Mind Games

Chapter 36

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, all, including the very first from 'anonymous,' – I very much appreciated it. The agents decide to play some mind games of their own…

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Rogan stuck his head into Janovic's office shortly after 1:00 that afternoon. "Hey doc. We brought your patient over for his pre-surgery blood work. Everything set for tomorrow?"

Janovic looked up, his face tense with forced composure. "Yes. Everything's set."

Rogan nodded. "Good. We'll all come up and see you after he's done, and go over the game plan." He ducked out, and Janovic stared at the door for a moment. Then he looked down, and for five minutes, did nothing but write, finishing a report. Finally, he slid it into a folder and stood, gathering that folder, along with others, and stepped out of the office, trying to look normal, unhurried.

As he walked through the halls, he kept coming up with reasons to turn, trying to get a look behind him. Finally satisfied that no one was tailing him, he made his way down to the lab. He could see Don Eppes through the window of the lab, seated, getting his blood taken, and outside the lab door, a large LAPD officer stood, along with Rogan, Masters and Wilkes. Janovic shot one last look around, then took a deep breath and moved toward them. "We need to talk," he murmured, then walked past them, down the hallway.

The threesome exchanged a perturbed glance, then Masters said to the officer, "Keep an eye on Eppes," and they followed Janovic down the hall to a small office. As they stepped inside and closed the door, Janovic faced them. "I guess this is as safe a place as any," he said. "I don't think he'd have bugged every office in the hospital."

"What are you talking about?" Masters said, staring at him.

"A man ambushed me in my driveway last night." Janovic was pale; his voice shook slightly. "He came up from behind, put a gun to my neck, and told me not to move. He told me to fake the surgery on the Thursday, and to leave the wiring in Eppes' head."

"Bishop," breathed Rogan.

"How in the hell did he know about the surgery?" scowled Masters.

"I don't know. I think my office might be bugged or something. That's why I came down here. Anyway, he threatened my family if I didn't comply – he said he'd be able to tell if I took the wiring out."

Wilkes nodded. "If he had a monitoring and control device, he'd know. He must have gotten his hands on one of the vests. The graphs that monitor emotions and reactions will go blank once the wires are removed."

"I have to leave the wiring in there," Janovic said. "I can't take the chance."

Rogan and Masters looked at Wilkes. "Maybe this is our opportunity. Maybe we can get to Bishop through Eppes," said Rogan. "Is there a way to make it look like the monitoring equipment is working, and still disconnect the wiring? We could leave the ear module in place so that Eppes could hear Bishop's instructions. He could play along, and relay Bishop's plans to us."

"The ear module could stay connected, that's true," said Wilkes, thoughtfully. "Its only purpose is to receive voice commands. However, there's no real way to make the monitor work unless the wiring is still in place. There might be a way to modify it though, to weaken the signals being sent to the wiring. If you were able to send a lower level of current, you could induce a lower level of emotion that Eppes could control. Maybe there's some way to make a more harmless emotion look like more on the monitors. Give me a minute – I'm going to call one of our equipment experts." He stepped aside into a corner and pulled out his cell phone, and the others looked at each other.

Masters spoke first, to Janovic. "We were thinking of releasing Eppes, as a matter of fact. We were going to spin the story that he had a blood clot in his brain from the car accident, which was making him act irrationally. The official story for those who might ask questions, was going to be that your surgery tomorrow was being done in order to remove the clot, and he was no longer considered a threat to society. It's not much of a story, but we only need to hold off questions for a couple more weeks, until the hearings." He shook his head and looked at Rogan. "We might have to rethink that now."

They waited another moment while Wilkes finished his call and turned to face them as he snapped his phone shut. "He says it can be done. We can attach small devices to the leads where they attach to the battery packs near his collarbone. One type of device will amplify the signal going out to Bishop's monitor, and the other will reduce the signal coming in to Eppes' brain. Eppes will have to deal with some emotional manipulation, but it should be at a low enough level that he can handle it. The boosters can amplify the activity in his brain, making it look much more severe on Bishop's monitor – Eppes would be feeling mere irritation, for example, but on Bishop's monitor it would register as rage. I told him to get the devices on an agency jet – they'll be here tonight. He's sending a diagram of which leads to attach them to, and how." He raised an eyebrow in Janovic's direction to ascertain that he understood, and Janovic nodded.

Masters looked thoughtful. "If Bishop really is intent on controlling Eppes, he'd want to get him the denim jacket. Maybe we should still release Eppes – it will give Bishop a chance to do that. Maybe we can nab Bishop when he tries to deliver it."

"It would give us a shot at getting to him," said Wilkes. "Of course, that is providing that Eppes is willing to take the risk."

"So, you've confirmed, I don't need to remove the wiring?" Janovic said, looking from one to another, anxiously.

"As long as Eppes agrees, no. We'll have you attach the devices instead," affirmed Masters. "The man who threatened you won't be able to tell the difference – he'll think you left the wiring in as he instructed; he won't know we've modified it. You should still make arrangements to get your family out of here – we can help with that. We'll send you all on a vacation, just to be safe, as soon as your fake surgery is over."

Janovic took a deep, shaky breath. "After this, I need a vacation. But what if Eppes says no?"

"Why don't we ask him?" said Rogan, as he headed toward the door. "I'll be right back."

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As the lab door opened, Don's downturned eyes caught sight of a pair of familiar shoes, and he looked up in surprise. "Dad!"

Alan smiled faintly; it was laced with sadness, but it did bear resemblance to a smile. "I remembered them telling me you would be here this afternoon," he said. "I thought it might be a nicer place to visit you than the prison." He drank in the sight of his older son. He was thinner, his face drawn by sadness, but he was his son, and Alan felt an intense need to be with one of them, at least.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the LAPD officer, a huge black man with a frightening scowl. "No fraternizing with the prisoner."

"It's okay," came a voice behind them, and the group turned to see Brian Rogan striding towards them. He nodded at Alan. "We need the prisoner down the hall." He cocked his head, considering. "Come to think of it, Alan, this might affect you too. You might as well come along." He looked at the officer. "Go get a coffee, and come back in ten. We'll be down the hall in that office."

A few moments later, Don sat facing Rogan and Masters in the small office, with Alan seated right behind him. Janovic hunkered in the corner, and Wilkes was on their right, just finishing his explanation. "So, Don, what we need to know is, are you willing to leave the wiring in, in the hopes that Bishop might try to contact you?"

Before Don could respond, Alan spoke sharply. "Use my one remaining son as bait? I don't think so."

"It's not your decision, Mr. Eppes," Rogan said gently. "It's Don's."

"Then why did you ask me to come down?" snapped Alan.

"Because we're thinking of releasing Don after the surgery. We'd like to use the Craftsman as a safe house again, for both of you. Now that we know that Bishop is in the area, and he knows that we know about the brainwashing, we need to take precautions for you too, sir. Even if we didn't release Don, we'd need to put a detail on to protect you – otherwise Bishop might try to use you to get to Don. We needed to inform you of that, and make sure that it would be all right for Don to stay there with you."

"All right?" Alan sputtered. "Of course-,"

"Wait, Dad," Don interjected. His voice was quiet, tired, and he looked at Wilkes. "Is it safe? I mean – am I safe for him to be around?"

Wilkes nodded. "Yes. If your brother were there, it would be a different story, but you should pose no danger to others. Of course, if Bishop tries to contact you and give you orders, you need to tell us immediately."

"Can't he be allowed home, and still have the surgery to remove the wiring?" asked Alan.

"He can," replied Masters, speaking for the first time since they entered the room. He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Don's. "It's your decision, Eppes. But hell, don't you want to nail the bastard who made you do that to Charlie?"

Don's eyes flared, and hardened. "Damn right I do. Leave the wires in."

"Don -," began Alan, in an admonishing tone, but Don cut him off, his voice steely.

"Dad – I have to do this. I need to see the people who did this put away – for Charlie, and for myself."

Alan stared back at him for a moment; then sighed resignedly. "Very well. I suppose you're right." He looked at Masters, his jaw jutting pugnaciously. "But you'd better make damn sure nothing happens to him, or I'll come find you myself."

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Charlie sat on his bed with shaking legs, and eased himself back against the pillow. He'd made it back into bed himself this time – a step in the right direction. Dr. Martha Bodman eyed him appraisingly. "That was much better," she said. "You're getting some strength back." She inserted the thermometer into his ear, and clucked approvingly. "Fever's gone, too. What do you want for lunch? Soup? I have some casserole left from last night."

"Soup's fine," said Charlie, dispiritedly, his eyes on his blanketed knees.

Martha gazed at him for a moment. "Was my casserole that bad?"

Charlie looked up at her, startled. "Oh, no! It was good." His eyes flitted away. "I just don't have much of an appetite."

Silence fell and stretched into discomfort, and Charlie glanced sideways at her. As their eyes met, she said, "I have the proper clearances, you know. I also have a degree in psychology. You can tell me anything you want – it's allowed. I aim to heal my patients as much as possible before they leave, and that includes psychological healing. If getting some of this off your chest will help, then by all means feel free to do so."

Charlie was silent, and Martha strolled to the end of his bed. "I know you were the victim of a vicious knife attack. They told me that much, although I would have figured it out when I tended your injuries, anyway." She paced back to the side of the bed, and gazed at him with sympathy. "You're obviously struggling with some significant emotional distress, Charlie. Was someone you love hurt in the attack? It might help to talk about it. If you're concerned about my clearances, you can call first."

Charlie closed his eyes, his face awash with pain. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just can't right now."

Martha regarded him for a moment; then nodded. "That's okay – take your time. I'll go get your soup."

In the end, it was the soup that broke him, once again. Olfactory memory was primal, all-powerful – the scent reminded him of long ago, and Martha, of his mother. After two spoonfuls, which he managed himself this time; he had tears in his eyes again.

Martha's mouth twisted wryly. "You didn't eat my casserole, and my soup makes you cry. I didn't realize that I was such a failure in the kitchen."

Charlie swallowed. "You're not. It's actually very good – it reminds me of my mother."

He stared at the spoon in his hand with a sad, far-away look.

"Was she hurt in your attack?"

Charlie looked up at her, surprised. "No, no. She passed away a little over five years ago." He looked down again and sighed. "No, it reminds me of happier times, when I was younger."

Martha snorted softly. "And you're so old, now."

Charlie flushed a bit. "I mean, when I was really young, a kid." His gaze drifted away again. "It actually made me think of my brother." His eyes closed again, his face suddenly crumpled, and he bowed his head. "I loved him so much," he whispered, his eyes shut tightly, fighting tears.

Martha was silent for a moment. "Was he also involved in the attack?" Charlie nodded, his head still down, and she asked gently, "I take it he was killed?"

To her surprise, Charlie shook his head, and ran a hand across his eyes. "No," he whispered. "He tried to kill me."

A look of shock washed over Martha's face, and she stared at him, nonplussed. For the first time in recent memory, she was at a loss for words.

"I pushed him too hard – got him to take an assignment he didn't want to take, and I think he just snapped. He hates me." Charlie's voice was low, and shaking with grief. "And the worst part of it is; I think he always has, and I never knew." He looked up at her with sudden intensity. "He's a good man," he said, with emotion, as if she had argued otherwise. "The problem must have been at least partly mine. I know I can be pushy -," His face fell, and he looked down again. "I just didn't realize that I was so obnoxious – he hid it all those years, put up with me all that time, and I was clueless. I'm not the greatest, socially – I wish someone had had the guts to tell me, I could have worked on it…," His voice trailed away, wistfully.

Martha shook her head slowly, incredulously, still staring at him. "Charlie, I can't imagine what you're talking about. You've been nothing but polite and cooperative since you've been here. He stabbed you, for God's sake – and you think it's your fault?"

"You don't understand," Charlie said roughly. "This was totally out of character for him. He had to have gone over an edge somehow – and I could tell from some of the things he said, that it was me who pushed him there." His voice shook. "Now he's in prison – his career, his life ruined – because of me."

He reached out a trembling hand and grasped his spoon, stirring his soup abstractedly, in a vague disjointed attempt at normality. The steam from his bowl rose in the air like ghosts of the past, and vanished, as if it had never existed.

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End Chapter 36

A/N: Next post on my usual Tuesday...