Chapter 24

Charlie glanced in the direction Mike had indicated and saw Tom Powell from the NSA. "Tom . . ." he said, confused. He looked around the room. Garrick and Cochrane were there with a couple of the other men from his impromptu bedside debriefing. Don still stood near the door, a look of quiet fury on his face now that Charlie had short-circuited his attempt to get him to leave the room, but his anger was definitely not directed at his brother. Megan was in the background, as was David, and both of them looked angry as well. Larry stood by the table, his face somber but his eyes full of roiling emotion. In front of Larry on the table . . . he gazed for a second at the photos. "You were checking on me," he said, and he could hear the accusatory tone in his voice. He turned to Powell. "You were checking my work to see if I'd started planning their attacks for them."

Powell held up his hands. "Actually, I'm here to prove that you didn't," he said. "I knew you didn't."

Charlie shook his head. "I couldn't help them kill people," he said. "But who . . ." He looked around again and saw Don glaring at Cochrane. "The ATF?" he said, turning to Cochrane. The ATF agent turned towards Charlie. "Agent Cochrane, who couldn't wait till I'd been awake a full minute before he started asking questions."

"If you had helped them, Dr. Eppes, you can see that it would have been vital to get the information quickly so we could head off –"

"If I had helped them?" Charlie repeated, anger making him slightly dizzy. "I could never have helped them, but if I had, you'd already know about it because I wouldn't have stopped talking yet." Charlie shook his head. "I certainly wouldn't be hiding it." He sighed. "Some of you people have blinders on when it comes to civilians." He walked over and looked at the photos. "Another dead end," he muttered, looking at his useless efforts.

"But promising," Bickerson said.

Charlie shrugged. "Don, are you done here?" he asked, looking at his brother.

"Yeah, Chuck, I am," he said with a last glare at Cochrane.

"Good," Charlie said. "Because if we stay here too long, Dad's going to wake up and find us gone, and then there'll be hell to pay."

"That's no joke," Don replied.

"Mike, maybe I'll get a chance to see you again before I leave Seattle."

"Come to dinner," Mike said.

"Sure." Charlie smiled at Larry, Megan and David. "I'm going back to bed. If anyone else wants to accuse me of anything, could you make them wait till morning?"

"Sure, Charlie," Megan said, smiling warmly at him.

Don put an arm around his shoulders and drew him towards the door. "Let's go, Chuck."

Charlie glowered at him humorously. "Don't call me Chuck."

"Why not? It gets such a rise out of you."

Charlie had no trouble keeping his emotions in check on the way back to the room, but when they reached it, he pressed his palms against his forehead and felt himself start to shake. "Did they really believe I'd helped those bastards?"

"You were right about the blinders, buddy," Don said. "That's all it is, and some agents have real problems knowing what to do with civilians who consult."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're not agents, but they have clearance to know things and do things that ordinary civilians are restricted from. People like Cochrane can't believe that, without the training agents receive, anyone could resist the kind of treatment you just experienced." Don shrugged. "Idiots happen, unfortunately." Charlie nodded, sighing. "Now, let's get you back into bed."

Charlie let his brother help him back into the hospital bed, and a nurse came in. "How are we feeling, Dr. Eppes?" she asked.

"I'm feeling fine, just a little sleepy," he said. He didn't think the burning anger in his gut was relevant to her query.

"Then go to sleep," she replied. She went to his monitors and took readings, making notes on his chart.

"Can I have some real food for breakfast?" he asked hopefully.

"We'll see," she said with a smile. "Any pain?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Glad to hear it." She made one last check on Charlie's machines, then left. Charlie glanced over at his father, who had not moved at all, then over at Don, who had returned to his Sports Illustrated. He sighed and closed his eyes.

What would he have to do for people like Cochrane to believe in him?

Charlie felt much better now that he'd had some real, solid food. Well, semi-solid food. Jello and oatmeal and applesauce with tea. Bland and easily digested. Nevertheless, it was the first real food he'd had in more than a week, and it made him feel a little more solid himself. When the food had stayed down after several hours, the doctors had released him with a little pamphlet on nutrition, stern instructions regarding eating regularly and orders to see his own doctor at home as soon as possible.

His father had brought him some clothes from home, and Charlie shooed him out of the room so he could change. First, though, and with great relief, he shaved the beard off. It felt great to lose the itchy facial hair. Then he sat down on the chair Don had spent the night in and started pulling on his clothes. He ached, but it was nothing unbearable.

Don had left around eight in the morning to do something work-related, he hadn't been very explicit. Charlie had gotten his socks, boxers and pants on when the door opened and Don walked in. He looked up, startled. "What are you doing in here, Don? I'll be out in a minute."

Don stopped for a moment, staring at Charlie's bare torso. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, his eyes going cold and dark with anger. "Look what they did to you!"

Charlie looked down at the bruises and grimaced. "Yeah, well, it's not particularly attractive and it's kind of painful, but, as Mom used to say, this too shall pass." He shrugged, picking up his t-shirt. "Cliche, trite, but hopeful."

Don was still staring, moving closer. "But Charlie, they beat you . . . I –"

Charlie shuddered and looked up at Don with wide eyes. "Do you want me to curl up in a ball and hide under the bed?"

Don finally shifted his attention to Charlie's face. "No."

"Then please . . . don't," he said. He pulled his t-shirt over his head. "I'm holding it together here, don't pop my bubble, okay?"

"Sorry, bud," Don said, looking uncomfortable. "I just . . ."

Charlie pulled on a button-front shirt and bent to pull his shoes on. Bending gave him a brief spasm of pain, but he hid it because he didn't want to draw Don's attention to his injuries again. "So, where to now?" he asked, sitting up again.

"SeaTac," Don said, and Charlie blinked at him perplexedly. "It's a federal detention center."

"I know what it is, why are we going there?"

"You need to identify the people you can so they know who to charge with what," Don said.

Charlie swallowed uneasily. "Right, of course. How are they going to do it? Put them all in ski masks so I can look at their eyes?"

"Actually, I think they're going to have them say something," Don said. "You said you heard three people speak."

Charlie nodded. He really didn't like the idea of seeing any of those people again, but he supposed he didn't have much choice. He stood up, trying to repress his nerves. "Okay, let's go, then."

"They won't be able to see you, Charlie," Don said. "And hopefully it won't take very long."

"And then we can go home?" Charlie asked hopefully.

"And then we can go home," Don confirmed.

"No, Dad," Don said, glancing over at Charlie who stood by the government SUV Don had borrowed for the drive to SeaTac that morning. He'd gone in with Megan so they could do their line ups separately from Charlie. Otherwise, they wouldn't let either of them be present while Charlie did his, and Don really didn't want his brother in that room alone with strangers.

He'd managed to convince them that with Megan, Don and Charlie all vouching for the identity of the man who'd come into their house, they wouldn't need his father's identification unless there was disagreement. He hadn't counted on his father's wanting to come.

They were in the parking lot of the motel where the team had stayed the night while Don and his father stayed in the hospital with Charlie, and Don really didn't want to have this conversation quite this publicly, but it hadn't really come up till they were preparing to get into the SUV.

There were other agents around, but no one who had been officially named as Charlie's guard, which Don thought was probably the only reason his brother wasn't objecting to their presence. Don sighed. Charlie looked sort of lost and forlorn, standing there alone.

"I think I should be there," Alan said firmly, drawing Don's attention back to the confrontation. "I'm his father, he needs me."

Don shook his head. "I had enough trouble convincing them that I should go with Charlie. They'd never go for you, too." His father started to speak, but Don spoke over him. "Please, just stay here with Larry and Colby."

"Why on earth would they object to me being there?" Alan demanded. "I'm his father. I have a right to be with my son."

"Just trust me on this, Dad. They want as few people in the room as possible, and I don't really want to take you to a federal prison."

"You're taking your brother," Alan pointed out, and Don grimaced. He didn't want to take Charlie there either, but he didn't have much choice. Why did his father have to be so stubborn? Alan shook his head. "I think I should –"

"Dad, no," Charlie said, and Don was startled to find that his brother had approached so near to them without his noticing. "I really don't think I could handle having you anywhere near any of those guys. I have to go, but . . ." He gulped and shook his head. "I don't want you to come."

"Megan's going," their father protested.

"Megan's going because it's part of her job, and because Don wants her to keep an eye on my state of mind so he can call a halt to things if I get too upset."

Don opened his mouth to deny the truth of this, but Charlie just gave him a look that told him there was no point. He sighed. "We'll see you in a few hours, Dad, okay?" he said instead.

"Fine," Alan grunted. He took Don's arm and pulled him further away from Charlie. "You will stop them if Charlie starts to get upset, won't you?" he said in a low voice. "You'll be able to?"

"I'll do my best," Don said. "We've got to get going."

"Okay. Drive safe." He walked over and gave Charlie a quick squeeze and then turned back to join Larry and Colby in the coffee shop of the motel. Don knew this was tearing him apart, and he wished he could fix it.

He turned and got in on the driver's side of the SUV. Charlie climbed into the back, letting Megan take shotgun. Don glanced over at her, and she gave him a sympathetic look. She'd been a silent witness to that uncomfortable confrontation with Dad.

Charlie was very quiet on the drive to SeaTac. It didn't surprise Don, who figured that he should let him have some space. Megan didn't push either of them to talk, so the only voice in the vehicle was the electronically generated voice of the GPS unit directing them to the prison. David was already there, working with Fogarty on interrogations, and Colby had been put on medical leave again after a doctor at the hospital had caught him trying to restrap his own ribs. Now that Charlie'd been found, he wasn't pushing so hard to stay on duty anyway.

During the check in process and the pat down, Charlie grew even more withdrawn. He was pale and too thin – his clothing hung loose on his frame. Don wished there was something he could do, but he'd provided the best help he knew how by having Megan present to keep an eye on his mood. Don knew he wasn't competent to judge it. The minute Charlie began to seem upset, he wanted to start punching people. It was an overreaction, but he couldn't entirely help it, especially not now.

They were ushered into a conference room and US Assistant District Attorney Mark Chavez explained the process to Charlie. As it had been for him and Megan that morning, there were to be a series of line ups because there were so many suspects. Presumably, the order would also be shuffled to avoid any chance of him or Megan influencing the results.

"So, now I need you to tell me some specific things the three men you heard speak say. Something they said frequently would be best."

Charlie shook his head. "Two of them only spoke once," he said. "The first one was on the boat. He said, 'It's soaked, sir.'"

"It's soaked?" USADA Chavez repeated, writing the words down.

"He was definitely subordinate to Bill, I'd guess," Charlie said. "He sounded younger, I think, and he . . . he was being given orders."

"Okay," Chavez said, continuing to make notes. "Now, something that Bill said frequently. He's the one who spoke to you most of the time, correct?" Charlie nodded. "All right, give me something he said."

"'Good morning, Dr. Eppes.' He said that every morning I saw him, unfailingly polite."

"Creepy," Megan observed. Chavez gave her an irritated glance.

"Definitely," Charlie said with a shudder.

"And the third man? When did he speak, and what did he say?"

Charlie bit his lips, looking uneasy, and Don wanted to put a stop to things right then, but he held his tongue. Charlie cleared his throat. "He said, 'We don't have time for a gag. Move, gentlemen.' He was talking to Bill."

"Why did he say that about a gag?" Chavez asked curiously.

Charlie shifted in his chair, looking unhappy. "It was when they were moving me, right at the end," he replied, his voice trembling slightly. "I was hoping that it meant rescue was on the way – that they were moving me to get me away from . . ." He took a deep breath. "I started yelling, so this guy punched me in the stomach to shut me up and get me to stop struggling. Bill asked why, and . . ." Charlie trailed off, shrugging.

Don found that his hands were fisted tightly, and he realized it was a very good thing that he wouldn't be in close proximity to the men who would be speaking. After all, it would hardly be a good thing for him to start beating up on prisoners who were already in custody.

Chavez handed the list of phrases to one of the guards who left to go pass them along to the people putting the line up together. Then he turned to Charlie. "All right, Dr. Eppes. We're going to go in just a few minutes. Your brother and Agent Reeves will be in the room with you, but they'll both stay behind you, out of sight. Don't look at them. I want you to focus on the line ups, but if you get to the point where you think you need a break, please let me know immediately. Me, not anyone else."

"Will there be lawyers in there?" Charlie asked, his nerves showing. "For the prisoners?"

"Yes, but they won't say anything. They're just there to observe that the proper procedures are followed."

"Okay," Charlie said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Whenever you're ready."

Don and Megan had already received strict instructions from the USADA. They were to move as little as possible, Don wasn't to speak at all and Megan was only to speak if she felt that Charlie needed a breather. It was clear that USADA Chavez didn't want to take any chances on this getting screwed up and Don was in complete agreement.

A few minutes later, the guard came back in and told Chavez that everything was ready. They were taken into an observation room. Don and Megan took their places in the back of the room and Charlie glanced at Don uncertainly as Chavez guided him to a spot a few feet from the window.

The first two groups of six men were total busts. Defense attorneys filed in and out at the same rate as defendants did. Don kept his eyes resolutely forward. He didn't want to get accused of anything like intimidation, and he had a feeling that, given his mood, his gaze might be misinterpreted.

The third group filed in. As number four spoke, Charlie stiffened. As per instructions, he didn't say anything until after all six had spoken. Chavez gave no sign of having picked up on Charlie's reaction, though. Like the other two times, he simply turned to Charlie and said, "Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie moistened his lips. "Could you have number four speak again?"

"Of course." Chavez nodded to the technician who was running the line up.

The man gave the order, and number four stepped forward and spoke the three sentences again. He was a tall man, very broad, maybe twenty-four, with sandy brown hair and freckles. He didn't look like a terrorist or a kidnapper, but Charlie said, "That's him. He's the one who said my shirt was soaked."

"You're certain?" Charlie nodded, and Chavez glanced over at one of the defense attorneys. The man looked displeased, but he didn't say anything.

Another line up passed without Charlie identifying anyone, but during the fifth, Charlie flinched like he'd been struck. Don sympathized. He felt the same way. Number three was the man who'd held a gun to their father's head and threatened to pull the trigger. When they'd all spoken, Charlie turned to Chavez. "Number three," he said, and his voice was no longer trembling, it was shaking. "That's Bill. That's him. I'm sure of it."

"Have number three step forward again," Chavez ordered, and the instruction was passed through to the line up room.

The man stepped forward and Don gazed at him intently. He'd seen and identified him that morning, but it was different seeing him now, with Charlie quietly freaking out in front of him. He was a little above six foot, had dark hair cut in a simple military style, and his eyes were definitely blue. He was fit and good-looking, and when he'd reached the mark on the floor, he began to speak. "Dr. Eppes, please allow me to express my sincerest hope that you are recovering well from your ordeal and to offer my best wishes for your future endeavors."

Charlie took a couple of steps back from the window as the man spoke, and he covered his mouth with his hand.

"Perhaps one day we'll get to play that chess game," he added with a smile.

The technician was already ordering the line up room cleared and Megan stepped up and spoke quietly to Chavez. Only the fiercest determination kept Don from rushing forward and putting an arm around Charlie to get him out of the room, and only the knowledge of what a defense attorney could make of the gesture enabled him to manage it.

"We're taking a break," Chavez announced, and they left the room by the door opposite to the one the defense attorneys entered and exited by.

As soon as they were out of sight, Don gave way to his instincts. He hurried forward and put his arm around his brother. "You okay, Chuck?" he asked.

"That was him," Charlie said, looking up at him. "Did you recognize him?"

Don glanced at Chavez for permission. The attorney nodded. "You each identified him independently, there can be no doubt of that."

Don sighed with relief and looked at his brother. "Yeah, buddy, I recognized him."

"Did you . . ." Charlie blinked at him. "Is that what you were doing this morning?"

Don nodded. "Megan and I both, actually. So we could be here with you."

Charlie nodded, sinking into a padded chair. Don sat on one side of him, Chavez on the other. Megan went and grabbed him a bottle of water from the bar fridge in the corner. Charlie took it with a smile for thanks.

Chavez leaned towards him. "You do realize that he couldn't see you, Dr. Eppes?" Chavez said reassuringly, and Charlie nodded. "He was only guessing that you had to be there."

Charlie grimaced ruefully. "It wasn't exactly subtle when all of the things we had them saying were things that were said to me."

"Unfortunately," Chavez said. "You're doing great, though. I know it can't be easy."

"Can I have a little more time before the next group?"

"Of course." Chavez stood up. "I'll be back shortly."

Charlie nodded. When the door shut behind Chavez, he put his head down on the table and Don put a hand on his back. "You okay?"

"It was weird as hell seeing his face. I'd kind of gotten used to the idea that he didn't have one."

"So, did he look like you imagined?" Megan asked.

"I didn't really imagine a face," Charlie said. "I really . . . I don't think I wanted to see him looking like a normal man."

Don reached out and put an arm around his brother's shoulders, squeezing lightly to reassure him. Charlie gave him a grateful glance.

Megan sat down opposite them at the table. "Why was your shirt soaked?" she asked curiously.

"What do you mean?" Charlie looked up at her, eyes wide. Don had wondered that, too, but now he remembered Charlie's words . . . I had blood on me. That had happened on the boat, as had the comment about the soaked shirt. One plus one added up to two, and Don suddenly knew why Charlie's shirt had been wet. Don tried to catch her eye and indicate that this wasn't a good question to ask, but she was already speaking.

"You said that one guy, number four in group three, said your shirt was soaked. How did you get wet?"

"I . . ." Charlie shook his head. "I needed to get clean," he said. "I was . . . I was covered in blood and I . . . there wasn't anything else to use."

Megan's brows drew together with sympathy. "Oh, Charlie, that must have been awful."

Charlie shuddered under Don's arm. "I threw up," he said softly. "See, I'd had it on me for hours. I just thought it was . . . I didn't know what it was, but I never imagined it was . . ."

"I can see that," Megan replied. "I am so sorry you had to go through this, Charlie," she said.

"Yeah, me too," Charlie said pathetically. "Do you have any idea how many more guys I have to listen to?"

"I think I'd better take the fifth on that, Charlie," Don said.

Charlie blinked at him, looking puzzled, then nodded his understanding. "We don't want to screw anything up for the court case."

"Exactly," Don said and, greatly daring, he tousled his brother's hair.

"Don!" Charlie exclaimed irritably, pushing his hand away.

"What?" Don asked innocently, and Charlie glowered at him. Don was more than a little surprised by how well Charlie seemed to be bouncing back from this, but he wasn't about to argue.

Charlie downed the remainder of the water bottle and stood up. "Where do you suppose the restroom is?"

Don rose. "Let's go find –"

"Do you need to go?" Charlie asked, giving Don a dubious look.

"What? Charlie –"

"I don't need a babysitter, I need a toilet," Charlie said.

Don grimaced and caught Megan's eye to see what she seemed to think. She smiled at Charlie. "I'm pretty sure our escort is still outside," she said. "I'll bet they know."

Don relaxed back into his chair as Charlie stepped out into the hall and spoke with the man just outside. The door fell shut slowly on its pneumatic hinges, and Don made a face at Megan. "Is it just me, or does he seem to be coping remarkably well with this?" he asked.

"Remarkably well sums it up nicely," Megan said, but she looked worried. "The euphoria of rescue and real food, of seeing you and your dad, it's giving him a bit of a boost in the mood department."

Don listened to what she said and considered what she didn't say. "You don't expect it to last."

"Not hardly," Megan said gently. "He's going to crash, it's just a question of when. I'm reassured that he showed no compulsiveness over the P vs. NP stuff he saw last night, but this is all going to hit him sooner or later. I'm betting on sooner."

"Let's hope it lasts through the line ups," Don said, reflecting that Charlie would prefer not to break down in public.

"Oh, I'd guess it will. He'll probably be fairly okay till you guys get home. He's still outside his norms here. He expects to feel unsettled. When he gets home and back to normalcy, and he doesn't feel better, that's when you can expect some stronger reactions."

Don leaned back in his chair, obscurely reassured by Megan's assessment. He realized that he'd been worried that Charlie was in some form of denial that would cause real issues when it broke. This sounded more like a buffer. "Why do you suppose Bill pulled that stunt?" he asked. "Was he trying to snarl the line up?"

Megan paused contemplatively, then shook her head. "No. I'd say it was an exertion of control over the situation and over Charlie."

"Control?" Don repeated. "He surely can't expect to have any control at this point."

"Charlie felt it," Megan pointed out, and Don scowled. "That man's words and choices governed Charlie's life for the last week," she said. "And from behind bars, he's making plans for the future that include Charlie. Everyone present knows that's not going to happen, even Bill, but he's still trying to make Charlie feel his power."

"And it worked," Don growled.

"And it worked," Megan agreed. "Which Bill was counting on."

"Damn it!" Don stood up, sending the chair flying backwards with his knees. "What the hell does he want with him now?"

"It's a power trip, Don. He's not going to get another chance to pull it, so don't worry about it."

"It's just hard not to get angry when Charlie gets so . . ." He shook his head. "You know."

"I do," Megan said. "And I'll talk to Charlie about it later. Now, sit down and get a handle on yourself. Charlie could be back at any moment and we need to be calm to help him stay calm."

Don nodded shortly and sat back down in the chair he had vacated, pulling it back up to the table. She was right. She was always right when it came to these things. He took several deep breaths to bring himself back under control.