctioned – he'd been receiving his orders from Allman, and thought he was working an approved job. He is going to meet with Dr. Janovic to discuss the procedure they used, and I tapped him to do Eppes' deprogramming. He will be posing as an area psychologist, and he'll be accompanied by Agent Ian Edgerton. I hadn't planned to start the deprogramming so soon – I thought that perhaps Bishop might try to contact Eppes - but I agree with you, we probably shouldn't wait any longer. Wilkes and Edgerton will be arriving at noon in L.A. – which I believe is less than an hour from now, your time. You should include Wilkes and Janovic in your meeting when you give Don Eppes the news – I'm sure he'll have questions."
"What about Alan Eppes?" asked Masters, and Rogan looked at him in surprise.
Masters ignored the look, and continued. "I think we ought to tell him about the brainwashing, too. I think we can trust him – I don't see it as a big risk, as long as we don't tell either of them that Charlie is alive until after the hearings."
There was silence on the other end; then Conaghan sighed. "Very well. I agree. You can let him know that much."
"And Charlie Eppes?" Masters pressed. "Can we tell him about the wiring?"
Conaghan hesitated, and then spoke to Maxwell. "Dave, you know them better than I do – what do you think?"
Maxwell spoke reluctantly. "I think it's best not to tell Charlie until after the hearings. I think the temptation would be too great for him to try to contact Don, or his father, if he knew."
"Very well," said Conaghan. "You can include Alan when you tell Don about the wiring, but you need to defer informing Charlie until after the hearings. And of course, neither Alan nor Don is to know that Charlie is alive until then." He paused. "You're walking a thin line here, gentlemen – the more information that goes out, the harder it is to control."
"Yes sir, we know. We'll take that into consideration. Thank you, gentlemen," said Rogan, and hit the 'off' button on the cell phone as Conaghan disconnected. He looked at Masters, with a grin. "You old softy."
Masters snorted and grinned back, companionably. "Not as soft as you, yet." He rose. "Let's go set this thing up."
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Alan sat slumped in a chair in the living room, still wearing his jacket from his visit to the prison, staring at the lacquered box of ashes on the coffee table. The agents had presented it to him with their regrets, mumbling something about hospital policy, three days, and cremation. He had just stared at them, and they had hesitated for a moment and then the agent holding it had placed it gently on the coffee table.
Alan gazed at the neat wooden box; it seemed inconceivable to him that it held the remains of his son. Not only was Charlie dead, Alan hadn't even gotten to view his body, hadn't had a chance to arrange a funeral. When he'd had left for Alaska, he had left two vibrant, intelligent sons, full of life, looking forward to working together on their course in D.C. He had returned to the end of life as he knew it, one son gone, the other sinking into insanity. It had been less than twenty hours since he'd gotten the news, and he was starting to feel as though he was going insane, himself. He was beyond shock; he was numb with grief. He couldn't move; he couldn't think.
There was a knock at the door, and he sluggishly roused himself, and tottered over to open it. Agent Rogan stood at the door, with an apologetic look on his face. "Mr. Eppes, I was wondering if you could accompany us back to the prison. We have something that you should hear."
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CIA operative Mike Tate sat up in the front seat of his car, and examined the group walking toward the MDC entrance with interest. Alan Eppes was back – he'd been at the prison less than two hours ago, and here he was again, this time accompanied by Rogan and Masters, and three other men. One of them was Dr. Janovic – Tate knew that the neurosurgeon had been assigned as Don Eppes' doctor, although he'd found out little else, in spite of the bug he'd placed in the doctor's office. This however, bore reporting. He flipped open his cell phone, and dialed the man he knew as Joe Bishop.
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J. Scott Marsh rose hastily from his desk at Langley, and shut the door. After disposing of Bishop and Allman, he'd ended up staying at the condo on the Florida panhandle for two more days, hanging with the pretty young thing he'd found. He made sure to call the office once or twice from that location, cementing his alibi, not that anyone seemed to be looking for him. After he returned, it had become apparent that they'd bought his ruse – his boss had come to him to ask quietly if he's seen Joe Bishop in the last several weeks, and if he'd noticed anything odd about his behavior. Marsh knew then that they'd found Allman, and they also must have found Bishop's cell phone and gun. Sure enough, the next day an inter-agency memo was issued to all field agents, warning them that Joe Bishop had turned, and was considered a threat. Marsh had to call the operative in L.A., Mike Tate, and explain to the man that the memo was part of a cover, and that he should ignore it when he received it.
Now Mike Tate was on the cell phone, and Marsh flipped it open. "Yes."
Tate's voice came over the line. "I have activity at the MDC. The subject was visited this morning by his father, and agents Rogan and Masters. That seemed routine, but now they're back, and there are three others with them. One of the three is Dr. Janovic."
Marsh frowned, with a furtive glance toward the door. "Yes, that does seem irregular. You've gotten nothing from your audio surveillance of the doctor's office?"
"Not yet, but I may after this morning. I'm going to go nose around the hospital, and see what I can find out there after I'm done here."
"All right, go ahead, and keep me posted." Marsh snapped his phone shut, and sat, considering. Did they know? Had they found the wiring in Eppes' head somehow? Perhaps the agent had collapsed, or was exhibiting signs of insanity – something that warranted a check by the doctor. Or possibly, this could be a routine visit to determine his competency for a trial.
Part of Marsh said to sit tight, and the other part itched for action – to head out to L.A. and try to find out for himself what was going on. According to his directions, the CIA courier from New Orleans had driven the control vest out to L.A. and had stashed it in a locker in an upscale gym, then mailed Marsh the key for the locker. With the vest, he had the means to control Eppes – as long as he was still wired. Maybe now was the time – the time to stage the prison break, and get Eppes out of there while he could still be manipulated. Get him out, and get rid of him, get rid of the last bit of suspicious evidence. At the very least he could go out and reconnoiter. He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment, then picked up his office phone, and dialed his boss.
"Yes, sir – I hate to say this, sir, but I need to ask for some more leave. My sister in Vegas just called me – she got some terrible news – breast cancer. She's alone out there – I'd like to go out and help her out – get her a good doctor… Yes sir, thank you. I'll have Jim Sykes cover for me in my absence. Thanks again."
He flipped the phone shut, took a deep breath, and smiled, grimly. He was going back into the field – and he could feel the adrenaline rush, already.
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End, Chapter 32