Chapter 7 - Detention - Heating Up

Jane

Shit! I'm in trouble.

Jane had been drugged before and he had no doubts. He could wait out the bureaucrats, out-think them. But he was vulnerable to this threat. Head throbbing, he gradually calmed as his mind cleared and he could think. They want me to solve cases. Can't mess me up too bad. He sighed, slightly relieved. Okay. Not life threatening, not permanent. His eyebrows furrowed. They want control. He started to shake his head then winced and stilled. Who? Abbott? Too smart, wouldn't risk his career. Damn. Fischer then. Silly neophyte who doesn't know how to play the game. He bit back the urge to swear aloud. More dangerous because she's in over her head. Where she's getting the drugs, does she even know what she's doing? Jaw tight with anger he staggered to the bathroom and showered to try to clear his head. A half hour later, he was still off balance and staggered the two steps to the breakfast tray. The guard looked hard at him, but said nothing.

Jane stared at the cooling food. To eat or not to eat, that is the question. His lips quirked at his absurd use of the famous line, except being involuntarily drugged wasn't so trivial. The food was the most likely method. He decided food served just after he'd been drugged was the least likely to be tampered with and ate the unappealing fare. From then on he drank only tap water. Plumbing changes would be too visible so water was safe. He also sharply increased his exercising, knowing it would help metabolize whatever the hell he had ingested. Too bad he still had to eat.

The situation went downhill from there. Jane exercised diligently and ate cautiously. One guard who radiated calm and religious conviction occasionally tapped once on the door before delivering a tray, warning Jane when it might have been drugged. Jane avoided some drugging, but didn't succeed all the time. He completely ignored Fischer and her harangues on signing the FBI's agreement. He enjoyed her growing frustration and outrage even knowing this was a losing hand. Unless he could change the game, the most he could do was slow the inevitable.

Fischer

For the second week, Fischer was often around before food trays were delivered to the prisoners - detainees. Under guise of oversight, Fischer added a colorless, odorless, tasteless liquid to Jane's food. Jane would be unusually suggestible while under the influence of the drug. When a sufficient blood level of the drug was reached and maintained, most resistance would disappear. The protocol was simple: Repeat a suggestion until he complied.

She counted on this to gain the advantage, to create a different mind set. Unfortunately, she could hardly order tests to measure blood drug levels. And Jane had figured it out since he was skipping meals. Nevertheless, she was succeeding more often than not. Once he signed the documents he would be legally bound.

Fischer returned Friday after dinner was over and trays were collected. She was pleased the food was gone from Jane's tray. The weekend change in guards reduced the chance anything would be noticed.

She flashed her badge and motioned the guard to open the door. Fischer stepped into the room and waited till the door closed and locked behind her. Jane was lying on the bed covered to his chin, seemingly asleep. No reaction. Good. She could proceed with the script without pointless arguments to cover her presence there. She flipped off the overhead light switch, leaving only a dim table lamp on. The only stimulus she wanted him to perceive was her voice. She ignored the door's small safety window because it didn't admit much light. If anyone looked in, all they would see was a conversation with her detainee.

She sat on the edge of the bed in the now-dim room.

"Jane. Jane!" No response. He was a little too out of it. She nervously reviewed her plan as she waited. Jane capitulates and signs the agreement. There's no proof of anything and who would believe him anyhow? All over before Abbott is back. Jane will come around once he's legally bound or he faces prison. Five minutes later she got a mumbled reply when she said his name. He was conscious enough to begin.

"Patrick Jane, sign the FBI's agreement. You will be safe and happy." She repeated the script numerous times. Afterward, she ordered him to repeat it to her. This would be a sign the message was embedded. No response. She leaned over, turned his head toward her and repeated the order, voice intense. He muttered some words from the script, though they were jumbled. Pleased, she straightened, her hand relaxing and trailing from his cheek.

She stiffened at the feel of the bare skin of his chest. She puffed out a short breath. Of course. Clothes are being washed. She started to draw back then paused. Her eyes closed. How did Lisbon control him? She looked down, seeing past the infuriating prisoner to the handsome man on the beach. She licked her lips, and her hand ghosted over his chest, drawing the sheet further down. Could I do that - long term? Her hand unconsciously drifted over his abdomen. Would it be right? She swallowed. Would it be wrong? He helped put away hundreds. Would that be so wrong? Her eyes closed. She abruptly rose and pounded on the door.

"Guard!" He let her out and stared as she hurried away.

Cho

Cho manufactured yet another excuse to be at Hotel FBI. He checked on Fischer's whereabouts to avoid any chance of them meeting. Cho wondered what was going on. Abbott remained in Chicago. Fischer was more withdrawn daily. And the game with Jane was dragging on too long. He knew the ugly effects of solitary confinement and a month was crossing the line into abuse. Hell, the FBI must have regs limiting its duration. Why the hell are safeguards being ignored?

Cho walked down the hall and nodded courteously to the guard. On his way back the guard dropped his clipboard, scattering the papers. Cho bent to help gather them even before the guard motioned him to.

In a whisper, "You a friend of his?" The guard motioned to Jane's door with his head.

Cho nodded, taking his time to gather the papers.

"He's being drugged."

"What?!" Cho managed to hold it down.

"I was in the Army during Abu Ghraib. We're better than this."

Slowly sliding the last pages toward them, "Will you help get a blood sample?"

The guard bobbed, which to surveillance cameras wouldn't look like anything. "Yeah," he breathed. "Food samples, too. I'm George Freedman."

"Cho."

They simultaneously straightened. "Thanks, sir," the guard said at normal volume.

"No problem." Cho strode off, mind grappling with the unwelcome news.

Lisbon

It was Saturday morning. Lisbon had been up since Cho's call. She nursed her third coffee while she thought through what to do. Since when does the FBI abuse US citizens like this? Dammit, Abbott's a cold bastard but I thought he was straight arrow. Finally deciding on her next step, she called and was on an early flight to Sacramento.

Lisbon pulled up to the large, graceful house surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Bet that's not the only security, she thought. She pushed the intercom button and the gates opened after she identified herself.

The maid carried their coffee and tea on a tray which she set down in front of the two women.

"Teresa, it's a pleasure. You're looking good."

"As are you, Madeline," she replied. She does, though a little tired. Must be a mountain of work getting a new agency off the ground.

"To what do I owe this sudden visit?" Hightower saw Lisbon pick up her faint emphasis on "sudden." Job? Reference?

"I need your advice and help."

"About?"

Political and cagey as always. "Are you sure your house is secure – not bugged?"

Hightower straightened in surprise. "Yes. It's scanned weekly. Speak."

"Jane voluntarily returned to the US. He's in FBI custody in Austin."

"Under Abbott," Hightower surmised. "And?"

"The FBI will drop all charges if Jane works for the FBI for five years."

"Sounds like an opportunity, not a problem," Hightower commented wryly.

Lisbon plowed on. "That would be fine, but Jane won't live on a leash under parolee status. And he insists on working with me."

Cautiously, "What kind of help?"

"Madeline, the FBI is playing dirty. Jane's been in solitary confinement over a month. I've just learned he's also being drugged."

Hightower sipped her tea, buying time before reacting. "Has he been charged, arraigned? Where is he that they get away with this?"

Lisbon took a deep breath. "The FBI skirts the law by not filing charges if a suspect 'voluntarily' remains confined in a–"

Hightower nodded and interrupted, "–I've heard. Where?"

"An FBI detention center in Austin."

"What do you need from me?"

"How do I get access? What can I do to protect him?"

Hightower leaned back. "Teresa, I'm not FBI. I have no pull there."

"You owe Jane. He got Red John and gave you your life back. I'm calling in the chits."

Hightower set her teacup down. Dryly, "You've changed." You used to be scared of me.

As dryly, "I have. Now what do I do?"

Hightower poured more tea and thought for several minutes. "Access. You need a court order - or a credible threat of one. But that requires proof of abuse." She looked at Lisbon, one eyebrow quirked.

"Working on it. I should be able to get blood and food samples to prove the drugging."

"If you can get that, Abbott will relent on threat of taking it to court. An Austin judge would handle it, likely in camera. The FBI gets a lot of leeway, but drugging and prolonged incommunicado incarceration are beyond the pale."

"What if I don't want to take it to court? The charges Jane faces could get him 20‑to‑life."

"You strong arm Abbott. Frankly, I can't believe he's doing something that stupid. This would derail his career if it came to light."

"I also want Jane examined and treated by a doctor I choose."

"Wise. I'm not sure you have standing."

"I still have his medical power of attorney from when I was his boss."

Her eyebrows climbed. "Something more to negotiate with Abbott. If it ends up in court, having medical power gives you standing to speak for Jane."

"Do you know a top attorney in Austin capable of fighting this? Someone who could defend Jane if criminal charges are filed?"

"Not Austin, but Dallas. –Maria, get my cell phone and paper and pencil," she called. She looked up the phone number and copied it for Lisbon. "Give him my regards. He's very good."

Lisbon started to rise, but was stopped by Hightower's hand.

"Sit. Tell me how you've been. And did you see Jane? How is he?"

Lisbon left an hour later, considerably calmer than she had arrived.

Cho

Cho needed to find a way of getting a blood sample and food sample. He'd need a syringe. He'd need to wait till Jane's meal had been drugged.

He spent time after work days talking to agents from other teams. Curiosity about the Red John case and exposing Blake gave him an easy way to start conversations. He learned Abbott wasn't particularly liked, but he was respected. Everyone had the same opinion: Intelligent, street‑smart, by-the-book, and relentless.

Cho cadged a clean syringe from a diabetic friend. And it wasn't long until the guard placed a white sheet of paper in a window, their signal to let Cho know when Jane's meal had been drugged.

Fischer

I'm close, so close, she thought as she pretended to check Jane's food only to add the drug. Jane's resistance was noticeably weakening.

After the meal was done and the trays collected, she returned and entered Jane's detention room. He was out of it as expected. She followed her routine. Ceiling light off. Wait till he could respond to his name. This time she hung her scarf in front of the door's small window.

She patiently repeated the script. When she demanded that he say it, he almost had it. She smiled, relieved it was working.

Fischer felt a frisson of fear? excitement? des– no, just nerves – at what she was going to try. If he feels good, likes me, maybe he'll cooperate. It had been years since he had the company of a compatible woman, someone from the same culture. 'Being understood is an underrated pleasure,' isn't that what he said? She tentatively reached out and undid the first few buttons of his island shirt. Shirt's ridiculous, he's not. She reached inside and stroked his chest with a feather touch. Jane stirred. She watched closely, but saw no discomfort, no resistance. Emboldened, she unfastened the rest of the buttons. Her touch was stronger, less tentative. He sighed, humming a little, still incoherent. Fischer licked her lips,, breathing through her mouth. She wouldn't do much, just a little, just to see if he was receptive. She could tell he was comforted. She brushed his too-long hair from his face. Whispering, she said, "I can make you happy, Patrick. No murder charges. Just solve cases like you did before. Could be good." She stroked his face.

He sighed, "Lisbon" and she froze. She shook her head, grabbed her scarf, and called the guard to let her out.

Jane

Jane woke fuzzy headed with a splitting headache. He glanced out the door's window and saw his favorite guard George was on duty. Jane had guessed wrong again. He was having a harder time thinking, even after the major effects wore off. Jesus, I've gotta get out of here, he thought, making his way to the sink. He bit his lip. Uh, been drugged again. S'posed to do something. He stood a moment till he remembered. He carefully lifted the toilet tank cover and pulled out a small zip-locked plastic bag that had been trapped under the lid. Tank water was clean of course and the bag unlikely to be discovered. Since he had nothing but his clothes, the periodic searches never turned anything up. The searches had gotten sloppy.

He long ago determined the bathroom wasn't monitored, unlike the main room was. Fischer was managing his incarceration and must receive the surveillance AV. Jane tore a narrow strip from the thin bath towel and tied it around his upper arm. Then he opened the alcohol packet and swabbed the vein in the crook of his left elbow. He uncapped the needle, waited till his hand stopped shaking, pressed the plunger to expel the air, and drew a full syringe of blood, overcoming his dislike of needles. This would prove the drugging. Days ago he'd heard Cho's voice talking about "happy to help" just before he found the syringe hidden on his meal tray. Cho must have a plan because no other explanation fit. He capped the needle, sealed the syringe in the bag and hid it in the toilet tank. He would put it on his tray after the next meal, confident George would retrieve it.

Jane stood there. Something's wrong, something important. Think Paddy! He glanced up and caught sight of himself in the modest bathroom mirror, one made of polished metal that couldn't be broken. My shirt's unbuttoned. He frowned thinking hard. No, I've been busy with the blood sample. And – yesterday? Why would I leave it unbuttoned? He loathed the lack of privacy and always wore all the clothes he had except for the suit jacket.

He breathed faster as he became convinced of his suspicion. He shrugged the shirt off. There were no marks. His pants seemed undisturbed. Thank god! He stripped, turned the shower on and scrubbed his skin raw. That twisted bitch. I'll rot in prison before I work with her. What the hell is she thinking?!

Time to change the game. From that moment he ingested nothing but tap water. Something had to give.