This is the final chapter of this story. My sincere apologies for taking so long. I want to thank those of you who have stuck with me and who have encouraged me to finish it. I've promised myself that from now on, I finish a story before I post any part of it. I hope you enjoy this.

Manipulation part 16

By Ecri

When, Alan wondered, had their friendship changed so dramatically. They'd been the best of friends once. He remembered it like it was yesterday...

Alan's work at the City Planner's office was the lie he'd lived so well, it had become his reality. Certainly his children never dreamed he'd had an existence alien to the one they remembered.

He'd been a thinker, a problem solver. Not special, like Charlie, but he could, as his own grandfather had once claimed, think around corners. Donnie was very like that...more so in some ways. It was why Alan worried about him. He might easily be recruited as he almost was.

Alan remembered it. He'd been approached by a group of men. Mason had been one of them. Funny how time and distance had removed the names of the others from him. Mason, however, had been impossible to forget.

Alan Eppes had never felt so positive in all his life. Things were going great. Things were going better than he'd ever expected. He'd applied for a job with the State, and here he was being called in for a third interview. He'd never heard of such a thing! One interview and then a decision was the most he'd ever encountered. Three interviews, six tests, and now this...he hoped ...final meeting.

He sat in the waiting room amazed at his own calm. He didn't feel a bit of anxiety and took that as a good sign. His previous two interviews had gone well, and he had no reason to think it wouldn't go well now. A feeling of destiny, of inevitability had bestowed a supreme confidence, and he knew it showed. This job would be his for the asking.

Later he would reflect on how right he was, but now, the receptionist picked up the ringing phone and spoke quietly to whoever was on the other end before telling Alan to go on through the impressive oak doors.

Twenty minutes later, he came walking out, his shock at the offer he'd received making him forget his manners. He didn't reply to the receptionist's farewell. He was out the door and halfway across town before he calmed down enough to review the interview in his mind.

Mason has spoken as if Alan's working for him were a foregone conclusion, and he had to admit, it was tempting. He'd been praised for his problem solving abilities, for being able to "think around corners" as Mason had put it. He didn't know what to do about the offer, however. Flattery was no reason to take a job, especially one that would so drastically alter not only his future, but his very self-image. There was also his wife to consider.

Mason had explained that taking the job would mean he'd have to keep secrets, and not just from the world at large, but from his wife. Classified material could not be discussed casually with anyone, even spouses and family.

Alan's only question about the job had been if it would put his family at risk. He'd been told that of course things happen, there was no real risk. It was hardly comforting.

He wiped all traces of stress from his features as he stepped through the door. Margaret was due to deliver any day now, and he didn't want her to know what he'd been offered until after the delivery. The pregnancy hadn't been an easy one, and, inasmuch as this was their first child, Alan wasn't one to be casual about the affects of anxiety in such a situation.

He entered to find her seated on the sofa with her feet up, and he sat by her side giving her a peck on the cheek as he did. He was about to tell her about the job offer, but something held him back.

"How'd it go?" Margaret gazed at him expectantly.

"All right. They'll get back to me."

The casual lie sounded awful in his ears, and he was surprised that she seemed to accept it as truth. He had a harder time ignoring the way the lie sat in the pit of his stomach.

"What do you want for dinner, darling? I'll get started." She made as if to rise off the sofa, and he stopped her.

"Why don't I take you out?"

"Out?" She smiled. "Where?"

"I don't know...steak? Chinese? Italian? Whatever you like."

They were seated at a romantic little Italian place about an hour later, and Alan was pretending to peruse the menu though his mind was really on the meeting of earlier in the day. He finally ordered almost at random rather than send the waiter away the third time he dropped by the table to take their order. After he'd brought their drinks, Margaret looked him squarely in the eye.

"Okay, out with it?"

He looked startled for a moment, but then smiled. "Am I that easy to read?"

"For me? Easiest read in the world. You know you can't keep secrets from me."

He nodded. "I do know that...but what if I have to?"

She frowned, but didn't answer.

Alan rushed on to explain. "What if my job were so sensitive that I couldn't speak to you about the details?"

"Like a lawyer? A judge?"

"Not really..."

"What really? Is this about the interview you had today?"

He dropped his voice to a whisper and looked at her earnestly. "What if I worked for the government..."

"This is about the job interview! What happened, Alan?"

The anxiety in her eyes was more than the conversation warranted, but then she was pregnant. Maybe there was some hormonal reason...he cursed himself for being a fool. Writing off his wife's emotional state for any reason wasn't really like him, and he realized now, neither was keeping things from her.

"Nothing. I'm going to turn it down."

"Did they offer?"

"Yeah."

She seemed surprised, but didn't comment on his earlier lie. "So...you don't want to discuss it?"

He opened his mouth to do just that, but then he smiled and shook his head. "No. It's just not something I can see myself doing."

The next day, Mason had come to him to reiterate the offer, and Alan had refused. Mason wasn't pleased.

"Why would you turn down this kind of money?"

Alan shook his head. "It's not money that matters to me. It's my family. My wife's expecting..."

Alan snapped out of his reverie, a sudden understanding passing through him. He glared at Mason. "You had it in your head from then, didn't you? When I told you Margaret was pregnant, you dropped the job offer, shook hands, and that was that."

Mason laughed. "It was easy enough to strike up a friendship with you, after that. I knew your kids would likely have your abilities.

Alan didn't allow his surprise at his situation to keep him from thinking. His only advantage, he knew was to keep things friendly...or as friendly as they could be when a man he thought he knew forced his way into his home. He thought maybe he should keep Mason talking, but he wasn't sure what might set him off. Of course, Mason seemed inclined to talk, so it wasn't like he had a lot of choice.

Mason sat calmly at the dinner table and gestured for Alan to take a chair as if this were Mason's home and not Alan's. It angered Alan, but he had to let it go. He sat.

"You know I went out of my way to protect you when that case came up. When "the Bookman" went to prison...but the truth is, as much as he hated you, as much as he was angry with you, it was me who ran the show."

Alan wasn't following. "You're saying he was a decoy? That you were the Bookman?"

Mason's exasperation was unnerving. "I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying I manipulated him. I called the shots. I made him. He wouldn't be the Bookman at all if not for me. I fed him the information I wanted him to have..."

"So how was that protecting me?"

"I was protecting you from yourself. I made it so that you could see how much better things could have been, how much more power you could have had, if you had only followed my lead."

"This is about me choosing not to work for you?"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Enlighten me." Alan almost winced at the sarcasm that had unwittingly bled through his words, but Mason didn't seem to notice.

"It's not that you could have worked for me. It's what we could have accomplished together."

Alan shook his head. He was missing something. "What exactly could we have done?"

"You and I could have been a team...like...like Don and Charlie."

Alan's brow furrowed. "What do they have to do with this?"

"You are so like Don."

"Don's his own man."

Mason nodded. "He is, but a lot of your problem solving abilities are his. You have an intuitive grasp of things. You can think around corners." He smiled, and gestured to himself with a florish. "I on the other hand, am more like Charlie."

Alan bit his tongue hard to keep from telling the man that he wasn't at all like Charlie. Now would not be the time to antagonize Mason.

"I have the knowledge, the power..."

Realization hit Alan like a brick to the head. "You're the one who broke into Charlie's office and read his notes!" Don hadn't wanted to tell him about that, and nearly hadn't, but in the end, it had been impossible for him to keep Alan in the dark on a case like this." His eyes widened as another thought occurred to him. "You're the one who did the math for The Bookman so he could do all those crazy things..."

Mason smiled the smile of a man pleased to be recognized for his contribution. "I fed him the information. He thought I'd kidnapped mathematicians in order to get him the answers that he didn't even realized I'd made sure he thought he needed."

Alan wanted to back away, to put some distance between himself and this madman. It was an involuntary response, and he forced himself to disregard it. Sudden movements with a crazy person in the room were never a good idea. He only had a tenuous grasp at best on what Mason was trying to tell him. Could he truly have manipulated so much of this? Could he have manupulated The Bookman, the F.B.I. and his family...

Mason was watching Alan carefully, and Alan decided he had to ask. "So, what is it you want out of all of this?"

The question seemed to puzzle Mason. "I want the satisfaction of knowing I'm able to outwit everyone."

"So why tell me now?"

"Don't play coy with me, Alan. I know you'd figured it all out. I know you saw through my charade. You always have. You probably did ever since you found out that I was the one who tried to take Charlie."

With astonishing, startling clarity, Alan knew that Mason wasn't talking about anything recent. "You mean...when he was a kid? When we got those threatening letters and calls? That was you?"

Rage killed caution and Alan was on his feet. "Do you know what that did to us? Do you know how terrifying it is to live with that hanging over your head? I couldn't protect my family! I couldn't keep them safe!"

"Almost convincing, Alan, but I know you've known about that for years. I'm not sure what sort of edge you think pretending you didn't know will do for you...perhaps you think I'll leave you alone. I won't. Now sit."

Reluctantly, Alan sat.

Once Alan was seated, Mason stood. "I'm going to ask you how you knew. What clues did I give away that tipped you off?"

Alan stared at Mason trying to gauge the effect of outright denial and outright lies. Would it be best to play along and pretend that he'd known about Mason's subterfuge all this time, or to be honest, admit he knew nothing and see where that took him? Which answer would save his life was a moot point. He couldn't spin a tale about clues tipping him off when he had no idea how Mason had done what he'd done.

"Honestly, until you just told me, I had no clue you were behind everything." He said the words, wondering if they'd be his last.

Mason rounded the table with such determination, that Alan again stood and this time backed away from the man.

"I don't believe you."

"It's true! I didn't know!"

The punch landed with precision and with force, Alan fell backward, his head striking the floor. Dazed, but still in control of his faculties, he scrambled to regain his footing.

Mason allowed him no time. In moments, he had hurled himself at Alan.

Charlie stared ahead as Don deflty manuevered his car, lights flashing and siren wailing through the traffic. It was almost a slalom the way he moved in and out between the cars. On several occassions, Charlie was sure they'd pulled off a few manuevers that should have been impossible. He closed his eyes, but that just made things worse. Dizziness was not a happy addition to the way he was feeling, so his eyes flew open.

"Don!" He called out as Don swerved again.

"I got it, Charlie."

Don's voice was steely with something Charlie couldn't identify. Not determination exactly, though there was some of that there, but certainly confidence, and a 'don't-mess-with-me' quality. Charlie had never seen him this way.

Charlie held his tongue for the rest of the ride. When they got within 10 blocks of the house, Don cut his sirens, but kept the lights. Within a block of the house, he pulled over and cut the lights. Then he reached for his cell and hit a speed dial number. "Terry, you there?" Don nodded. "Good, we'll pull up and I'll go in first. I'll leave the door open as I go in. If everything's okay, I'll come back and shut the door. Once I'm inside, you're in command. You have to consider me a hostage."

Charlie's eyes widened. He waited until Don had slipped the cell into his pocket, and marveled at his own restraint. "Don, what are we doing?"

"You're staying out here."

"No, Don..."

"Don't argue with me Charlie. You have to let me do what I'm trained to do." He looked Charlie in the eye, and there was a moment of pure connection when each understood what the other meant and what the other was thinking, and Charlie had to nod in agreement.

"Okay."

Don nodded and got out of the car. He leaned into the window to speak to his brother. "I'll walk from here. You get in the driver's seat. When it's safe, Terry will let you into the perimeter."

Charlie looked around and finally noticed there was indeed a "perimeter" set up around the area. Agents he recognized stood nearby, eyes on his house, guns at the ready. All of this seemed like it was unnecessary, but then he realized most of these agents were here unofficially. That was confirmed when walked over next to Don and clapped him on the back. "All here and waiting for orders."

Don smiled. "I don't know who would give them, since there aren't any agents here."

Charlie realized that the agents were taking this as an attack. They believed in protecting their own, and Don's family fell into that category.

Frustration overcame him as he sat back to watch Don walk to the house, alone, yet with a dozen agents watching his back.

He saw Don enter the house. The door was barely open when Don broke into a run. Even at this distance, he heard Don's voice. "F.B.I. Freeze!"

Then Don disappeared.

Charlie held his breath. The other agents were heading towards the door at a run when he heard the shots.

The neighborhood almost looked normal. Don could almost forget why he was here. Almost. He quickened his pace slightly, and opened the door. It took a moment to realize what he was seeing and then he was running into the house, shouting. Don held his gun to Mason's head.

"Put it on the floor!"

Mason didn't move.

"On the floor! Now!" Don's voice was loud and deep, and it brooked no disagreement, but it got him nowhere. He saw Mason's finger tighten on the trigger, and he didn't hesitate. He fired twice. Both bullets lodged in Mason's heart. The coronor would be hard pressed to say which had killed him.

Don's attention was instantly on his father. He knew when a shot would kill, and he didn't need to see Mason's body hit the floor.

"Dad, you all right?" He knelt by his father, watching as he tried to compost himself. He could see the beginnings of shock and shrugged out of his FBI jacket, draping it over his father's shoulders. He looked around and his eyes fell on Terry. She was nearby talking to another agent and giving orders. "Terry," he called, just loud enough to get her attention. When she looked over to him, he made his request. "He's going into shock. I need an ambulance."

Terry nodded, and Don heard her relay the request even as Alan grabbed his arm. "It was him! Donny it was him!"

"I know, Dad. It's okay..."

"NO! I mean, he's the one who threatened to kidnap Charlie when you were children! He's the one who orchestrated everything with getting Charlie thrown in jail! He's the one who broke into Charlie's office and checked his work!"

Don frowned. "Are you sure?"

"He said so himself!"

"Okay. Take it easy, Dad. We're on it, and he can't hurt Charlie anymore."

"You, too, Donny! He wanted you to join the FBI...he..."

"It's okay."

Alan shook off his son's hands, and stood up. The change in position made him a bit dizzy, but Don couldn't get him to sit back down.

Moments later, Charlie was there, the desperate fear in his eyes only slightly eased by seeing his family. "You're okay?"

Don couldn't tell if Charlie was talking to him or to Dad, so he answered for both of them. "We're fine. Dad's going into shock, so we've called an ambulance."

"Oh, I am not!" Alan replied testily.

"Dad, yes you are." Don spoke sternly, and, whether to appease his son or for reasons of his own, Alan didn't argue.

Three days later

Terry held the file as if it were distasteful to her, and, in many ways, it was. She approached Don's desk and waited for his attention before dropping it there. "It's a summary of everything we found on Mason's hard drive."

"Everything?" Don asked, smiling.

"Good point. Everything we're cleared to see." She sat on the edge of his desk. "It seems his connections were...diverse."

Don whistled as he paged through it. "I'll say. Look at this! He had more aliases than ten double agents would have."

"That's not all." Terry insisted. "No one can sort out whose side he was really on. Most we can figure is he was a mercenary...looking out for number one. He respected your father's intelligence and abilities, and, somehow, he began to believe that Alan could see through the most complex of his plots." She shrugged. "He cracked and he grew angrier and angrier at your father, convincing himself that Alan was going to blow the whistle or make some sort of demands. The entire plot was aimed at getting the upper hand over a man he beleived knew everything."

"He came undone, but he did it to himself."

"Exactly. So how is your Dad?" Terry asked as she stood.

Don smiled. He's good. We're going to take him out today...me and Charlie. We thought we'd take him somewhere nice for dinner. Then tomorrow we'll take him to a ballgame."

"Sound like some male bonding will be going on."

"More like familial bonding."

"Well, have fun, and tell your Dad I said he should take advantage of you while he can."

Don laughed, and Terry believed it was the first time she'd heard that from him since before this all had started.

"Thanks, boys. Dinner was great." The trio of Eppes men were walking back to Don's car slowly, enjoying the night air and each other's company.

"It was good, wasn't it. Where did you ever hear about that place, Charlie?" Don asked his brother, who had recommended the restaurant.

"Well, if there's one thing all branches of Academia share it's knowledge of the best places to eat in a ten mile radius of any given campus. The chef's sister is a professor who has the most fascinating take on chaos theory..."

"Oh, no! No lectures tonight!" Don insisted.

"I'm not lecturing!"

"You were going to!"

Alan sighed. "It was such a pleasant evening."

The Eppes brothers laughed, but Charlie sobered first. "You sure you feel okay, Dad. They didn't keep you at the hospital very long."

"Which means I'm just fine." He looked at his youngest son. "Don't worry so much, Charlie. I'm recovered. You're recovered. Don's recovered. We can put this all behind us and move on now."

Charlie nodded. "It just makes me think..."

When he didn't volunteer what it made him think about, Don prompted him. "About what?"

"Well, how do we know we're not being manipulated every day? How do we know we're not being carefully coerced to take a path that someone else has chosen for us."

Don looked at Alan, unsure how to answer.

"Charlie, you can't worry about that. You do what you choose to do. If someone else wants you to do it, well, that doesn't mean the decision wasn't yours to make."

Charlie sighed. "I don't know, Dad. I feel...used."

"That's because you were used."

Charlie stared at his father, a disbelieving smile playing on his lips. "What about the decisions being mine to make?"

"If I decide I want to go on a trip, and you decide to tell me that's the best thing for me to do but you're telling me that because you want me out of the house for a few days, is my going my decision or not?"

"Well, not if I made you decide that."

"How would you make me decide that? By suggesting it? By agreeing with me?" He shook his head. "In the end, it's still my decision."

Don stepped in. "Yeah, but Dad, Mason did more than suggest. He killed people."

"That was his decision."

Don smiled. "You're not going to admit this has you rattled?"

Alan considered the words his eldest son had uttered. Then he shook his head. "Rattled? Yes. I'm rattled. The thought that he plotted for literally years...that he had it in his mind to kidnap Charlie..." he stopped then and looked away. When he turned back, he stopped walking and put a hand on each of his sons' shoulders. "What you need to know is that his influence isn't important...if it's even real. Aside from recently, with the murders and this...fiasco...he thinks he had more power than he really had."

"But what if we think he had less power than he really had?" Charlie asked.

"Is it something we can change?"

Charlie shook his head. "No."

"Then why worry about it?"

Charlie nodded.

Alan searched his eyes and Don's making sure they understood. They couldn't undo anything. They couldn't ascertain whether things might have turned out differently under other circumstances. They couldn't even identify every modicum of influence Mason had or thought he had. All they could do was be sure to be comfortable in who they were, and continue to follow the path before them.

"Where the path came from," Alan said quietly, willing them to understand. "...isn't as important as how you follow that path."

To Alan's great relief, they each nodded in turn, and conversation took a natural turn to something lighter, less intense, as if by mutual consent.

Alan smiled as they climbed into the car and Don headed back toward the house. He laughed to himself as his sons began to argue in a unique blend of police jargon and mathematical terms. Normalcy, was a state of mind.

Finis