Theodore "T-Bag" Bagwell, convicted murderer, is released from Fox River Prison to help Michael Scofield, whom he once swore a blood feud against, in Scofield's efforts to bring to justice one "Poseidon," the CIA spook who incarcerated him and married his beloved, Sara Tancredi. Scofield even funds a new prosthetic hand for T-Bag, a beyond-the-top-of-the-line marvel that behaves just like any normal one but is many times stronger.
But that isn't the greatest gift Scofield gives him. For T-Bag has a son, one he never knew he had. David--"Whip"--had been Scofield's cellmate while both languished for the past five years in a brutal prison in Yemen.
The plan is hatched, the play unfolds, and David dies just days after Theodore finds out about him. Enraged, he once again lets the demon light the candle in the window of his soul, and kills the CIA spook responsible.
We leave Theodore Bagwell in his cell back in Fox River. His new cellmate is none other than Poseidon himself. This is where we rejoin him and his efforts at redemption. This is where the candle in the window waits to be re-lit.
Chapter Four
Home Base
Home Base
~~*~~
“Alex Mahone, as I live and breathe. At least for now ...”
“You’ve got it all
wrong,” replied Mahone. “I’d like you to see something.”
His visage
disappeared. What replaced it was a video of two men in black ski masks on
their knees ... just outside his and Ximena’s apartment building! He recognized
the alleyway. It was where the superintendent kept various supplies. The
vantage point was from well above and to the left.
As he watched, a man
in shades and wearing a blue suit came up behind them, silencer in hand. He
pointed it at the first, and the man’s forehead exploded on the pavement. The
second one was next. That one collapsed next to the first. Their blood and
brains pooled together.
The video ended.
Another began, this one unfocused for a few seconds. The image suddenly came
into sharp focus and zoomed in, fast. He recognized the architecture
immediately as the apartment building next to his. The camera zoomed even more
on white drapes, partially pulled. What looked like a man holding binoculars to
his eyes could just be seen behind the glass of the sliding door. The view
abruptly shook as though someone had jostled the camera. It came back and
refocused.
The man was gone. A
small round hole in the glass where his face had been had replaced it.
The scene cut to
another of what looked like a repairman in an elevator. He was a burly-looking
man, bald, with vacant black eyes. He held a toolbox in his right hand.
Theodore recognized
the elevator as one in his building.
The repairman
flinched and collapsed, the hole in his temple spurting thickly.
The scene
dissolved. Mahone’s face reappeared.
“There are seven
more. Do you want to see them?”
Theodore held silent
for a moment. “Government?”
“Private
contractors ultimately paid for by the government, yes. There’s a very long, very
convoluted money trail, almost impossible to track, but yes. The government has
been trying to kill you since it set you free.”
“And who do you work for?”
Mahone didn’t
flinch. “The government.”
“You’re tellin’ me
that me and my wife are in the middle of some internecine war? All because I was set
free?”
The large man next
to him cleared his throat, crossed his arms once more, and fell silent.
Mahone sighed.
“That’s the surface explanation; and yeah, that’s true. But it tells nowhere
near the whole story.”
“What is ‘the whole
story’?”
“That’s why you’re
here. That’s why Michael sent you the riddle.”
“What about Ximena?
Is she safe?”
“I’ve doubled the
agents watching her. They know how important she is to what you need to do for
us. They know they can get to you through her.”
“I do not want her
involved in any of this!” Theodore yelled.
“That became
inevitable when she married you.” Before Theodore could roar a reply, Mahone
added: “We know what she means to you. She is your anchor. If that anchor goes
away, so does your motivation and will. We can’t allow that. She is as
protected as anybody in America
is right now, probably including the president.”
Theodore brought
his hand up and stroked his goatee. “So you the white-hat boys, or the
black-hat boys?”
“A little of both,
I suppose,” said Mahone. “We’re a government agency at war with another within
our own government. We need your unique skillset, Theodore.”
“And what would
that skillset be, exactly?”
He prepared himself
for the usual insults of being a pedophile serial killer, ones Mahone himself
had hurled at him.
But Mahone did no
such thing. Instead he shot back, “What do you
think that skillset is?”
It was clear that
Mahone—or whoever was running this “agency”—had enough sharpshooters and
executioners and guards. It was also clear that they had resources and money. What
was also clear—and by far most surprising—was that Theodore was not, perhaps
for the first time in his life, expendable. Whatever Mahone and his boys wanted
him to do, it wasn’t a suicide
mission. Else why protect him and Ximena all this time as he worked out that
damned riddle that brought him here? Why bother giving him time in the first
place?
He had two usable and
perhaps relevant abilities, which he’d always used in the past for evil and
destructive means: to earn the trust of others whom he wanted to victimize; and
his overall intelligence, which not only kept him out of the reach of an entire
nation’s law enforcement apparatus for far longer than anyone thought possible,
but also to see social structures very quickly and to be able to insinuate
himself near persons with power in order to learn their agendas and possibly
take the reins one day. It was how he survived Sona, and how, before he lost
his mind there, he eventually took it over.
A third ability,
one he didn’t want to consider at this point, was how he could switch off his
conscience completely in order to satisfy that demon deep and dark in his
belly. If it came down to Ximena’s life that he employ it—that he allow it to
“light the candle in the window”—could he do so without losing himself once
again, very likely forever?
There was yet a
fourth “ability,” if one could call it that; and he considered that if he
presented it here and now, with Mahone waiting patiently for him to respond,
that Mahone, no dummy himself, would understand that he understood just what
his other abilities were and would consider the topic closed.
And so he lifted
Vice, keeping the glove covering it on.
Mahone’s hawkish
stare hardened on him for a long moment. He nodded.
“I always thought
Sco-field had some plan for this prosthetic,” Theodore mumbled.
“It’s very important,
and you’ll learn why as you undertake this mission; but what we need now, much
more, is ... well, let’s say your unique personality.”
Theodore thought of
flipping him off, and using Vice’s middle finger to do it, but held himself back.
“As much as I enjoy foreplay, this conversation is beginning to chafe. Mind
getting to the main event?”
“Your mission
parameters are encoded. You’ll receive the mission in stages in order to
protect you and the mission itself. Once you complete a stage, you’ll get new
parameters. You may report to me any time. We have considerable resources and
monetary support; ask and you shall receive.”
Mahone shook his
head gravely. “You can’t call Ximena or text her. Don’t go back home for any
reason. If you want to communicate with her, do so through me. I’ll take care
of it. Keep the communications to a minimum. The less we stress the security
protecting her, the better that security will be. Understand?”
Theodore sighed and
nodded.
“Give Jake your
phone. You’ll get a new one. This place is your home base and where you need to
return when you complete each phase of your mission.”
“What exactly is my mission?”
Mahone smiled, but
in no manner that could be considered light-hearted or frivolous. “You’re going
to save the world, Theodore.”
“From whom?”
“You’re about to
start the process of finding out. Again, it will be by stages. And Theodore?”
Mahone’s face had
become even more serious.
“Yes?”
“I mean this when I
say it: the very best of luck to you.”
The screen went
dark.
The big bulb named
Jake gruffly closed the laptop, pulled out the “bleacher bolt,” and grunted, “This
way.”
Theodore stood and
followed him across the room to another door, this one guarded by a keypad and
a retinal scanner. Jake punched in several numbers and put his eye to the
scanner.
The door clicked
open a tiny crack. He pushed it the rest of the way and turned to Theodore as white
lights automatically flipped on.
“You can access
this room any time. We just need to scan your retina and your hands.”
“I’ll also need the
code,” said Theodore.
“No. You don’t.” Jake
tossed him the “bleacher bolt.”
Theodore examined
it. “Am I to carry this thing everywhere I go?”
“No. You’ll keep it
in here until you reach each sub-mission’s objective. Then you’ll need to come
back and get it for more instructions, as well as to complete necessary
paperwork.”
The large man went
to another computer, this one a flat-screen desktop surrounded on three sides by
what looked like many black filing cabinets with no handles, and sat. The
swivel chair groaned under the weight. He pointed to the top of a cabinet, upon
which rested a small black ball with what looked like a red eye on it. “Put
your right eye close to the red part of that scanner.”
Theodore picked the
ball up, examined it a moment, and then put the red eye close to his right eye.
“Don’t blink,”
ordered Jake.
The red eye came to
light suddenly, flashing blindingly.
“Got it. Now the
left.”
Theodore, blinking
heavily, put his left eye against the ball. It flashed.
“You can put it
down.”
“Je-zus!” Theodore exclaimed as he put
the ball back down on the cabinet. His eyes had filled with tears.
“Come here and put your hands on this pad—the
prosthetic first.”
Jake had produced a
rectangular pad from under the desk and set it next to the computer. It was
large enough to put an adult hand on. Theodore, still blinking, took his gloves
off and, locating the pad, put Vice on it.
“Press down,”
ordered Jake.
Theodore did.
Something
astonishing happened: Vice seemed to go partially translucent for a moment,
with a sudden purple web of lightning showing just under the surface. He felt
that lightning, but not sharply: more like a pleasant tingle. It went away, and
the reflective silver hardness was back. He went to examine it closely, turning
his hand over and back, but Jake ordered:
“Put your right
hand down.”
He put his right
hand on the pad and pressed down.
“The keypad that
lets you in here won’t open unless it senses your DNA. You just gave it the
sample that allows you in. You don’t need to know the code, because there isn’t
one. Just press any number or any sequence of numbers a set number of times and
hit the star key, and you’ll get in. You need to keep that set number of times
constant, do you understand?”
Theodore scowled. The
flashes in his eyes were finally fading away. “I think so ...”
“If you press the
keypad four times, then the next time you come in, do it again—just four times.
If you start with five or six or ten times, then keep with that number. Don’t
deviate from it.”
“I can press any
numbers I want, any order, just randomly each time?”
“That’s right. Or
not randomly. It’s up to you. The system doesn’t let you in by any code, but by
your DNA and the set number you choose. Whatever you do after that, don’t press the pound key. Got it?”
“Why?”
“It will inform the
agency that you’re in danger or have been compromised. It’s what people are
told to do, for example, when calling in a prescription—enter the RX number and
press the pound key. It’s an alarm. It means you and the mission are in danger.
Understand?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
The fat man was in
no mood to dither. “Good. This room is protected by ultra-reinforced concrete
and ultra-high-stress rebar, and can withstand repeated barrages from weaponry
as large as a tank if need be without being compromised. This is your safe room,
your home base. The laptop will go in here as well; I’ve just been a little
lazy in getting a desk for it. There’s a room back there,” Jake pointed past
the cabinets towards a dark wall, “with a bed and a bathroom and a small
kitchenette.”
He stood and
motioned gruffly at the computer, which was powering off. “I’ve been able to access
this computer because I designed and built it. No one else can. Not even
Mahone. Not even Scofield. Only you.”
“And how do I do
that?”
“Sit.”
Theodore gave him a
sideways glance and sat down. The computer immediately began powering up.
“I didn’t do
anything,” he said, gazing around.
“When you were in Fox River , you got a colonoscopy. The visiting doctor ...
he’s one of ours. He took a detailed print of your ass, as well as a sample of
the base gases your colon emits. Both are unique to each individual. The chair
seat you’re sitting on is a highly sensitive sensor that just measured both.
It’s the only way the computer will turn on.”
The home screen, at
least twenty inches across, was grey-blue, with an artful white swish near the
top that ended with:
Welcome, Theodore
“Here,” said Jake,
who tossed him something. Theodore, flummoxed, just got hold of his wits long
enough to see something gold flipping towards him, snagging it before it struck
his head.
A key.
“That’s to the back
door to this shop,” grunted Jake. “It’s a secured key, meaning, like the
computer, it will only work with your touch. From now on, don’t come in through
the front—ever. Got it?”
“Yeah,” said
Theodore. “Got it. My things are ...”
“I’ll get ‘em. I’ll
leave ‘em outside the door. Once you sat in that chair there, my ass-gas print
was deleted off the system. This is a quantum computer; it doesn’t run like
other computers, and is far faster and more powerful. You’re now the only
person on Earth with access to it. No one can hack it; no one can infect it
with a virus. What you put on it is totally private. Understand?”
Theodore gazed at
the machine before him. “And the laptop outside there?”
“It’s quantum as
well, and is connected to this one. Once you were identified by Mahone, all
abilities for me or anyone to use it were removed. I’ll get a desk and put it
outside the door as well. You can bring it and the laptop in here.”
Theodore looked up
at him. “And what is your role in all this besides playing tutor?”
Jake grinned. It
was the first time he’d cracked a smile since Theodore met him.
“I’m thankfully done
at this point. I get to go back to being a simple supply store owner with a
family and a mortgage and a white picket fence. I don’t want you talking to me
after today; and if you so much as look at one of my daughters, I’ll end you where
you stand, and I don’t care if the world goes to hell after that. Clear?”
Theodore gave him
the look he reserved for bulls. “Crystal .
Mind tellin’ me what my ‘mission’ is?”
“I have no fucking idea
what your ‘mission’ is. Mahone said you were smart, so figure it out! Oh—and
one more thing. Don’t use this machine to contact your wife. Don’t use the
laptop either. Both machines may be state-of-the-art, but they still have to
connect to the Internet, and so can be, at least theoretically, traced back
here. That’s very unlikely, given the massive security protocols in place, but
it isn’t a zero chance, and I don’t
want this store invaded by who-knows-what because you couldn’t keep your pecker
in your pants!”
Theodore didn’t
respond. He returned the fat man’s glare until he turned on his heel and began
marching out of the room.
“You forgot
something,” said Theodore.
Jake turned around
in time to catch the cell-phone sailing for his head. He caught it and stalked
out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Theodore was growing very tired, and thought
of home and his bride and sleeping in their nice queen-sized bed after a nice
home-cooked meal.
Home. Bride. Bed.
Home-cooked meal.
Three of the four
were now denied him, possibly for the rest of his life, which itself may have
been put on a severely truncated schedule. And the fourth he couldn’t contact
except very rarely. As he thought of her, he gazed at his gloves, which were on
a cabinet, and then back at the computer. He licked his lips and reached inside
his coat pocket for the bolt. Gazing along the right side of the quantum
computer, he spied the hole. He inserted the bolt and waited as the screen
dissolved to show a file with a single tab:
SubMISSION OVERVIEW—“2”
He glanced around
for a mouse so that he could double-click the tab, and then for a keypad mouse
below the keyboard. But there were neither. He tried tapping the screen right
over the tab, but that didn’t work either. Without thinking, he said:
What is this
‘submission overview 2’?”—and was shocked when the tab opened and a female
voice answered:
“Voice print
identified. Greetings, Mr. Bagwell.”
~~*~~
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